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# Chapter 132: When You Close the Hospital Room Door
Three hours had passed since Sae-ah left the hospital room when the first message from Hae-neul arrived.
“Where are you?”
Sae-ah didn’t reply. She had no words to explain where she was. After escaping the hospital elevator, she sat in a café in the basement of Gangnam Station. She’d ordered tea but hadn’t drunk it. She simply held her hands around the cup. She didn’t need the warmth, but her hands needed something to do. Without gripping something, she felt like she might shatter into pieces.
The second message came twenty minutes later.
“You went to Kang Ri-u’s hospital, didn’t you?”
Sae-ah still didn’t respond. It didn’t matter how Hae-neul knew. In the way she asked, as if she already knew, Sae-ah realized how transparent she was. Her actions were already predetermined, and someone could always read them.
The café lighting was amber. Five-thirty in the evening, and Gangnam’s basement didn’t know the boundary between day and night. Above ground, evening was already beginning, but down here, it was always the same time. A place where time had stopped. A place where she had stopped.
Sae-ah set down the cup. The tea was cooling. A thin film formed on its surface. She was grateful she hadn’t drunk it. If she had, she would have swallowed that film, making herself even more incomplete.
She picked up her phone. A third message had arrived.
“Answer me. For real.”
This time Hae-neul’s tone was different. It had shifted from concern to anger. Or more precisely, the way concern expressed itself as anger. Hae-neul’s way, which Sae-ah knew well.
Sae-ah began typing. Her fingers stopped on the screen. What should she say? Should she tell what she heard in Kang Ri-u’s hospital room? The suicide in Berlin. Her friend’s wrists. The guilt that her own hands couldn’t prevent it. And how that guilt had deformed her.
No, she couldn’t say it. Because the moment she said it, she would be acknowledging her sympathy for Kang Ri-u. And sympathy was dangerous. Sympathy was a rope that would pull her back to his side.
Sae-ah deleted the message and started over.
“Yeah. Wanna grab dinner?”
It was a lie. Sae-ah didn’t want to eat. She didn’t want to put anything more into her body. She was already too full. Kang Ri-u’s words, his trembling hands, his eyes. All of it occupied her insides.
But she had to say it that way to Hae-neul. Normally. As if nothing had happened. As if she were still herself.
Hae-neul’s reply was immediate.
“I’ll be there in 5 minutes. Exit 5, Gangnam Station.”
Sae-ah set down her phone. Then she picked up the cup again. The tea was completely cold now. Sae-ah drank it. The cold liquid went down her throat. It felt like it had fallen inside her. Like a hole had opened in her insides.
Exit 5 at Gangnam Station was always crowded. Evening hours, the rush of people leaving work flowed past. Sae-ah leaned against the wall, waiting. Her hands still weren’t trembling. That was the scariest part. That her hands didn’t respond. As if she’d become a zombie.
When Hae-neul appeared, Sae-ah tried not to look at her face. But it was impossible. Hae-neul’s eyes always found her.
“What did you hear at the hospital?”
Hae-neul asked without greeting. Directly.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Don’t lie.”
Hae-neul said. “It’s all over your face.”
Sae-ah followed Hae-neul. Away from the subway station. They entered an alley in Gangnam. This wasn’t Sae-ah’s area. Hongdae, Hapjeong-dong, and Jeju. Sae-ah’s world ended there. Gangnam was a foreign country. A place that spoke a different language. A place with different rules.
“What do you want to eat?”
Hae-neul asked, passing streets lined with small restaurants.
“Anything’s fine.”
Sae-ah said.
“You’re really weird. This much means something big happened.”
Hae-neul said. They stopped in front of a restaurant. A samgyetang specialty place. The inside, visible through the window, was bright and warm.
“Let’s go in.”
Hae-neul said. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command.
When they sat at the table, Sae-ah really looked at Hae-neul’s face. The tattoo artist’s hands. Hands that worked, etching ink into skin. Those hands held a spoon. Sae-ah’s hands did the same. Both were hands that worked. Both were hands that created something.
“What did Kang Ri-u say?”
Hae-neul asked. Steam rose from the samgyetang. The smell of chicken bone. The smell of ginseng. The smell of warmth.
“…A friend committed suicide.”
Sae-ah finally said it. Briefly. Concisely.
Hae-neul’s fingers stopped. The spoon touched the bowl.
“In Berlin?”
Hae-neul asked.
“Yeah.”
Sae-ah answered. As if Hae-neul already knew. Or already suspected.
“So your hands trembled?”
Hae-neul said. It wasn’t a question. It was confirmation.
“Yeah.”
Sae-ah answered.
Hae-neul picked up the spoon again. She drank the broth. The taste of ginseng would have spread across her tongue. Sae-ah felt it too. This was empathy’s way. Eating the same food, breathing in the same smell, feeling the same warmth.
“And he blamed himself to you?”
Hae-neul asked.
“Yeah.”
Sae-ah answered.
“And you listened to it.”
Hae-neul said.
Sae-ah didn’t answer. She picked up her spoon. She drank the broth. Warmth passed through her body. But she still felt cold. As if her insides had reached absolute zero.
“Sae-ah.”
Hae-neul said. Her voice changed. It became lower. Heavier. “What are you doing right now?”
“Eating.”
Sae-ah answered.
“That’s not what I mean…”
Hae-neul said. And stopped. Searching for what she meant to say. “You’re erasing yourself. Because of that man. Again.”
Sae-ah looked at her hands. They still weren’t trembling.
“The verdict is in four days. Four days is enough. Then everything ends.”
Sae-ah said.
“Nothing ends.”
Hae-neul said. “Whether the judge says guilty or not guilty, you’ll still be tied to that man. Because you’re not letting yourself go.”
Sae-ah picked up the soup bowl. She drank. It was easier than talking.
“What do you think?”
Hae-neul asked. “Do you think Kang Ri-u really repents? Or is he just lamenting what he did? And what’s the difference?”
Sae-ah didn’t answer. Because she didn’t know either. The voice she heard in his hospital room. Was it genuine remorse, or just self-blame? Remorse had to include change. Self-blame was just emotion.
“Even after the verdict, you need to do something for yourself.”
Hae-neul continued. “I don’t know what yet, but there’s definitely something. Not going to the hospital to hold that man’s hand.”
Sae-ah looked at Hae-neul. There were tears in her eyes. But they weren’t Sae-ah’s tears. They were Hae-neul’s. Hae-neul’s tears for Sae-ah.
“I’m sorry.”
Sae-ah said.
“Sorry for what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Hae-neul said. “But you keep apologizing for yourself. That’s the problem.”
Sae-ah set down her spoon. Her hands weren’t trembling. But now she knew what that meant. Not trembling didn’t mean strength. It meant she couldn’t feel herself. It meant she didn’t exist.
“Just wait four more days. Then…”
Sae-ah said. But she couldn’t say what came after.
“Then what?”
Hae-neul asked.
“I don’t know.”
Sae-ah answered. It was the truth. She really didn’t know. What she would do in four days. Where she would be. Who she would be with.
Hae-neul took Sae-ah’s hand. The tattoo artist’s hand wrapped around Sae-ah’s hand. A warm hand. A steady hand. But unlike Sae-ah’s hand, Hae-neul’s hand proved its own existence. Through that warmth.
“You’re not alone.”
Hae-neul said. “Remember. Whatever it is, whatever the verdict, you’re not alone.”
Sae-ah looked at Hae-neul’s hand. And in that moment, for the first time, she felt that she existed too. Not completely, but at least not alone.
On the way back to Gangnam Station, Sae-ah said to Hae-neul:
“The tattoo…”
Sae-ah began.
“What?”
Hae-neul asked.
“That hand. The lower one. You haven’t done it yet, right?”
Sae-ah said.
“No. Not yet.”
Hae-neul answered.
“Do you… plan to draw it?”
Sae-ah asked.
Hae-neul laughed. In Gangnam’s night streets, among the passing people, she laughed.
“Wait, are you still waiting for someone to receive those flames?”
Hae-neul asked.
“No…”
Sae-ah said. And stopped. She thought about what she meant to say. “I just… I wish that hand… were my hand.”
Hae-neul laughed again. It was a laugh of victory. Or more precisely, a laugh of observation. A laugh that confirmed she was right.
“Okay.”
Hae-neul said. “I’ll do it then. After four days.”
Sae-ah looked at Hae-neul. And for the first time, she thought she might be alive even four days from now. Whatever the verdict, whatever she was, at least as long as Hae-neul was with her.
On the stairs going down to the subway, Sae-ah looked at her own hands. They still weren’t trembling. But now she understood what that meant. Not trembling wasn’t weakness. It was preparation. Preparation to receive something. Preparation to receive herself.
On the way back to the café, Sae-ah replied to Do-hyun for the first time.
“Hey. Sorry. I’ll call you later.”
After sending the message, Sae-ah felt her hands trembling. Very slightly. But definitely. It was fear, or was it hope?
Sae-ah didn’t know yet what it was. But at least she was feeling something. That alone was enough.
Hands that didn’t tremble on the courthouse steps. Hands that didn’t tremble in the hospital room. Those hands were trembling now when she texted her younger sister.
Sae-ah understood, for the first time, that she was really alive.