UNEXPECTED TEENAGE

TEN

Nam Seon Ho

5:20 pm

It's been a solid 10 minutes of me aimlessly wandering around my room, contemplating the great mystery of life - should I summon the courage to dial Yeha's number or not? It's like a mental marathon in here!

She has my English notebook as I gave it to her a week ago for book completion, but she hasn't given it back to me.

I should probably give her a ring, but I could also grab the book from her tomorrow. No, tomorrow is when I need to hand in my English assignment.

After having a riveting conversation with my inner voice for a solid 15 minutes, I made the executive decision to opt for texting instead of calling. So, I sent her a text message.

"안녕하세요, 예하!" (Hello, Yeha!)

As I reflect on the past, I realize how much I valued my friendship with Yeha. She was the only girl I felt truly comfortable talking to, the only one who made me feel at ease. But now, our friendship hangs in the balance, strained by the rupture in our friend group. The thought of facing her again, after everything that has transpired, fills me with a sense of loss and melancholy. Yet, I must steel myself for this interaction, as I know it is necessary to retrieve my belongings. Despite the heaviness in my heart, I must muster the courage to confront the reality of our fractured relationship

I am so confused. Should I type 'Do you have my notebook' or 'Can you give me my notebook?'
Ah, what have I turned into? No, I can talk to Yeha, right? Don't tell me that I am hesitating to talk to her! Why?

Eventually, she confessed to having my English notebook. She inquired about dropping by to return it, but I was in no mood for visitors due to unexpected guests at my place. I suggested visiting her instead, but she turned down the offer. Eventually, she proposed meeting up somewhere outside.

Why does she want us to meet somewhere else? Am I supposed to suggest a place? I don't really care about the place anyway. Let's check on Google for some good places in Seoul.

As I stumbled upon a famous café in South Korea, memories of Yeha flooded my mind. The café where we once shared our deepest thoughts and emotions, where every sip of coffee held a piece of our connection. The walls of that cozy corner now feel empty without her presence. I can't bring myself to visit that café again, for fear of being overwhelmed by the bittersweet nostalgia. Yeha, my dear friend and soulmate, I long to mend the broken pieces of our bond. The lingering ache in my heart remains a constant reminder of the void left behind.

I searched for some other places. I found another cafe. A cafe won't be a bad idea.

After firing off a text to her, I strutted over to my wardrobe like a fashion master on a mission. With a flick of my finger, I picked out a mishmash of clothes that would make Lady Gaga proud. Once I had transformed into a walking fashion experiment, I confidently stepped out into the world, ready to turn heads and confuse fashion police everywhere.

I must admit, I just discovered that it would require a 30-minute journey for me to arrive at the cafe, and indeed, it did transpire as such. Upon my arrival, I immediately noticed her making her entrance through the front entrance. In an attempt to avoid the appearance of tardiness, I opted to enter through the back door instead.

I sat on the seat and she greeted me.

I had planned to inquire about her recommendation for the order, but surprisingly, she beat me to it and asked me the same question. This got me pondering on how other men would handle such a scenario. My mind wandered to my father, who, whenever he took my mother out for a meal, always insisted on paying the bill without letting her contribute. Hence, I responded, "it's okay, Yeha! I can't allow you to pay."