Carpe Noctem

Prima Luce

Life flashing before the eyes of a person moments away from death is a common trope in various works of fiction. And although overly familiar, it has recently been backed up by studies. Researchers call it Life Review Experience—a supercut of someone’s entire existence as a result of the human brain shooting into overdrive in the face of imminent danger.

Or so Ri Jeong Hyeok heard.

Then again, if LRE is indeed true, he is sure that this will be one of the few moments of impact that will play in his head before he passes away.

 
Yoon Se Ri.

For a while, he forgets that he is in the middle of a performance and nearly utters her name aloud.

There she is, sitting in the second row—third from the right aisle. Her long, black hair cascades like a dark curtain framing her face, and her eyes are as pensive as they were whenever she chooses to retreat in silence. She looks familiarly distant, and a few frown lines tell him that she’s older than twenty-six. But that means she’s neither a figment of his imagination nor a forlorn recollection.

That means she’s alive.

The last time he saw her was a decade ago—one fateful afternoon in the autumn of 2013. She was hiding behind the French windows of her unit back in Zürich as she watched him leave. He remembers how the skies were clear that day; people were out and about, walking around the Old Town wearing smiles on their faces as they basked in the amber sunlight. Somehow, he found such a pleasant sight plainly offensive.

How can everything seem right in the world when mine has just begun crumbling down? he wondered throughout the short journey from the century-old lodging to the airport.

His tempered anguish towards the universe continued to simmer even as he waited for the plane that was bound to take him back to Pyongyang. He hated the timing, the circumstances—everything that conspired to turn the odds against them. And it was superseded by worry the minute it registered in that hollow head of his that if he felt miserable for leaving, then it must be twice as devastating for the person he left behind.

Especially when she was barely holding on to her life.

That was what brought him to Rostov-on-Don, where he briefly stopped over to create one final gift in a desperate attempt to change her mind about dying—for good.

Because I had to try and talk you out of something for once, he wrote on a card that came along with the recording of the song he wrote exclusively for her. And now that he spotted her sitting in the audience, with her eyes focused at the center of the stage to watch the cellist he is accompanying this evening perform Tchaikovsky’s Valse Sentimentale, he realizes that he miraculously succeeded in doing so.

He abruptly lets out a breath he did not know he was holding in all the ten years that dragged past, and his shoulders give out a little just as relief washes over him. Her mere presence jumpstarts his heart, and the rush of blood subsequently spurs a warmth that gushes out from his chest to his limbs. The stiffness that burdened his hands mysteriously vanished, so much so that he asks himself if the uncomfortable sensation has always been purely psychosomatic. His fingers flit over the keys of the piano with reinvigorated grace, and as his ears become more attuned to the music, he plays the last piece in their repertoire with more passion, more intensity—in hopes that this time, she no longer finds it a bit uninspiring.

 
The applause of the crowd marks the end of their concert, and the sound of their crisp claps hurl him back to the present.

Not wanting the tears to fall from his glassy eyes, he carefully lifts his head to look at Seo Dan, who is already on her feet to express her appreciation to their audience with a bow. He follows suit, and it is only then that he catches her attention.

The surprise on her face doesn’t seem to fade even after the adulations have died down. She stares at him, and he recognizes the myriad of fleeting emotions that managed to force their way through her façade. Shock, disbelief, gratitude, happiness—the sudden surge brings her ashen face to life. And he cannot thank the heavens enough for keeping her safe, and for allowing him to see for himself that she’s alright.

 
From his peripheral vision, he notices Dan stealing a sideway glimpse at him to cue the encore. He nods, then sinks back into the cushioned piano bench and positions his fingers to strike the first notes of the second movement from François Francœur’s Cello Sonata in E Major. Towards the end, nonetheless, he figures that his hands apparently had other plans.

Instead of concluding their customary piece, he continues to play, therefore beginning a surreal transition to the shimmering opening melody of Ravel’s Gaspard de la Nuit. He immediately gets lost in the mesmerizing rhythm—like the man in the poem who was deeply enamored of the water nymph.

Of course, he isn’t oblivious to the fact that his partner is secretly taken aback by his uncharacteristic impulse. He would profusely apologize to Dan later. However, for now, he needs Se Ri to hear him perform this.

He wants her to know that he’s fulfilling his promise. And that he’s beyond thankful that she has likewise kept hers.

 
The climactic note hangs in the air, consequently haunting the patrons of the theatre. With the conclusion of the song, Jeong Hyeok had no other choice than to muster some courage and behold Se Ri’s gaze. He finds that she’s still looking at him with intent curiosity, unforgivingly probing into his soul perhaps to search for the remnants of the man she once fell crazily, stupidly, and hopelessly in love with—and then, ultimately discovering the emptiness he hides within.

Yet, to his wonder, she smiles to provide him the consolation he genuinely wished to give her back when she was in dire need of it. It’s enough to let hope spring in his heart—as though the first light of dawn is breaking his longest night.

And just like that—for a few heartbeats or so—everything is right in his world again.

•••

A/N: Thank you for reading the epilogue!

Until next time. And hopefully then, we can bravely seize the day.

RM