Chapter 58.2

Chapter 58.2

“Andre lives in the Shopping Street.”

She couldn’t quite imagine it.

Miran skimmed through the guidebook’s photos with an interested gaze, then closed it and opened Han Yong-un’s poetry collection. Han Yong-un was Juran’s favorite poet.

Until now, Miran had never been interested in poetry. It seemed like idle talk, boring and difficult to understand, and somehow the old-fashioned sentiment felt awkward.

This preconception stemmed from her school days, when she had to underline every word and meticulously transcribe and memorize the uniform interpretations dictated by her Korean literature teacher.

But on the day Andre left, Miran had an astonishing experience.

Not wanting to be alone after leaving Dragon Valley Hotel, Miran didn’t return to her attic room but came to Juran’s house. As she lay exhausted on the couch waiting for Juran to get home from work, her gaze accidentally settled on Han Yong-un’s poetry collection on the two-tier TV stand.

‘My beloved has left. Ah, my beloved has left.’

A line from a textbook poem she didn’t even know she still remembered suddenly brought tears to her eyes.

“Oh my god, I must be crazy. Why am I like this? What was that poem’s title again…”

Miran picked up Han Yong-un’s book of poems. The book, stamped with a 1974 publication date, was printed vertically instead of horizontally, making it difficult to read. She traced the characters with her finger, reading a few poems, then hugged the book and wept.

“How can a monk write such a sad love poem… sob.”

Perhaps because she now understood what loving someone felt like, familiar words gained new meaning. Words she would have previously passed over indifferently now became sharp blades piercing her heart.

Miran, about to write her fifth letter, flipped through Han Yong-un’s poetry collection and blew her nose with a tissue. Though she had been steadying her heart by reading poems about connection, love, and parting, she was starting to worry about whether Andre would reply.

‘He hasn’t forgotten me already, has he?’

It had only been two months, but his warmth, touch, and the feel of his lips were already becoming blurry. His face and deep green eyes were still vivid, but she was afraid of the day when even those might fade.

“I should ask him to send a photo. I’ll send mine too.”

Sniffling, she tilted her head to the side to prevent tears from falling on the stationery, and began writing carefully in her flowing handwriting.

—

Late October. New York was entering full autumn, but Andre had no time to even turn his head and look out the window. Except for brief moments of sleep lasting three to four hours, he was surrounded by mountains of documents, spending his time understanding the work at hand.

A sharp knock sounded. The knock alone was enough to tell him it was Higgins.

[Come in.]

Higgins walked into the study, holding a silver letter tray with a handle, his head held straight. Several envelopes were stacked on the tray.

[Mr. Lafayette. Today’s mail.]

Andre, without taking his eyes off the restructuring report he had been studying all day, gestured toward the edge of the desk with a nod. These days, even 48 hours in a day would not be enough.

[Leave it there.]

Higgins set the letter tray on the edge of Andre’s desk, then elegantly picked up an international mail envelope with white background and red and blue stripes along the edges.

[I was about to dispose of an international mail with an unclear recipient, but since it came from Korea, where you were last stationed, I thought I’d bring it just in case.]

[Korea?]

Andre lifted his head sharply from the documents, looking at the letter in Higgins’s hand. Higgins then pulled out reading glasses from his inner pocket, perched them on the tip of his nose, and held the envelope at arm’s length.

[Sender is ‘Miran Kang’. Recipient is ‘Andle’―]

Before Higgins could finish speaking, Andre stretched out his arm and snatched the letter. His uncharacteristically hasty action caused Higgins’s eyebrows to furrow slightly.

[It’s for me. Thank you, Higgins. You can leave now.]

It was Miran’s letter, arriving almost a month after he left Korea. The moment Andre saw the recipient’s name carefully written in capital letters on the envelope, he bit his lower lip hard to suppress a smile.

TO: ANDLE

Carelessly writing someone’s name…

What did Higgins pronounce it as? Andle?

“Pfft.”

Andre finally burst into laughter, covering his eyes with his hand.