I am waking up curled next to her.
Ji-pyeong did not need to open his eyes to confirm that his letter had become real.
Mi-rae was tucked against his chest; her back rising and falling against him. He nestled even closer to her. Ji-pyeong had never chased warmth in a bed other than that created by his own body. He lowered his head into her shoulder as a smile slowly curved up his lips.
She began to mumble something that he could not understand. Then Mi-rae started shifting her body. Ji-pyeong's eyes flew open.
She is still asleep.
His arm sprang open to release her immediately. He shifted away to create space as she rolled over towards him. Ji-pyeong watched, fascinated, as she turned her face into the pillow and then stilled. It was so wonderfully novel to see her like this. Then the blunt curve of Mi-rae's hair began to slide slowly over her face. His hand reached to smooth it away. But then Ji-pyeong froze. He bit his lip as his fingers hovered just above her head.
Should I?
He was loath to wake her. Ji-pyeong wanted her to rest as long as possible after the last month had driven her to exhaustion. He bit his lip as he weighed the choice. But he could not bear it.
Finally, his fingers tentatively climbed across the space between them. He felt like an explorer charting a new path across to her while she slept. Ji-pyeong took a deep breath and then his index finger bravely extended out. He carefully hooked under a swath of her dark hair and moved it back.
Ji-pyeong's shoulders shrugged up towards his ears nervously as he then slowly moved away. Mi-rae sighed in her sleep and burrowed deeper into the pillow. His hand fell back onto his chest in relief.
He slowly exhaled.
The dove gray light signaled that it was early morning. Time may be suspended in their cocoon tucked away from the world, but soon the city would come alive. Yet there could be no one in New York City feeling what he was. Because as Han Ji-pyeong looked at Mi-rae, a staggering yet obvious realization took hold: He had never begun a new day lying next to a woman.
His throat tightened as the loneliness of the past and the joy of now collided within his chest.
She is the first.
Ji-pyeong had never chosen to spend the night with those whom he had fleetingly passed the time. He thought it better not to pretend that those liaisons were more than they were. He was now grateful for his past reserve. The jealousy inherent in his nature now reared its head generously on Mi-rae's sleeping behalf. This was something that he would share only with her.
And she will be the last.
His eyes ticked over to the desk. The pink of sunrise lingered just beyond the green trees and jutting silver towers. Ji-pyeong had imagined this just two nights ago in black ink on white paper. He had written out of love and had it answered immediately in full measure. And now she was here. Ji-pyeong thought back to all the mornings of the past begun on the pins and needles of uncertainty or the dull soldiering through disappointment. This morning was different. And with it, a new feeling was unfurling in his chest.
Contentment.
It was a strange and beautiful feeling knowing how well that he was loved. One way or another in life, love always turned into a blunt ache of loss or the sharp sting of rejection. But now love was Mi-rae, warm and breathing steadily beside him. It was a warmth that radiated from his chest as well; constant and sure as the sound of her breath. His fingers curled into the pillow under his cheek as he indulged in studying her face adoringly.
