Six years.
Six fucking years later, the head of Trauma surgeon at Seoul General Hospital, Lisa Manoban, and Roseanne Park meet again on the familiar path of romance they once were. But stubborn hearts are hard to convince.
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Lili's pov
I have started to notice that she's building a life for her inside the new room with little care about the rest of us that are also crammed inside the same house with her. I'm not sure what to expect.
After all, it has been years since the last time that we were family. And now that everything is slowly going back to how they once were, I'm out of words to describe what Chaeyoungie might be feeling.
But one thing for sure, I know she hates being here. That's understandable. You can't love a place that traps you like a prison and in Chaeyoungie's world, this house is what trapping her from her so - called freedom.
The mind of a kid with a broken home, I can never understand.
But I do somehow sense her sorrow, her hatred, her grudge every time we sit together at dinner and she won't hold hands as we pray. She even frankly said that there's no reason to believe what she can't see.
Corrupted.
Morally and religiously.
But one can't blame her for sure. There's always a reason, a book I used to read would say, of why people act in a shitty way.
It can be because they don't precisely know what to say or to whom to vent. So, they end up keeping everything to themselves until they can no longer take and it's time to purely explode.
I hope she wouldn't be like that. I hope she will see a friend in me. A friend she can trust. But even trust is not easily built.
I take a deep breath as I rap my knuckles on her brown door, hoping there would be an instant reply from inside. But just like I have expected, she likes to play dead in a world of broken hearts.
"Hey"
I clear my throat as I twist her silver knob and squint my eyes at the inner side of her room. She sits on her bed with her sneakers on. Her ripped jeans fits her perfectly and her long hair that reaches the mid of her back is up as a twisted bun.
A worn guitar on her chest as one hand holds it tightly while the other carelessly caressing the floor. Her eyes are shut and only the sound of her breathing in and out is heard.
"Right" I say to myself as I walk into her room and delicately pick up her hand from the floor and bend it to her chest. Her room is still her room.
Still messy with crumpled papers in form of small balls coating half of the floor. Her bedsheet wrinkled like she has been sleeping on it for years and her dirty laundry covering almost every inch of the room.
I shake my head and chew on my lower lip. She has always been the messiest sister so I don't really care as I bend down to grab the overturned basket at the corner of the room and begin to collect her dirty laundry.
