In Bloom

Spring

The following week, Hana visited Jimin's tree every day. Even though the springtime meant fickle weather, she dutifully appeared, rain or shine. She did most of the talking, filling him in on her life, her fears, her plans. And each day, Jimin felt a little more comfortable being close to her, moving from his secluded high branches to lower ones. By the end of the week, he sat at the edge of her blanket, listening intently as she told her stories and munched on her strawberry mochi.

She was beautiful, for sure. Jimin never got tired of looking at her raven hair gently blowing in the breeze, of listening to her voice, of gazing at her face, no matter the expression. She would usually smile, her genuine looks of joy warmed him more than any ray of sun. Even her eyes, the color of storm clouds, were tinged with warmth when she smiled.

But there was also a melancholy about her. She tried hard to cover it up with cheer, mostly for his benefit. But there were times when her smile was more of a bitter grimace, and these moments sent pangs through Jimin's chest in a way he had rarely experienced since he died.

He made a conscious effort to get genuine smiles out of her, he began counting them and playing a game with himself in which he tried to beat his own record of genuine smiles-per-visit. It was very gratifying.

Just as it became routine to see her, however, there came a day where she didn't come as usual. Jimin tried to convince himself that he wasn't disappointed, but as he sat in human form on the highest branch, keeping watch for her yellow sun hat bobbing up and down on the hike up the cliffs, for a wash of black hair in the breeze, there was no denying his loneliness.

He made excuses for her, she was probably sick or busy. But thinking about what she might be doing only made him miss her more.

When the sun began to set, Jimin resigned himself to the fact that she wouldn't come that day. It's okay, he told himself. You're used to solitude. You like being alone.

But then he sensed it. She was there. Today, she was dressed entirely in black, no hat, no blanket, moving unsteadily in his direction. He immediately dove to a lower branch, and in closer proximity, her emotions filled him up, swirled inside him like a typhoon. This was despair, regret, sorrow.

She made it to the base of the tree and crumpled like a paper doll. Her body wracked with sobs. She curled into a tiny ball, and Jimin wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms. To run his fingers through her hair and pat her back until she fell asleep.

He settled for kneeling by her side, willing the chilly breeze to instead warm her up, willing the fragrance of the cherry blossoms to relax her, willing the rustling of the branches to cover up her sounds of anguish. At the same time, though he hadn't done so in many long years, Jimin parted his lips and began to sing a soft, lilting tune in Korean, one his mother used to sing:

Just as there are many stars in the clear sky,

There are also many dreams in our heart.

There, over there, that mountain is Baekdu Mountain

Where, even in the middle of winter days, flowers bloom.

His sweet tenor reached Hana's ears and she slowly calmed down. Her breathing became even and deep, and sleep overtook her.

Jimin fell silent. He smiled, thinking of his kind mother, humming "Arirang" as she bent over a pot of seaweed soup. She could barely hold a tune, but it was her favorite song. He wished he had made it back from Japan to see her again. To hold her in his arms. Instead, he was sure, she had looked like Hana did now. Like a broken woman.