SANA
I couldn't stop thinking about him.
Even as I walked home, the rain still clinging to my clothes and hair, his words echoed in my mind. "Days that make you feel like the rain is the only one who understands."
Who says something like that to a stranger? And why did it feel like he was speaking to me?
The orange he'd handed me was still in my hand, small and slightly bruised. I turned it over and over in my palm, as if it held answers to questions I didn't even know how to ask. Or more like, didn't want to think about. I should have thrown it away – it was just an orange. But somehow, it felt like a piece of him. Holding it made me feel less…alone.
For as long as I could remember, I'd been good at hiding how I felt. Smiling when I wanted to cry, laughing when I wanted to scream. It was a skill born out of necessity, a shield against a world that seemed intent on asking too much of me.
But when I looked at Ji-Hoon, it was like he could see right through me. And worse, it was like I could see right through him, too.
It scared me.
And it thrilled me.
The rain had stopped by the time I reached my apartment, but the storm inside me was just beginning.
…
I didn't sleep that night. I tried – laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, counting seconds until dawn – I almost always did that, but that night it was for a different reason. A different person. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. That soft, tired smile. Those eyes that held so much than they let on.
By morning, I'd convinced myself it was nothing. A chance meeting. A passing moment I'd overthought. Because that's what I did. Overthink. Over feel. Over everything.
But the next day, I found myself back at the park.
I told myself it was just for a walk. I like this place anyway. But deep down, I knew I was looking for him.
The Park was quieter this time. The children from before replaced by dogs' walkers and joggers. I wandered aimlessly, pretending I wasn't scanning every corner, every bench, every tree. And just when I was about to give up, I saw him.
He was sitting on the same bench where the kids have been the day before, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground like it held all the answers from the universe.
I hesitated. Should I approach him? What if he didn't remember me? What if he did? Before I could decide, he looked up – and our eyes met.
His expression softened, and he smiled. Not the bright, animated smile I'd seen, but a quieter one. Warmer. Like he was glad I was there.
"Back for the show?" he asked, his voice teasing but gentle.
I laughed, the sound awkward but genuine. "I didn't see the oranges this time."
He chuckled, gesturing to the empty place beside him. "Take a seat. I'll see what I can do."
I hesitated for a moment before sitting down, careful to leave a small gap between us. The Park was quiet. The sounds of the city fading into the background.
"Funny seeing you here again," I said, trying to sound casual. He tilted his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Is it? Or where you looking for me?"
My cheeks burned, and I quickly looked away. "Don't flatter yourself."
He laughed softly, a sound that was warm and disarming. "Alright, I'll let it slide. For now."
There was a brief pause, comfortable but charged with unspoken words. I turned the orange over in my hand, the one I hadn't been able to let go of since yesterday.
"Do you always juggle for strangers in the park?" I asked, breaking the silence.
He shrugged, leaning back against the bench. "Only when the audience is worth it."
"And what makes someone worth it?"
He looked at me then, his gaze steady and more serious than I expected. "When they can see past the act."
His words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. I felt exposed, like he was looking beyond my surface and seeing everything I tried so hard to hide.
"I don't know what you mean," I said quietly, my voice betraying me.
"Don't you?" His tone was gentle, almost curious.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
Instead, I looked at the orange in my hand. "You gave this to me yesterday," I said, changing the subject.
He smiled faintly. "Consider it a souvenir."
"From what?"
"From the moment we met," he said simply.
The way he said it – so matter-of-fact, like it was the most natural thing in the world – made my chest ache in a way I couldn't explain.
"You are strange", I said, shaking my head with a small smile.
He laughed, the sound lighter this time. "Takes one to know one."
…
As the conversation continued, I found myself opening up in ways I hadn't expected. We talked about small things at first – the weather, the park, the little quirks of life – but there was an undercurrent to our words, a feeling that we were saying more than what was spoken. In spite of saying so much, we didn't talk about ourselves. Our age, what we do in life, things to know more about each other.
When I finally stood to leave, the sun was beginning to set, casting the park in a golden glow. I spent my whole day actually talking to him. And I loved it.
"Will I see you here again?" I asked, surprising myself with the question.
He smiled, that same quiet smile that seemed to hold a thousand untold stories. "Maybe."
And as I walked away, the orange still in my hand, I realized I was hoping for "yes".