༺Masterpiece༻

XXXVI :: Kin

"Guess who's back?" Jimin announced, striding into the room with his suitcase in tow. In his right hand, he waved a knitted jute bag with a flourish.

"Troublemaker number two," Antonella greeted him, offering a passive-aggressive hug. Despite the veneer of irritation, there was a warmth in her eyes. They had always shared a unique bond.

"Come on, my beloved," Jimin chuckled, dropping his suitcase at the foot of the sofa. "Why am I number two?"

"Because JK is number one," she replied, shooting me a playful look. Why was I suddenly the target?

Jimin's laughter rang out, a melodic sound that filled the room as he peeled off his socks. He acknowledged my presence with a smirk, an unexpected but welcome gesture.

"So, how's my man doing?" Jimin asked, nudging my shoulder lightly as he continued to smirk.

"Great. Everything's been really cool. How was your stay, Mr. Therapist?"

"Indeed, you had a splendid time while I was away," he replied, his smirk morphing into playful laughter. He shrugged off his long coat and hung it by the door.

As I turned to face him, my gaze was arrested by a single, vivid detail. Jimin was wearing a white shirt made of what appeared to be an old, yet exquisitely fine piece of imported cotton that retained its elegance. The white fabric, tinged with a faint yellow hue, stirred a distant memory.

"What are you looking at?" Jimin asked, glancing around as he brushed snow off his earmuffs. Tiny crystals clung stubbornly to the collar of his shirt.

I stepped closer, gently brushing away the remaining snow as I examined the intricate embroidery on his shirt. The craftsmanship was breathtaking; a yellow silk-threaded flower, bordered in red, adorned the fabric. The leaves, stitched in a different pattern, extended from the collar down to just below the chest pocket.

I marveled at the artistry, feeling an inexplicable connection to the design. "The embroidery is beautiful," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"Halmeom made it," Jimin replied softly.

"Beautiful," I repeated, almost in awe.

"Your halmeom can still create such exquisite work?" Antonella's surprise mirrored our own. It was astonishing to think of an elderly woman, over seventy, painstakingly crafting something so intricate.

"Halmeom told me this was made in the mid-1970s when our founder's granddaughter still lived with them. It was part of her birthday dress that Halmeom had stitched. After that day, the story goes that she ran away with a man she loved, and they never heard from her again."

Jimin's smile held a trace of nostalgic pain, a story woven with longing and loss. How many children have abandoned their elders for love? The question seemed unanswerable, a common but heart-wrenching reality. I could only hope she found happiness in her chosen path.

"How does it feel to be wearing a piece of your founder's beloved granddaughter's legacy?" Antonella teased, attempting to lighten the mood. Jimin paused, the question hanging in the air for a beat before he broke into laughter, his eyes crinkling in that familiar, disarming way. The sound of his laughter filled the room, easing the gravity of the moment and inviting us all into its warmth.

As the echoes of our shared amusement lingered, I couldn’t help but feel the depth of the connections between us—bonds forged through time, shared history, and the intricate threads of our intertwined lives.

Jimin, still smiling, responded, "It feels special, very special. But I'm not the only special one here." He kept his gaze on Antonella as he reached for the jute bag at his side, methodically pulling out its contents.