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# Chapter 40: What Fingers Say
Kang Riou arrived in exactly nine minutes and forty-seven seconds.
Seah saw him from behind the counter. The way he stepped out of the black BMW, passing through the convenience store’s automatic doors—it was deliberate. An attempt to look casual. Which made it all the more noticeable. A twenty-seven-year-old man stepping out of a luxury sedan at 1:49 AM. Gangnam clothes. Gangnam face. Gangnam stride. Under the convenience store fluorescent lights, he was foreign. Like a spot-the-difference puzzle where everything was slightly wrong.
“You okay?”
Kang Riou asked as he approached the register. His voice was calm, but his eyes were scanning Seah. From her face to her hands. Like a doctor examining a patient.
Seah didn’t answer. Instead, she looked at his hands. Those warm hands he’d mentioned. Now they were in his pockets.
“Shift over?”
“Three more hours.”
“Then leave.”
Kang Riou said it. Not a question. A statement.
“I can’t. There’s still work.”
Seah answered. That was a statement too. A small one. But small things carry the most weight—like a pebble dropped into a vast lake.
Kang Riou stepped closer. To the edge of the counter. His hand came out of his pocket. A warm hand. He placed it on the counter. Close to Seah’s hand. Not touching, but close enough. That proximity itself was a message.
“Seah. What are you doing right now?”
“Working.”
“No. You’re telling me something. What is it?”
Seah looked at the items on the counter. Cigarettes. A lighter. Gum. An energy drink. Everything in the convenience store was waiting for someone. Waiting to be picked up. Otherwise, they meant nothing. That’s why convenience stores were sad. Everything existed only to be consumed.
“I’m telling you to look away from me.”
Seah said it. Truth. She spoke truth for the first time.
Kang Riou’s face changed. Almost imperceptibly. But Seah sensed it. His eye corners dropped five millimeters. His jaw tightened by one millimeter. His breathing lengthened by 0.3 seconds. Seah was the kind of person who didn’t miss those things. That’s why she could make music. And that’s why she suffered.
“Why?”
One word. The weakest question Kang Riou could ask.
“Haeul said it. That I’m slowly disappearing. Starting with my fingers, and eventually, all of me. And I think she’s right.”
Seah said it. Then she raised her hand. A trembling hand. Still trembling.
“That’s not my responsibility. That’s your choice. You signed a contract. You hung up on me. You texted me.”
Kang Riou said it. His voice changed. From warmth to coldness. The moment Seah sensed that shift, something broke. She didn’t hear the sound of breaking, but the sensation was clear.
“Yeah. I chose it. And that choice is killing me.”
Seah said.
“Then make a different choice.”
Kang Riou said it. As if it were simple. As if one choice could overwrite another.
“What choice?”
Seah asked.
Kang Riou didn’t answer. Instead, his hand moved across the counter toward Seah’s. A warm hand. It grasped her hand. A warm hand holding a trembling one. And in that moment, as if by magic, the trembling stopped.
Fingers don’t lie, they say. But fingers also tell the biggest lies. Wrapping you in warmth, deceiving you with safety, disguising themselves as love.
“I’ll protect you. From everything.”
Kang Riou said. His voice was warm again. As if nothing had happened.
Seah looked at her hand. Her hand wrapped in his. The image looked like a prison to her. A beautiful prison. A warm prison. But a prison nonetheless.
“Kang Riou.”
Seah said.
“Let go of my hand.”
He didn’t.
“Please.”
Seah said again. This time, it was a plea.
“Why? You don’t like this?”
Kang Riou asked. Something flickered in his eyes. Hurt. Or anger. Seah couldn’t tell. They were the same color.
“It’s not that I don’t like it. I’m scared.”
Seah said. It was the truth.
“Of what?”
“Of you. And me. And everything we’re doing.”
Kang Riou released her hand. Suddenly. As if it had turned hot. Seah’s hand floated in the air again. And began to tremble once more.
“What do you need then?”
Kang Riou asked. His voice was flat now. Emotionless. Or maybe it had so much emotion that it sounded flat.
Seah didn’t answer. She didn’t know herself. What she needed. What would help. What would save her.
“Do you hate me now?”
Kang Riou asked.
“I don’t know.”
Seah said.
“Is that your answer?”
“Yeah.”
Kang Riou stepped back from the counter. One step, two steps, three steps. Then he walked toward the convenience store’s automatic doors. Seah watched his back. Gangnam clothes. Gangnam stride. And Gangnam sadness.
“Why did you hang up on me?”
Kang Riou asked, standing before the automatic doors. Without turning around.
“Haeul said you were controlling me. And calling it love.”
Seah said.
“What does Haeul know?”
Kang Riou said. His voice was cynical.
“She’s my friend. She knows me better than you.”
Seah said.
Kang Riou was silent for a long time. Standing before the automatic doors. As if deciding whether to pass through them. But the decision seemed already made.
“In Berlin, I quit piano. Because of my father. Because I got third place. And that third place ruined my life. But I know now. It wasn’t because of third place. It was because I couldn’t forgive my father. And that unforgiveness killed me.”
Kang Riou said. Still not turning around.
“So?”
Seah asked.
“So I wanted to protect you. I didn’t want to hurt you like my father hurt me. But I realize now that became a different kind of hurt. The same way.”
Kang Riou said.
Seah said nothing.
“I’m sorry.”
Kang Riou said.
Then he passed through the automatic doors. Outside was dawn. An April dawn. Seoul’s dawn. The dawn of a street overlooking the Han River. Kang Riou walked into that dawn. His silhouette grew smaller. Darker.
Seah looked at the world left behind at the counter. Cigarettes. A lighter. Gum. An energy drink. Everything was the same. As if nothing had happened. But as if everything had.
The break room’s fluorescent light still buzzed. The one someone had fixed. That light kept coming. Endless light. Light waiting for someone.
Seah picked up her phone. She texted Kang Riou.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry first.”
But she didn’t send it. She deleted the message. And texted someone else. Haeul.
“You free next week?”
Haeul’s reply came instantly.
“Anytime. What did you do?”
“I have something to tell you.”
“Good. But seriously, what’s up with you? Call me.”
Seah called. Haeul picked up on the first ring. She probably wasn’t sleeping. Because of Seah.
“Hey.”
Haeul said.
“Yeah.”
Seah said.
“What are you doing?”
Haeul asked.
“At the convenience store. Still working.”
Seah said.
“What about Kang Riou?”
Haeul asked.
“He left.”
Seah said.
“You came to your senses. Good job.”
Haeul said.
At that moment, tears formed in Seah’s eyes. It was unexpected. She thought she wasn’t in a state to cry, but tears always come unexpectedly. Like the trembling of fingers. The body knows things the mind hasn’t learned yet.
“Seah? Are you crying?”
Haeul asked.
“No.”
Seah lied.
“Don’t lie. You’re not a crier. So why are you? What are you doing? You don’t deserve to cry.”
Haeul said. It was contradictory. Don’t cry, and you don’t deserve to cry. But that was the language of love. Love is only expressed within contradiction.
“Kang Riou… said he was sorry.”
Seah said. Her voice shook.
“Yeah. Then you’re done. That’s all.”
Haeul said.
“It’s not all. I’m still alone.”
Seah said.
“Exactly. That’s why you can live. Being alone is the freest thing.”
Haeul said.
Seah raised her hand. A hand that wasn’t trembling. A hand that wasn’t trembling anymore. Like the fluorescent light someone had fixed. Fixed through someone else’s hands.
“I think I’ll do something when I get home.”
Seah said.
“What?”
Haeul asked.
“Sing.”
Seah said.
“Are you crazy?”
Haeul said. Laughter in her voice.
“Yeah. I’m crazy.”
Seah said.
They didn’t speak anymore. The call was still connected, but there were no words. Silence. That was the biggest conversation.
3 AM. The convenience store was quiet. Someone would come in. Someone would leave. The process would repeat. The world keeps turning. It doesn’t stop. No one stops. Only death stops.
Seah returned to the counter. She arranged the products with her hands. Hands that weren’t trembling. Those hands were still warm. The warmth Kang Riou’s hands had left behind remained. Until that warmth faded completely, Seah would work at this counter. And after it faded—what would Seah become? She didn’t know yet.
But she wanted to know. For the first time, she wanted to know.