Words Left Unsaid

You're not alone

Moon Young pressed her foot down on the accelerator, her nails digging in to the steering wheel to distract herself from glancing back at Gang Tae on her rearview mirror. Once she was confident that enough distance had passed that he would be out of sight, she pulled over on the side of the road.

She had stormed off in a rush, not adjusting the driver's seat before she left. The driver's seat which he had been in a short while ago. He was much taller than her, so adjustments were needed for her to drive comfortably. Was she imagining that the seat was still warm from him? She took some time to raise the height of the seat, bring the seat forward and align the rearview mirror to her eye level.

There was something so domestic about him and her using the same car, them driving somewhere, anywhere, together, be it a convenience store to buy chips or a journey to the top of a mountain, sharing the car keys among them, adjusting the seat when it was the other person's turn to drive ... as if they were part of a set. She was shocked at how this simple action of adjusting a car seat suddenly fuelled her inner turmoil.

There were some things that she would never in a million years admit to others, for fear of looking pathetic. To the outside world, it appeared that Go Moon Young was all about grandiose, luxury and excitement. But in her loneliest moments, when she finally had a slice of toast after days of not eating anything, too numb to be hungry, the truth would seep out of her skin and permeate the walls.

On the days that she was too weak to hide it, she would break under the strength of her terrible truth.

And the truth was this: all Moon Young longed for was warmth, companionship, someone to rely on. On some days it was a feeling in the back of her mind of always missing something. On other days the craving for warmth was unbearable, all-consuming and she was practically starving for it. Be it subtle or gripping, the longing for warmth was always there.

She wanted to share her life, her thoughts, her things, her days, with a special someone. Doing everyday, mundane things that the whole world took for granted but which had never been part of her reality. Perhaps her special someone could teach her how to cook, she would be no help at all but she could wash dishes until she finally mustered the courage to try making a simple meal herself. They could argue the whole night about where to order takeout from, before finally giving up and having instant noodles. They could fall asleep on the couch in the middle of a boring movie. They could visit an amusement park, and try their hand playing the silly games and maybe win a prize.

Moon Young's parents were very wealthy, and as an only child she had inherited enough to live comfortably without ever publishing another book. But having all these things to herself was no fun at all. And money could never buy the kind of life she craved: a life full of warmth, the kind of life she had accepted early on that she may never have a chance of experiencing.

Until him. Until she met him again, all these years later, and looking into his eyes she was pulled, inexplicably, into his orbit. It was madness, it was beyond her control, it was something she could not describe in words. In the early days of this madness she had explained it to herself the only way she knew how: he was pretty, she liked pretty things; therefore, she wanted him.

It was becoming abundantly clear to her that what she felt for him was all a lot more complicated than that.

She didn't know what this feeling was, she had never felt this way before. She only knew that she wanted to share everything in her whole wide world with him, all of it. If only he would take it. If only he would take her.

Pull yourself together, Moon Young, she told herself harshly, lifting her eyes to the car's roof to hold back the tears. She would not break down now. She was angry, not hurt. To be hurt means you are weak. To care what someone else thinks means you are weak. And she was not weak. Rage, anger, irritation — that's what she should be feeling. She thought back to him callously pushing her arm away, as if she meant nothing. Yes, that's right — she should be angry at that coward.