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# Chapter 108: The Way Fire Goes Out
Sae-ah had to learn what night was all over again.
Jeju’s night was different from Seoul’s. Seoul’s night was filled with neon signs and fluorescent lights. The white glow of a 24-hour convenience store. The yellow lights of taxis. The artificial sunlight eight floors below Gangnam Station. All of it rejected the darkness. But Jeju’s night was different. Jeju’s night embraced the darkness. And within that darkness, it held the stars.
Sae-ah lay on the roof of the house.
After Do-hyun calmed their mother and went to his room, Sae-ah quietly got up and left the master bedroom. Mother was already asleep. Her face was peaceful—as if something she’d been holding for a long time had finally been set down. Seeing that, Sae-ah moved through the kitchen and out onto the wooden veranda, then climbed onto the roof. Holding the rail. Carefully. As if she didn’t want the world to know she existed.
Stars appeared in the night sky. So many of them. The kind you couldn’t see in Seoul. So many that even if Sae-ah tried to count them one by one with her fingers, she couldn’t. They glimmered. Each at its own rhythm. As if someone with impossibly delicate, precise fingers were plucking invisible strings.
Sae-ah’s chest ached.
She couldn’t say exactly where it hurt. Her heart? Her lungs? Or somewhere deeper still? As if her entire body was a single wound. As if Sae-ah’s very existence was an open wound. And every time the night wind brushed past that wound, Sae-ah had to clench her teeth to keep from moving.
Do-hyun’s face came to mind.
That expression on his face when he was listening to her words. That expression had embedded itself in Sae-ah’s mind. Do-hyun wasn’t angry. He wasn’t hurt. He was crumbling. Like a wall that had held for so long suddenly collapsing in an instant. Like he was realizing that everything he’d built up was actually as thin as tissue paper.
“What do you do, noona? What do you want? What can you do?”
Sae-ah retraced her own words. Before Do-hyun could answer, Sae-ah herself had to answer. That was the right order. It was too cowardly to hurt someone and then wait to hear them say they were in pain.
Sae-ah lowered her eyes from the sky. She could see the landscape around the house. The neighbors’ homes. Old fences. And beyond them, Jeju’s sea visible between the gaps. Black water. Moving but soundless.
She remembered her mother entering the water.
When Sae-ah was young. When Mother was working as a haenyeo. Sae-ah had waited on the beach for her mother. Until Mother rose above the water in her black diving suit. And every time Mother came up, she made that sound. “Heuuuuuahhh—” That sound. It wasn’t simply the sound of breathing. It was the sound of being alive. The sound of that moment when you emerge from the darkness of the water and gulp air.
Sae-ah wasn’t sure if she had learned that sound. But she had been putting it into her songs. Every time. In every song.
“Noona?”
Do-hyun’s voice came from below.
Sae-ah sat up on the roof. Carefully. Do-hyun was looking up at her from beneath the roof. His face was barely visible in the darkness. His eyes were visible. Those eyes were not asleep.
“What are you doing?”
Do-hyun asked.
“Looking at the stars.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Are you cold?”
Do-hyun asked.
Sae-ah didn’t answer. Whether she was cold or not, she couldn’t tell. Perhaps she was. The night wind in Jeju was cold. But Sae-ah’s body didn’t seem to respond to the cold. As if her nerves were turned off.
“Come up.”
Sae-ah said.
Do-hyun didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the rail and climbed up. Carefully. But quickly. And he lay down beside Sae-ah. Beside her. No longer keeping distance between them.
They looked at the stars.
The stars continued to glimmer. Each at its own rhythm. Like each instrument in an orchestra maintaining its own note.
“What were you doing on the Han River bridge, noona?”
Do-hyun asked.
Sae-ah breathed slowly. She had known this question would come. But she hadn’t known how difficult it would be to answer.
“That person tried to kill us both. From the car into the Han River.”
Sae-ah said.
Do-hyun moved. He looked at her. In the darkness, his eyes seemed to grow larger.
“What did you do?”
Do-hyun asked.
“I grabbed the handle. And I turned the steering wheel. And we didn’t fall off the bridge. The car skidded to the side. But we didn’t die.”
Sae-ah said.
Do-hyun was silent for a long time. As if he needed time to process these words.
“Did you save us?”
Do-hyun asked.
“I didn’t save us. We saved ourselves. That person wanted to die. But I… I didn’t want to die yet. So.”
Sae-ah said.
“So?”
Do-hyun asked.
“So I grabbed the handle. That’s all.”
Sae-ah said.
The stars continued to glimmer. As long as that glimmering continued, Sae-ah and Do-hyun’s existence was proven. Like those stars that shone without moving, Sae-ah also lived without moving.
“Where is that person?”
Do-hyun asked.
“At the hospital. The police are guarding him. And I testified. About everything.”
Sae-ah said.
“So that person’s going to prison?”
Do-hyun asked.
“I don’t know. It depends on what the law decides.”
Sae-ah said.
Do-hyun looked back at the sky. At the stars. He seemed to try to count them. But eventually gave up. There were too many.
“Do you miss me, noona?”
Do-hyun asked.
Sae-ah understood what this question meant. Do-hyun had missed her. For a long time. Every night. Even as he saw Mother, even as he went to academy. He had missed her.
“Yeah. I miss you too.”
Sae-ah said.
“Really?”
Do-hyun asked.
“Really.”
Sae-ah answered.
Do-hyun’s hand found Sae-ah’s. In the darkness. On the roof. Beneath the starlight. His fingers slipped between her fingers. And held on. Like a child. As if Do-hyun still had the strength of a six-year-old.
Sae-ah’s chest ached again. But this time it was a different kind of ache. A good ache. The ache of healing. The ache that proved she was alive.
“Noona, don’t go away anymore.”
Do-hyun said.
“Okay. I won’t go.”
Sae-ah said.
“Really?”
Do-hyun asked.
“Really.”
Sae-ah answered.
The stars in the sky continued to glimmer. They had been shining for a long time. Even if no one asked. Even if no one watched. They continued to maintain their light. And someday, someone saw that light. Like the two people lying on Jeju’s roof.
When morning came the next day, Sae-ah cracked eggs in her mother’s kitchen.
That sound when the pan got hot. That smell when the egg spread. The way the yellow turned white as it cooked. Sae-ah hadn’t done such simple things in a long time. There had been no time in Seoul. Working at the convenience store, avoiding Gang Ri-u, reporting to the police. Everything was urgent. Everything was a crisis.
But in Jeju, there was time. Time to fry a single egg.
“Did you make rice?”
Mother asked. From the kitchen door. At a time when she should still be sleeping.
“Yeah. It’s in the rice cooker.”
Sae-ah said.
Mother looked at Sae-ah. She looked at Sae-ah’s hands. At those hands holding the pan handle. Mother’s eyes filled with some emotion. Sae-ah couldn’t tell if it was joy or sadness. Maybe both.
“Thank you.”
Mother said. And came into the kitchen.
Mother stood beside Sae-ah. She looked at Sae-ah and the pan. She watched the egg gradually cook. And she raised her hand. Over Sae-ah’s hand. Over the hand holding the pan handle.
“There’s warmth here.”
Mother said.
Sae-ah said nothing. She felt the warmth of her mother’s hand. That warmth was warm. But at the same time, it was cold. A haenyeo’s hands. Hands that had been in cold water for so long. But still warm. Because of life. Because of being alive.
“Mom.”
Sae-ah said.
“What?”
Mother asked.
“I think I know what I want to do.”
Sae-ah said.
Mother didn’t answer. Instead, she squeezed Sae-ah’s hand more tightly.
“I want to make music. But not music for other people to listen to. I want to make music for myself. Music that proves I’m alive.”
Sae-ah said.
Mother’s hand trembled. Very slightly. But Sae-ah felt it.
“Then do it.”
Mother said.
“How?”
Sae-ah asked.
“The way you fry eggs. The way you make rice. The way you live.”
Mother said.
Sae-ah understood those words. The way you turn fire on and off. The way morning comes and evening comes. The way you continue. Without stopping.
The egg on the pan was perfectly cooked. The whites had turned white, and the yolk was still yellow. Sae-ah lifted the pan from the fire. Together with Mother’s hand.
“Let’s eat.”
Mother said.
Sae-ah didn’t answer. Instead, she put the egg on a plate. And placed it on top of rice. And went with Mother to the table. Past the living room where Do-hyun was still sleeping. To the kitchen table.
The distance was short. But to Sae-ah, it felt like a very long journey. As if she were returning from a different world to this one. As if she were walking out from within fire into the light.
Mother and Sae-ah ate rice.
Without saying anything. Only the sound of spoons and chopsticks. The morning wind of Jeju flowing in through the kitchen window.
And Sae-ah realized something.
There were many ways for fire to go out. It could go out suddenly. It could go out quietly. But the most beautiful way for fire to go out was for a new fire to be lit.
Mother’s hand. Do-hyun’s hand. Her own hand. And holding the pan with those hands, making rice. Sae-ah felt that her fire was not going out.
Rather, it was becoming deeper. Becoming warmer. Becoming harder to bear.
When afternoon came, Sae-ah’s phone rang.
It was the first time since coming to Jeju. The sound of her phone ringing. Sae-ah ignored it for a while. As if the sound were coming from a different world. As if it had nothing to do with her.
But Mother looked at her.
“Answer it.”
Mother said.
Sae-ah picked up her phone. The name Haneul appeared on the screen. Haneul. Her best friend. The best friend she had abandoned.
Sae-ah pressed the answer button.
“Hello?”
Sae-ah said. Her voice barely came out.
“You crazy woman. How many times did I call you?”
Haneul’s voice came through. Loud. Filled with anger.
“I’m sorry.”
Sae-ah said.
“Sorry? Does sorry fix anything? What did that Gang Ri-u bastard do that the police got involved?”
Haneul shouted.
“I—”
Sae-ah started.
“I know. I know what he did to you. I saw the news. ‘Entertainment Executive Arrested on Assault Charges.’ Something like that. And the victim’s name isn’t your name, but I knew. It was you. That crazy bastard, what did he do?”
Haneul asked.
Sae-ah couldn’t answer. Haneul’s voice. Haneul’s anger. Haneul’s concern. Everything overwhelmed her.
“Sae-ah? You there?”
Haneul asked.
“Yeah. I’m here.”
Sae-ah said.
“Jeju?”
Haneul asked.
“Yeah.”
Sae-ah answered.
“When did you get there?”
Haneul asked.
“Yesterday.”
Sae-ah said.
“Yesterday? Yesterday? You’re insane. Did the police finish questioning you?”
Haneul asked.
“Yeah. All done.”
Sae-ah said.
“When are you coming back to Seoul?”
Haneul asked.
Sae-ah had never thought about this question. When she would return to Seoul. Or if she would return to Seoul at all.
“I don’t know.”
Sae-ah said.
“You don’t know? What are you doing right now? Frying eggs while I’m calling you.”
Haneul said.
Sae-ah was startled.
“What? How did you know about the eggs?”
Sae-ah asked.
“Your mom called me. Asked where you were. If you were okay. And told me you were frying eggs right now. That’s how I know.”
Haneul said.
Sae-ah’s eyes searched for Mother. Mother was looking at her. Without saying anything.
“Haneul…”
Sae-ah said.
“What?”
Haneul asked.
“I’m sorry. Really. I couldn’t tell you anything, and I ignored you…”
Sae-ah said.
“Yeah. We’ll talk about all that later. Rest in Jeju for now. You look really worn out. Even if your mom hadn’t said anything, I can tell from your voice. Rest. And when you come to Seoul, come to my shop. I have something for you.”
Haneul said.
“What?”
Sae-ah asked.
“A matchstick tattoo. I’ll put one on your shoulder. You already have one on your shoulder, right? I’ll put one above it. The two of us lighting a fire together.”
Haneul said.
Sae-ah couldn’t answer. Tears were coming. In Jeju’s kitchen. In front of Mother. While listening to Haneul’s voice.
“Okay.”
Sae-ah barely managed to say.
“Good. See you later then. And Sae-ah? You did well. Really. Reporting that crazy bastard. You did well.”
Haneul said.
The call ended.
Sae-ah put her phone down. Her hands were shaking. Mother embraced Sae-ah. Without words. And Sae-ah buried her face in Mother’s chest and cried. In Jeju’s bright afternoon. In the kitchen where the smell of eggs and rice still lingered.
Mother patted Sae-ah’s back. As if Sae-ah were still a child. As if Sae-ah still needed Mother’s protection. One last time.
“My daughter did well.”
Mother said. Above Sae-ah’s head.
And Sae-ah understood.
It wasn’t just about fire going out. There was also fire being lit. And the most important thing was that someone was standing beside it, keeping that fire alive together with you.
Mother. Do-hyun. Haneul. And someone she hadn’t met yet, but who was surely somewhere out there.
Sae-ah’s fire was not alone.