The Chance To Be With You [B1A4 Fanfiction]

Chapter 3: First Exchanges

Life continued on like normal after that conversation. I didn’t think too much about it and pretty much an hour after it happened, it was pushed down into the depths of my brain. I figured that I would never see the guy again and while he may have seen me working there before, that was the first time that he ever said something to me. Therefore, I didn’t expect it to ever happen again.  

          “How are your studies going?” Mom asked as soon as I entered her hospital room that day. “You aren’t slacking, are you?”

          “No,” I said with a gentle smile as I shook my head. “I’m not slacking. You know how hardworking I am, don’t you?”

          “I do, which is why I know that you would be one to work more hours and forget your studies,” she scolded. I leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head. I saw that her body was very frail and she seemed to have less energy than the other days. She must’ve noticed my staring. “I’m fine. It’s just the cold weather,” she said.

          “Alright,” I sighed.

          “Minyoung, why don’t you go home and get some proper rest? I feel sorry to have you take care of me when I haven’t ever taken care of you.”

          “What are you talking about?” I immediately asked. I knew where the conversation was heading and it was definitely one that I didn’t want to have. There wasn’t a need to talk about the past. It was a subject that I wanted to avoid no matter what.

          I didn’t like hearing my mother say she was sorry to me. I knew she was, but I still hated it. It probably came from the fact that it took her years to say it to me. She never told me that she was sorry to me whenever I was growing up. Whenever she missed my school festivals, whenever I would be the only one to not have a homemade lunch when I went on field trips, whenever I was rewarded in school, whenever I was bullied in school for being her daughter, she never said sorry. She never even knew and I highly doubted that she would remember any of it. I never wanted to hear sorry from her, it just made me remember those times even more.

          “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Mom said as she continued with the subject.

          “We don’t have to talk about this now,” I harshly said. I didn’t want to dive into it, I didn’t want to hear it, and if I had it my way, we would never speak of it again.

          Mom seemed to understand, for the first time, and let me be. I spent a couple of more hours with her before I left to go back home. I had work to do and I had exams the following week.

          “Minyoung, study hard,” she said when I left, “and I’m sorry.”

          I walked home slowly. I didn’t want to go home and study, and it was exactly like what Mom told me in the hospital, I had been neglecting my studies because I had taken up a couple of extra hours at the convenience store and at the restaurant. I promised myself that I was going to study, but I was in no mood to.

         As I walked home, I thought of my childhood. I don’t know why, but the thoughts suddenly came. I figured that it must’ve been because Mom kept profusely apologizing that night. When I reached the stairs that took me to the roof, I felt the tears on my cheeks. Since I’m not one to cry, I didn’t know why they suddenly started coming. Did I feel sorry for myself? Did I feel sorry for my mother? The feeling was strange, it was just like I was crying for no reason. I didn’t know how or why, I just knew that I was. I tried to wipe them away and to stop, but they kept coming.

          And that was when I heard it, the sorrowful guitar that played the mournful melody. The notes sounded like they were all being deliberately picked, and slowly at that. I slowly climbed the concrete stairs and saw him sitting there, on the wood platform that was on the roof.

          He was wearing a leather jacket with black ripped jeans. The acoustic guitar was sitting on his knees and his eyes were closed as he was lost in the melody, he was even swaying back and forth a little bit. That was when I noticed that he was singing. His voice was soft, smooth, and lovely. I found myself captivated by it. I wondered how such a person could have such a voice. The lyrics were sorrowful and spoke about missing someone. It was a song that I never heard before and I wondered if he self-composed it.

          The last node faded away and I watched him as he slowly opened his eyes. He didn’t say anything and just gently smiled at me. “Did you like the song?” he asked.

          “Um…yeah,” I said wiping my eyes. “It was good. Is it self-composed?”

          “Yeah,” he said with a simple nod of his head. It looked like he was proud of himself that someone at least recognized his work. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked suddenly sitting the guitar down next to him and standing up. “Have you been crying?”

          “No,” I immediately said. I tried to wipe my eyes and any type of remainder that would be left, but he was already standing in front of me, staring at my face. “Well then, goodnight.” I quickly tried to dismiss myself away and enter the room as swiftly as I could, but it didn’t work because he leaned against the door and prevented me from opening it. “I’m sorry, but could you please move?” I asked him.

          “Not until you tell me why you’re upset.”

          “Why do I have to tell you anything?” I asked turning and looking at him. I didn’t know him, I only saw him that one day in the convenience store. He and I had absolutely no relation to one another besides that one awkward conversation. Why did he think that he could just ask me what was going on and I would answer? I told no one anything. I hadn’t for practically twenty-one years.

          “You don’t,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders, “but I mean, I’m offering, if you want to talk it out.” He crossed his arms across his chest and stared at me with his intense eyes.

          “I’d rather not talk it out. That’s not meant to be mean,” I suddenly added. For some reason my mouth was talking without going through the filter in my brain. “I just don’t talk it out with anyone.”

          “Maybe you should. Maybe it would be good for you. If you keep it all inside, it may end up destroying you.”

          “Thanks for the tip, but no thanks,” I said. He had moved away from the door by then and was standing more off to the side. I safely put the key into the door and opened it. “Well then, goodnight.”

          “Goodnight,” he said with a smile that showed no signs of frustration or any other sort of anger at me for turning down his offer or being slightly hostile towards him. “Oh, what’s your name?”

          “My name?” I wondered. I didn’t know why he was suddenly asking for my name. Every word that came out of his mouth managed to surprise me. He was different in that way, being upfront about things, or at least more upfront than I was. But back then I was curious. Did he think that we were going to meet again?

          “Yeah, I’m Jung Jinyoung,” he said extending his hand for me to shake.

          “Jung Jinyoung,” I said repeating after him. I saw a pleased look on his face after I said his name. “My name is Minyoung.” I placed my hand into his and felt how soft it was. I noticed his slender fingers and the small callouses on his hand, probably due to playing the guitar.

          “Minyoung,” he softly said. “That’s a nice name.”

          And just like how he suddenly left the first time, he did it again. He backed away from the door with a smile and went over to pick up his guitar before leaving. I was stunned yet again.