<seulgi is in hospital and irene goes to visit her>
She takes my hand in hers. It's so soft, so gentle, so warm. Her fingers lace with mine, fitting perfectly. I smile at the thought that comes to mind- that maybe her hand was made for mine. It certainly feels that way.
She's saying something to me, but I can't concentrate on her words. Her hand is pretty, and she holds mine with confidence- like she's done this before. I don't recall ever holding her hand before now. I like it, I should hold her hand more.
I look up at her slowly. She's wearing a red jumper and the colour really suits her. It brings out the colour in her cheeks, her eyes and her hair. My eyes rest on her face. Such a pretty, pretty face. Her features are so small and delicate and her eyes are sparkling. Sparkling a little too much. It's then I notice that she has tears in her eyes.
"Seulgi? Are you listening?" I can hear her words now, spoken softly in her sweet tones. But there's a pull in her voice, a strain. She sounds as if she's trying not to cry.
"Sorry, I was far out," I reply, smiling. "What did you say?"
I see her visibly gulp. "I said, do you remember my name?" There's a hesitancy in her voice.
Name. Her name. I'm not sure I even know her, let alone her name.
"Ah, you must have told me when I was daydreaming," I say. "Sorry, tell me again?"
Her brow crinkles and she bites her lip. "I-Irene," she chokes out.
"Irene? A pretty name for a pretty face," I say, smiling at first. My smile fades as she joins in with me, saying the sentence as I do.
"I know," she nods. "You say it every time,"
I frown. Every time?
She takes a deep breath in and squeezes my hand, pulling the white chair in which she's sitting closer to the bed.
"It's how we met," she smiles, but it's a watery smile. "Do you remember?"
I shake my head and a tear rolls down her cheek. "Oh, don't cry," I say and wipe her tear away with my thumb. She shakes her head and pulls away.
"I'll tell you," she says quietly. "At University, in the library," she says it slowly, watching my eyes for, some recognition I suppose. "We reached for the same book, remember the book?"
I'm frowning. I don't know this story, how can I know the book?
"Come on," she nudges me lightly. "You know the book," She waits a second more before giving in and telling me. "Where's Wally,"
"Where's Wally," I repeat, and suddenly I can see the book in front of me, on a shelf, two hands on the spine. One is pale and pretty, and the other is mine. The image fades and I can't find any other memory.
"And we laughed as we looked at each other and the book we fought over," she continued. "Because it was a child's book, and we were in University, we were adults. And then you asked for my number, and my name,"
"Irene, a pr...," I mumble.
"A pretty name for a pretty face," Irene finishes and gives a heavy sigh. She leans back in the chair and looks out the window.
I admire her features. She is ever so pretty. And her hand is ever so nice to hold. I'd like to see her again.
"I like holding your hand," I say quietly and she turns back to face me, a smile on her face.
"And I like holding yours," she says even more quietly and her smile widens. It's the prettiest smile I've ever seen.