flicker of flame

7. The distance between us

**Three Months Later...**

Time had passed in a blur, and three months felt like a dream slipping through Vyn's fingers.

One bright morning, the sun kissed him awake, its rays warm against his skin. He rubbed his eyes, shuffled into the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of water. As he drank, his eyes fell on an open, empty diary lying on the table. The cover was brown, wrapped in smooth leather. It was a simple thing, yet it called to him.

He picked it up, feeling its weight in his hands, and set it back down on the table. Without thinking much about it, he headed to his gym room and began running on the treadmill.

But no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t escape his thoughts. Memories of Fathima flooded his mind—her smile, her voice, the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him. Sometimes, these memories made him smile, but more often, they brought a sting of pain, a longing that he couldn’t shake.

After his workout, he returned to the table and picked up the diary again. This time, he opened it and began to write.

**Dear Diary,**

It's Vyn. I don’t usually write in diaries, but today, I felt the need to put my thoughts somewhere. I never thought I’d fall in love again, but Fathima... she’s different. She’s more than I ever imagined, and I love her deeply.

You know what? She’s cute without her hijab, but when she wears it, she’s something else ,so beautiful it takes my breath away. And those eyes of hers, they do something to me. They don’t just look at me, they melt me like chocolate. I miss her so much.

I proposed to her, you know. I asked her to marry me. But she made me promise to find her within a year. If Luke hadn’t called that day, I might have forgotten who I am—ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ—because when I’m with her, nothing else matters.

I want to live a simple life with her. I dream of us having five children, living in a house by the river. I picture us rowing a boat together, fishing with our kids, having barbeque parties, sharing our love story as a bedtime tale. I can see myself making silly mistakes just to hear her scold me, and then hugging her from behind to make it up. I want to take her on late-night dates every weekend until the day I die.

Will all this happen, Diary?

Oh, I forgot to tell you her name. Her name is Fathima. She’s a photographer, living in India. She’s Muslim, and she has long, black wavy hair that I adore. I love you, Fathima.

—Vyn

Vyn closed the diary and laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His dog jumped up beside him, and Vyn hugged him tightly, whispering, “Mom’s going to come home to you soon.” It felt strange but right to call Fathima “Mom,” and he smiled at the thought.

Meanwhile, in India...

Fathima was living her life with quiet determination. She spent her days praying fervently, teaching Quran to children, cooking for the mosque, and taking care of the surroundings with a devotion that puzzled everyone. People wondered why she was so dedicated, but no one dared to ask. Despite the questions in their minds, they respected her for the perfection and sincerity she brought to her work. Deep down, Fathima was waiting, heart and soul, for Vyn.

Back in Korea...

Lena had thrown herself into her work, her art becoming her sanctuary. She shut herself in her studio, focusing intensely on her creations, pushing all thoughts of Vyn and the other Purple Ocean members out of her mind. She had convinced herself that she had moved on.