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# Chapter 72: How to Let Go
6:12 a.m. Kang Riou still sat in the passenger seat, but Seo-ah had moved behind the wheel. His hands were still trembling, but it was a different kind of tremor now. Not the trembling of death, but of survival. The trembling of waking.
The Han River was growing brighter. Black to gray, gray to pale blue. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the sky was already awakening. Birds began to sing. Those signals announcing morning. Evidence that the world continued.
“Where should we go?”
Seo-ah asked. Her hands rested on the steering wheel. She hadn’t started the engine yet.
Kang Riou didn’t answer. He was looking out the window. The Han River’s water, cars passing over it, and beyond all of that, the city. Seoul. The city he’d lived in his whole life, yet it looked unfamiliar now. Like another planet.
“Kang Riou.”
Seo-ah said his name. It wasn’t a call. It was a confirmation. Are you here? Have you come back?
“Yeah.”
Kang Riou answered.
“Where should we go?”
Seo-ah asked again.
Kang Riou thought. Really, for the first time. Where he needed to go once he left this car. To the office? To that office where his father was waiting? Home? To that big house in Gangnam? Or somewhere else entirely?
“We need to go to the hospital.”
Kang Riou said.
“You?”
Seo-ah asked.
“No. You.”
Seo-ah looked at herself. Her hands were still shaking. Her clothes were torn. There were wounds on her neck. The marks where Kang Riou’s fingers had dug in. Evidence of what he’d pulled her back from. Traces of attempted murder. Or attempted suicide. Or whatever it should be called. Maybe it should just be called death.
“I’m fine.”
Seo-ah said.
“You’re seriously hurt. You need the emergency room.”
Seo-ah shook her head. Pain flowed through her neck with each movement. But she spoke anyway.
“I’m not going.”
“Why?”
Kang Riou asked.
“Because Do-hyun has to go to school. Without me, Do-hyun can’t go to school. And my mother…”
Seo-ah trailed off. Her mother was still in the hospital. Still not waking up.
“You really…”
Kang Riou began.
“Really what?”
Seo-ah asked.
“Really don’t want anything at all.”
Seo-ah didn’t answer. Instead, she started the engine. It roared to life. The car woke. Just like Kang Riou.
“Your fingers are trembling.”
Seo-ah said.
Kang Riou looked at his hands. They really were trembling. But it felt different now. Like the tremor of music. Music was trapped in that trembling. Music that had been trapped for years.
“We can’t keep doing this.”
Kang Riou said.
“What?”
Seo-ah asked.
“You holding onto me. Saving me. You don’t exist for me.”
Seo-ah slowly pushed the car forward. Onto the riverside road. Parallel to the Han River. Moving with the water. The water of death.
“I don’t exist for you. I exist for my mother, for my brother, for my music. But you…”
Seo-ah paused.
“You don’t exist for anyone. You exist for your dead friend. And that’s death. That’s not living.”
Kang Riou fell silent. He felt how deep that silence was. How deep a hole he was in.
The car continued down the road above the Han River. Morning was coming. The sky’s color was changing. Black to blue. Blue to pink. A bird sang. Another bird answered.
“You have to let go of me.”
Kang Riou said.
“Yes.”
Seo-ah answered.
“I’m sorry. Really. For what I did to you. Holding you, using you, trying to make you my means of salvation. You’re not someone I need to save. You’re someone already saving yourself. I missed that. For too long.”
Seo-ah drove. Saying nothing. Just listening.
“Who do you sing for?”
Kang Riou asked.
“Who do I sing for?”
Seo-ah thought about it. For the first time, genuinely. Who did she sing for? For her mother? For Do-hyun? For the sky? For Kang Riou?
“No one.”
Seo-ah said.
“What?”
Kang Riou asked.
“I don’t sing for anyone. I just sing. For the act of singing itself. And because of that, I lost everything. Lost my music, lost my name, lost my voice. And meeting you made me realize…”
Seo-ah stopped the car. They’d arrived at one end of Han River Park. Morning joggers were visible. All running forward. Never looking back.
“Realize what?”
Kang Riou asked.
“That none of it was my choice. I didn’t choose it. I did it because I had to survive. And even now. Even now, when I’m holding you, it’s because of survival. Because I’m afraid of falling apart if I lose you. Because I’m afraid that if you die, something inside me dies like it did with my mother. That’s why I’m holding on. And that’s not love. That’s fear.”
Kang Riou looked at Seo-ah. Her neck was covered with wounds. Marks left by his fingers. Traces of death.
“You have to let go of me.”
Kang Riou said again.
“I know.”
Seo-ah answered.
“Now.”
“I can’t. Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because you might turn the car around.”
Kang Riou let out a laugh. It was real laughter. For the first time. Laughter that made him feel like a joke. Like the world was a joke, and he was a joke, and survival was a joke.
“I don’t have the courage for that.”
Kang Riou said.
“I know.”
Seo-ah answered.
“Then what do we do?”
Kang Riou asked.
“Drive. Anywhere.”
Seo-ah moved the car again. Following the path through Han River Park. Eastward. Toward where the sun rises. Toward where the night dies.
Kang Riou looked out the window. The Han River’s water was turning golden now. The sun was beginning to touch the water. Everything was burning. The water, the sky, and himself.
“What should I do?”
Kang Riou asked.
“Listen to what your fingers want to do.”
Seo-ah answered.
“They’ll want to play piano.”
Kang Riou said.
“Then play.”
“Is there anything that could stop me?”
Kang Riou asked.
Seo-ah laughed. She did it knowing her neck hurt.
“Only you can stop you.”
Kang Riou looked at his hands. They were still trembling. But the trembling didn’t frighten him anymore. It felt like the pitch of music changing. The trembling of music trying to flow.
“What will my father say?”
Kang Riou asked.
“I can’t know. But you already do. You already know what your father will say.”
Seo-ah said.
“He’ll tell me not to sing.”
Kang Riou said.
“Then sing.”
Seo-ah continued driving. Along the road beside the Han River. Eastward. Toward where the sun rises. Toward where everything begins anew.
Kang Riou lifted his hands. His hands reflected in the window. Trembling hands. Hands that wanted to play piano. For the first time, he chose not to be ashamed of that desire.
6:47 a.m. A road beside the Han River. The car was heading east. Seo-ah’s hands still held the wheel, and Kang Riou’s hands reached out the window. As if trying to grasp something. Or to let it go.
“Thank you.”
Kang Riou said.
“For what?”
Seo-ah asked.
“For letting me live.”
Seo-ah didn’t answer. Instead, she turned on the radio. Morning news came through. Weather, traffic, and someone’s death. The world continued on. Unaware of their deaths or their resurrections.
“What will you do tomorrow?”
Kang Riou asked.
“I have to go to the convenience store.”
Seo-ah answered.
“The night shift?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No. I’ll walk.”
Kang Riou understood the meaning of those words. I have to let go of you. I can’t depend on you. I have to stand on my own.
“Okay.”
Kang Riou said.
The car continued on. The sun was rising. Completely, certainly. Night was dying, day was being born. And they both lived in that boundary. Neither death nor complete life, but there.
“Kang Riou.”
Seo-ah said.
“Yeah.”
“What will you do tomorrow?”
Kang Riou thought about it. Really. For the first time. What his tomorrow could be.
“I’ll play piano.”
Kang Riou said.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere, I think.”
Seo-ah smiled. It was a small smile. But it was real. The first real smile.
The car continued toward where the sun was rising. And behind them, night slowly retreated. Everything was changing. Slowly, certainly. Like music. From one note to the next.
Dawn was ending. And they were alive. Still, surprisingly, in the most undramatic way, they were alive.