이 포스팅은 쿠팡 파트너스 활동의 일환으로, 이에 따른 일정액의 수수료를 제공받습니다.
# Chapter 144: A Promise in Fingertips
It was already 11 PM when Seo-ah arrived at Exit 8 of Gangnam Station. Her call with her mother had ended thirty minutes ago. Mom had repeated at the end, “Don’t meet that man,” and Seo-ah had answered, “Okay.” It was a lie. Or maybe it was the truth. She couldn’t tell herself. As Seo-ah came up from the eighth basement level of Gangnam Station, she looked at her hands. Her fingers trembled every three seconds. Rhythmic. Precise. As if someone had planted a clock inside her hands.
The night in Gangnam was different from Hongdae. It was quiet here. Too quiet to be frightening. There were people, but everyone moved quickly toward their destinations. No one strolled the streets. No one simply stood still. Everyone seemed to live under the compulsion that they had to arrive at predetermined places at predetermined times. That was Gangnam. Seo-ah searched for Kang Ryu’s office address. JYA Entertainment headquarters. A ten-minute walk from Gangnam Station. That was his workplace. But it was already 11 PM. The office would be closed.
Seo-ah texted Kang Ryu.
“I’m at Gangnam Station right now. Where are you?”
The reply came immediately. So quickly that it felt as though Kang Ryu had been waiting for her message.
“I’m at a café near Gangnam Station. Give me 10 minutes.”
Seo-ah decided to find the café Kang Ryu had suggested. It was located in a quiet alley one block away from Gangnam Station. Modern interior. Minimalist furniture. Quiet background music. The café was nearly empty when Seo-ah entered. It was late. Someone was sitting by the window. It was Kang Ryu.
He arrived exactly ten minutes later. He hadn’t lied. Or perhaps he’d already been there. Waiting for Seo-ah. Picking up his phone, putting it down, repeating the motion. Making his fingers tremble.
“Hey.”
Kang Ryu spoke. Those two words contained several months of time. The trial. Silence. And this moment now. Seo-ah looked at his face. It was the first time she’d seen him since the verdict. He looked older. The dark circles under his eyes were deeper. His fingers trembled more. As if his own body were expressing his guilt.
“Why were you here?”
Seo-ah asked, still standing.
“I was waiting for you.”
Kang Ryu answered. “Do-hyun said you called. And your mom too. I thought you’d come. Because you always did. No matter how much I messed up, you always came to me. I thought you’d tell me.”
Seo-ah remained standing. She didn’t sit across from him. That was the only resistance she could manage. By not sitting, she expressed that she wouldn’t stay here. This wasn’t a meeting. It was a passing through.
“Mom told me about Dad.”
Seo-ah said. She didn’t even know why she brought this up first. But once words left her mouth, they couldn’t be taken back. They became sentences. They floated through the air. They reached Kang Ryu’s ears.
Kang Ryu’s face changed. As if someone had placed a hand on it. First, a stillness of movement, then a slow recognition, and then pain.
“How did you… know that?”
Kang Ryu asked.
“Mom told me. The things Dad said to her. That he’d save me. That he’d pull her out of the water. And that it was all a lie. Mom regretted that lie for thirty years.”
Seo-ah’s voice was flat. Emotionless. That was what was truly frightening. Because in that flatness, no emotion could be heard. Only facts remained. Literal, plain facts.
Kang Ryu didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at his hands. His fingers were trembling. Like Seo-ah’s fingers. At the same intervals. At the same rhythm. As if the same clock existed inside both their bodies.
“You did the same thing, didn’t you?”
Seo-ah continued. “You said you’d save me. You said I was needed. And I believed you. Because I needed you. Because I wanted to be rescued by someone. But it was a lie. You didn’t save me. You were trying to save yourself.”
Kang Ryu’s hands trembled more. On the table. That trembling felt like a signal. A signal of pain. A signal of acknowledgment.
“Seo-ah, I…”
Kang Ryu opened his mouth, but no words came out. That was the most honest moment. Seo-ah knew that silence was the most honest moment—when words wouldn’t come. Language was just a way to wrap up lies. Only silence revealed the truth.
“Mom asked me something.”
Seo-ah continued, not looking at Kang Ryu. Looking out the café window instead. At the Gangnam night. At the buildings and cars and people within that night. “What are you doing right now, she asked. You’re losing yourself because of that man, she said. Is that love? Is that responsibility?”
“It is love.”
Kang Ryu suddenly said. His voice trembled. “I love you.”
“That’s a lie.”
Seo-ah answered. Cold. Precise. Like a judge delivering a verdict. “You don’t love me. You love yourself. You needed yourself when I needed you. You wanted the feeling of saving me. So you saved me. And I was grateful. And you became intoxicated by that gratitude. But that’s not love.”
Kang Ryu looked at Seo-ah. For the first time. Their eyes met. Something was dying in those eyes. Seo-ah could feel it. Something slowly extinguishing in Kang Ryu’s eyes. His hope. His self-deception. His false stories. Everything was fading.
“Yeah.”
Kang Ryu finally said. His voice was barely audible. “You’re right. I didn’t love you. I loved myself. I loved myself through you. That’s all.”
Seo-ah sat down in the café chair. Across from Kang Ryu. For the first time. And in that moment, Seo-ah realized she was crying. Tears flowed from her eyes. Silently. Without sound. As if her body were crying independent of her will.
“I don’t know what I’m doing either.”
Seo-ah said, without wiping her tears. “Mom told me not to meet you. She said it was the first favor she was asking of me. But I came anyway. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Kang Ryu answered. That too was truth. That too was acknowledgment.
The two sat in silence. The café’s background music played. Piano music. Classical. Probably Chopin. Kang Ryu began moving his fingers to that music. On the table. With trembling fingers. As if he were playing the piano himself. But his fingers trembled. Trembled. Trembled.
Seo-ah watched those fingers. That trembling. Everything contained in that trembling. Guilt. Regret. Despair. And she also saw that it wasn’t all there was. There was something else in that trembling. Evidence that something was still alive. Evidence that something still felt. Evidence that Kang Ryu was still human.
“What are you doing right now?”
Seo-ah asked, watching his fingers.
“Playing piano.”
Kang Ryu answered. With a trace of self-mockery in his voice. “My hands shake. Always. I can’t do anything. But when I hear this music, my fingers want to move. As if my hands have their own will. As if my hands are trying to express my guilt.”
“You got a verdict.”
Seo-ah said. “Three years. It was written in the judgment. Three years.”
“Yeah.”
Kang Ryu answered. “Three years is enough. Will my hands move again? I don’t know. But at least during that time, I think I can think about what I’ve done.”
Seo-ah looked at Kang Ryu’s hands. Those trembling fingers. That trembling was like a signal. Like language. Like a cry. A silent cry. A soundless cry. And suddenly Seo-ah understood. That was why her own hands trembled. Her body was speaking too. Her hands were crying as well.
“Do you know what Mom said?”
Seo-ah asked, continuing to watch his hands.
“What?”
“That regret lasts thirty years. Mom regretted Dad for thirty years. And now Mom asked me. Don’t let it happen to you because of him. Don’t regret for thirty years. But I’m already regretting.”
Seo-ah’s voice wavered for the first time. “I’ve already regretted you for months. And I’m afraid it will become thirty years. I’m afraid it will become my whole life.”
Kang Ryu looked at Seo-ah. Seo-ah, who was crying. And in that moment, Kang Ryu began to cry too. Silently. Only tears flowed. As if his body were expressing his guilt.
“What should I say to you?”
Kang Ryu asked, not expecting an answer. Just asking. “I’m sorry? That’s too small. Too meaningless. Do I have the right to say I’m sorry to you? I don’t know. But I am sorry. Truly.”
Seo-ah didn’t answer. Instead, she looked at her own hands. Not Kang Ryu’s hands. Her own hands. Trembling hands. Every three seconds. Regularly. As if her heartbeat were traveling to her fingertips.
“What should we do?”
Seo-ah asked. To herself. To Kang Ryu. To someone.
“I don’t know.”
Kang Ryu answered. “But I can make you one promise.”
“What?”
“I won’t meet you again. I won’t approach you again. I won’t call you or text you or see you again. You just have to leave me. And I’ll stay here. Every time my hands shake, I’ll think of you. And in that trembling, I’ll feel my guilt. That’s my punishment. And it’s right.”
Seo-ah looked at Kang Ryu. One last time. The last time after the verdict. Trying to remember what he looked like. But realizing there was nothing to remember. He was already dead. He died with the verdict. And what was sitting here now was just the shadow of something dead.
“Okay.”
Seo-ah said. She stood up. She left his table. She walked toward the café exit. Toward the entrance. And as she walked that path, she felt herself crying. But she didn’t turn around. She didn’t look at Kang Ryu again. Because everything was already over. Completely. Definitively. Irreversibly.
After Seo-ah left, Kang Ryu continued playing piano on the table with his fingers. In rhythm with the café’s background music. With trembling fingers. And in that trembling, there was nothing left. Only repetition. The same pattern. The same rhythm. The same despair.
When Seo-ah returned to Gangnam Station, her hands were still trembling. Every three seconds. Regularly. As if her body were comforting her. Or punishing her. She couldn’t tell.
Her phone rang. It was Mom.
“Did you meet Kang Ryu?”
Mom asked.
“Yeah.”
Seo-ah answered.
“And?”
“Nothing. It’s just… over.”
Silence flowed through the phone. Mom’s silence. There was something in that silence. Relief. Sadness. And something else. Love.
“You did well.”
Mom said. “Now come home. To Jeju. Do-hyun is waiting for you.”
Seo-ah booked a bus ticket to Jeju. Departure at 3 AM. From Gangnam Station. And while waiting for that bus, Seo-ah thought about what she had learned. Through her meeting with Kang Ryu. Through all these months. Through all this waiting and disappointment.
It was simple. Trying to save someone and loving someone are different things. And you can’t love someone without loving yourself. That was all.
The bus arrived. Seo-ah got on. She found a window seat. The night of Gangnam receded behind her. The buildings and lights and people. And in their place came the sea of Jeju. In Seo-ah’s mind. The smell of salt. The sound of waves. And Mom’s hand. Seo-ah opened her hands. She spread her trembling fingers. The fingers that trembled every three seconds. She looked at them carefully. Those fingers trembling in the streetlight. The palm lines were clear. The nails were pink. The fingers trembled.
There was something in that trembling. Evidence of being alive. Evidence of still feeling. And that was enough.
The highway was long. The highway at dawn was even longer. But Seo-ah was walking that road. Her hands open. Her trembling fingers spread. Toward Jeju. Toward Mom. Toward Do-hyun. Toward herself.