Episode 81: Gift (1)
Gentle sunlight settles on her eyelids, softly knocking.
Her delicate lashes quiver in response, and soon, the deep, clear eyes beneath slowly emerge.
The first thing those waking eyes seek is the face of the one beside her.
But the presence she expected to find asleep next to her, is absent.
‘Yujin-ah…?’
A faint unease blooms in Zia, still hazy with sleep.
Though it takes various forms, her anxiety always converges on one thought.
‘Am I dreaming right now?’
Perhaps, since that cold winter day she lied to leave her lover, she’s been trapped in a long nightmare.
The changes in her life over the past year felt like a dream.
The cramped rooftop room, navigable in a few steps, transformed into a spacious villa she’s unsure how to furnish.
Messages once limited to shift notifications now come from ‘adults’ and ‘friends’ checking on her.
“Zia-ya, how about trying acting? I think it’d be fun to act with you.”
Even the brightest star she admired casually suggested this to a part-time worker used to her chaotic schedule.
That unease grew when she woke to an empty space beside her.
Han Yujin.
All her changes stemmed from him.
More than anything, his transformation was stark.
Having watched Yujin for nearly seven years, Zia couldn’t miss the near-180-degree shift.
His anger at a world that ignored him melted away.
Beyond the joy she felt hearing his voice, the gloomy, heavy tone in his songs turned bright, lively, and cheerful.
Though he rarely showed affection even before, his growing shyness about it vanished—now, “I love you” overflowed daily.
And—
‘…’
Once driven by physical desire, his gaze now burned with an intensity she’d never seen, unmistakably foreign.
She never voiced this unease.
Joking, “This feels like a dream,” might prompt, “How’d you know?”—waking her from this nightmare to a reality without him, a fear always lingering.
Ironically, what anchored her was an object symbolizing Yujin’s change.
“We’ve never tried matching couple rings, have we?”
With those words, he gently slipped a simple-designed ring onto her left ring finger.
When unease crept in, stroking that metal band felt like warmth emanated from it.
Likely an illusion, yet that warmth recalled the gentle breeze she felt hearing his first song.
‘Han Yujin loves you as you are—unchanged.’
Unresolved anxiety.
Self-loathing for her past actions.
Happiness sprouting like seedlings despite it all.
Unaware it fortified her, Zia, lost in these jumbled emotions, raised her arm to shield her eyes from the warm light.
Creak.
“What? Still sleeping?”
A warm voice reached her ears just then.
Though the words suggested surprise, the playful undertone revealed he knew she was awake.
Silently brushing off lingering unease with sleep’s remnants—
“Get up. We’ve got somewhere to go today.”
As the voice neared, an unexpected sensation hit.
A familiar savory scent followed.
Startled, Zia bolted upright.
‘Ah, today…’
She recalled the date.
“Figured you’d forget. You’ve been so busy lately, Zia. It’s okay—I remembered. I might forget other things, but not this. Up, let’s go.”
Led by Yujin’s gentle grip, Zia felt her unease melt away like snow.
Even when sleep-deprived or hoarding affection, Yujin rose early each year to cook for her.
This year’s consistency banished her chaotic fears, leaving only joy.
Soon, the source of the savory aroma filled the house.
Not the white broth with sliced rice cakes of Seollal, but a clear, yellow broth with dark green seaweed—a different Korean tradition.
Today marked the midpoint of the Seollal holiday.
A day of children’s Sebae greetings echoing around, but also—
“Happy birthday, Zia-ya.”
Her birthday.
***
More people than you’d think overlook their own birthdays.
‘Starting with me.’
As a workaholic, I’ve often realized mine passed only thanks to fans’ gifts.
As you age and life gets busy, it’s not rare to remember others’ birthdays but forget your own.
Zia’s case, though, is different.
It’s akin to how I erase holidays from my mind.
She said her orphanage often bundled birthdays into one day each month.
‘Never on her actual birthday, January 29th.’
So, she deliberately wiped it from her memory.
I learned this the winter I entered my senior year of high school, when I first cooked seaweed soup around that time.
‘If I’d known sooner, I’d have made it the year before too.’
Ironically, I never ate seaweed soup on my birthday until I made it for her—then started myself.
“When I first ate it, I couldn’t tell if it was seaweed soup or just seaweed water.”
“That was my first try, so it happened. And you ate it fine…”
“Only because it was my first birthday seaweed soup. Well… not really the first, but that’s how I remember it.”
This story, starting when my twenty-year-old cooking hit edible levels, flowed again this year.
‘It broke my heart the first time I heard it.’
Realizing she could voice it without just pain made it feel normal.
I hadn’t heard this pre-regression, but this year, thankfully, it continued.
‘Probably hear this yearly ribbing from now on.’
And the sincerity from Zia to follow.
“Thanks, always.”
“No problem.”
A brief silence followed my reply.
Then Zia’s upbeat question broke it.
“So, where are we going? And when did you practice driving like this?”
Her tilted head from the passenger seat, looking at me, was pretty cute.
“It’s a secret. Suhyuk taught me.”
“Suhyuk? He’d drive himself, not teach you…”
Not a lie.
Just the thirty-year-old Suhyuk, not the twenty-year-old.
‘That was the first and last time Suhyuk cursed me out.’
‘Gonna kill someone driving like that—quit if you can’t do better,’ or something like that.
That Spartan training, akin to my producing recordings, ingrained safe driving.
“You pick up stuff watching over the shoulder. Wasn’t as hard as I thought.”
Zia won’t ask Suhyuk directly, but I covered my bases.
“The boss said that’s the most dangerous mindset…”
Zia muttered, gripping the handle above.
Suhyuk had warned me of that too.
It was just a quip—any reckless phase passed safely long ago… I think.
“Both hands on the wheel, right…? Not using both feet…?”
Unaware I’ve driven for nearly a decade, Zia stayed anxious, clinging to the handle.
Yet the car moved smoothly, easing her fears.
She let go only as we neared our destination.
“Wait, are we going there?”
Though still on the road, Zia seemed to guess the secret spot.
The sign we passed named the city of our childhood.
Her spotting it was natural.
Since the orphanage where Zia grew up closed after my military service, only one place here held meaning for us.
The small lot near the school where we first met—nothing else remained.
“If it’s there, why keep it secret?”
As Zia said.
I knew she’d figure it out.
But the secrecy had a reason.
‘If asked why, I’d have no answer.’
Our school memories mostly formed there, so it held meaning.
The issue? Distance.
A three-hour one-way trip.
Leaving early avoided heavy traffic, but the holiday added thirty minutes.
Was enduring that worth it without reason? Not really.
Yet, a reason to come existed.
‘Hotel suite, a new travel spot… all nice.’
But where else could I place a new ring over the couple ring on Zia’s left ring finger?
‘Finally doing it…’
My gift for her birthday this year was a proposal.