Page 25 of You Had Me At Annyeong!
Timira’s wound has needed stitches. She’s yet to come around, but the doctor on call has assured Haneul that she’s in absolutely no danger. It’s only a gash that will heal soon and, most likely, not leave a scar.
Haneul manages to retrieve Bhaskar’s number from Timira’s dying phone, thanks to its facial recognition tech that she had only recently activated after forgetting the passcode to her phone lock on more than one occasion, and has the hospital call him. He steps out of the premises and ducks into a dimly lit alley for a quick smoke. Leaning against a wall, he inhales deeply—tobacco, unlike Timira’s hemp—and feels a slight kick. It’s way past midnight now, and the city is starting to wind down. Distant sounds of thumping music and the occasional siren of an emergency/VIP vehicle apart, the air is mostly still and silent. He looks up at the sky—sparking like a magician’s glittering, dark velvet cloak—and feels an overwhelming sense of disbelief envelop him. Cigarette over, he stubs it out and starts to walk back.
Would she have woken up by now? Aah, poor thing. I hope she is feeling all right. She needs to be more careful. Gah, I should’ve taken better care of her. Tch, this one’s entirely on me. I’m going to make it up to her. I hope she doesn’t hate me after tonight …
Lost in thought, Haneul doesn’t realize his phone is ringing. It takes more than a few attempts for the caller to reach him. Feeling his pocket vibrate, he fishes the phone out and freezes the minute he reads the name flashing.
‘Yeoboseyo,’ he answers in a robot-like, formal, cold voice.
The next few minutes feel like hours to Haneul. He mostly listens, and when he does talk, he speaks in monosyllables.
‘Ye. Ani. Geunde … ye.Yes, cool.Ye, arasseo. Yeah, najunge jeonhwa halge. Kkeunuh[Yes. No. But … yes. Yes, cool. Yes, I understand. Yeah, I’ll call you later. I’m hanging up].
For a brief few seconds, Haneul stares blankly into the darkness that surrounds him and feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. But now is not the time to wallow in self-pity. Slowly, he drags his heavy feet towards the hospital.
Once inside, he makes his way to the admissions desk where only a few hours back he had signed Timira in. He asks for the doctor attending to her, cracking his knuckles nervously as he waits.
Having conducted his conversation with the doctor and the hospital authorities urgently and in an considerably hushed tone, Haneul is on his way out when he spots a woman frantically rushing towards the reception, half-yelling a name that feels familiar to his ears and warm like home but also like a sharp knife stabbing at his heart.
‘TIMIRA MARAK! TIMIRA! I AM HER GUARDIAN. SHE IS MY SISTER. WHERE IS SHE? WHICH ROOM IS SHE IN?’
Haneul lowers the cap he had found earlier inside the glove compartment and hurries out.
Inside the car, he wonders if he’s even doing the right thing.
Why am I running away? I should go back in and introduce myself. What will Timira think when she wakes up? We’ll probably never meet again, though …
The possibility of their paths never crossing again has only just occurred to him, and it seems to pain him beyond reason.
Right, she’s just a stranger. This is just a bizarre experience. Or, maybe, just a dream. It’ll be fine when I wake up …
But Haneul’s heart isn’t convinced. It continues to rise and fall, like giant waves during high tide.
Hoping music will help him calm down, he plugs his phone in—Chico Pinheiro’s ‘There’s a Storm Inside’ is at the top of his playlist.
MICHYEOSSNE! Aaaah, this is nuts. I’ve got to go back in. I’ll leave once she’s come around. Or not. Why should I leave? I’m not doing anything wrong here, am I?
Conflicted, confused and crushing hard, Haneul doesn’t realize when tiredness silently creeps up on him, and he falls into a deep, dreamless slumber in the driver’s seat.
* * *
The sun is up and going about its business in its clockwork manner by the time Haneul rubs sleep out of his eyes. It takes him a minute or so to get his bearings. He is about to step out of the car and head inside the hospital building when he spots a familiar face at a little distance from his car, throwing her head back and laughing loudly. The space buns have been replaced by a tiara-like bandage, but there she is—dimpled cheeks and throaty laugh in all their glory. Standing next to her, with an arm wrapped protectively around her, is the woman he had seen last night. Heaving a sigh of relief and half-smiling, he adjusts his cap, cupping his head with both hands, puts his dark sunglasses on and ignites the car’s engine.
* * *
Timira is now biting her plump lower lip. Gaze locked on Timira, Haneul revs up the engine, its noise startling the fat dog that had been peacefully sleeping under the shade of a massive jackfruit tree. The rudely awoken indie barking its annoyance in the background, Haneul drives with intent towards Timira and Alice, bringing his car to a halt only about a foot away. With eyes only for Timira and a smile lurking around the corners of his rosebud mouth, he’s about to step out when Timira’s voice reaches his ears, the surprise in it unmistakable, and halts him in his tracks.
‘Huh? What car? What guy?’ Timira is pointing at him and his car, he can tell.
The concussion must’ve made her forget. She doesn’t remember you, Haneul.
The realization pains Haneul like few things have in the recent past. With one last glance at his Princess Leia, he whizzes past Timira and Alice, even as his heart breaks into a million little pieces. Battling a phantom heartache that can only be felt and not described, he squints hard to focus on the road ahead, even though he can barely see beyond the cloud of angry tears that burns his eyes and threatens to burst any minute.
Clearing his throat, he connects to Bluetooth and places a call.
‘Annyeonghaseyo,Shin sajang! I’m sorry I couldn’t call you sooner. Do you have the designs ready? I’m back in Seoul tonight. My fiancée and I will visit your store tomorrow,gwenchanhdamyeon?’
Chapter Seven
