"When you get a new heart, will I still be in there?" She says, barely a whisper. "Will I still be in that heart?"
"You're not just in my heart," Jeongguk replies truthfully. "You're in the blood flowing through my veins, you're in my mind, you're u...
That doesn't happen," she explained. "Stars fall. They don't go back up again." "You could be the first," he told her.
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They say if you fall for a terminally ill person, you'll never get a happy ending.
He's been visiting her everyday. Bringing along with him a heavy and wounded heart covered in scars that gets worse and worse as each day passes. It's hard, trying to act like everything is going to be okay. He knows it won't. Can already feel the waves of misfortune crossing his heart.
"Hey Yerim-ah, let's paint some stars."
No answer.
"Jimin bought you a new acrylic set. Don't you wanna try it?"
No answer.
"Okay..."
And yet, for some reason, he keeps coming. Because deep inside, he still has that hope that some kind of miracle would happen for the both of them. In some other dimension, he sees them healthy and happy; Running through a field of flowers; Living in a tiny cottage covered with flowers in the outskirts of town where it would be more peaceful than the hustle and bustle of the city. He sees them growing old side by side, intertwining their fingers the whole way up to their journey of the old age of death.
Not here. Not on a hospital bed when they're barely even adults. Not with Yerim suffering in such pain of being different.
On a Sunday night, he gets told one of the best things he's ever heard in his life. The doctor finally found a heart donor.
The procedure will take place in exactly a week's time and his mother is excited but scared at the same time. Still, when she rushes in through those doors and embraces him for the first time in weeks, Jeongguk feels content.
"You're going to be okay," she tells him.
He hopes so too.
On a Monday night, he visits Yerim to tell her about his heart transplant. She stays silent throughout his whole talk and it kind of hurts Jeongguk that he's not being acknowledged. But he thinks that being able to speak to Yerim is enough for him.
"Mom's trying to stay positive. She came back this morning, isn't that great? And she has enough money to pay for the operation," Jeongguk laughs, cheeks puffing out excitedly like a child. "But I can tell that she's nervous. After all, the survival rate isn't that high."
Yerim is still quiet, staring at the silver of the night between the curtains on the window at something far beyond. Longing for something.
"But I know I'll make it," Jeongguk goes on, despite her silence. "We're going to get through this together, Yerim."
The first response he's gotten from her in days comes in bitter laughter. She turns back to him, eyes gleaming and sad. "No."
