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I abruptly ran into Nayeon in the corridor, next to the restrooms.


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I abruptly ran into Nayeon in the corridor, next to the restrooms. We exchanged quick glances and said hi. We only said "Hi"-- both of us. As I walked on to enter the men's room, I was still struck numb from that brief moment of abruptness. While I was peeing in the urinal, I was enveloped by a serene acceptance that we would be no more-- that we could never go back to where we were when we were quite opened to one another. 

 

I was too opened. She was only opened about her suffering regarding her career, not about her joy.

 

I now recall our conversations with one another, finding on my end the most casual phrases the declarations of buried love, which had become steadily more ardent and intimate as our relationship progressed, until, at last, they had become the passionate and hysterical professions of a man in love. At first, Nayeon's replies to my text messages had been written in the same friendly tone that had always characterized those prior, but a growing uneasiness was apparent. It was evident that in a kindly way, she was trying to check this rising tide of passion in me, divert my emotion into the old channel of fellowship. Then, as my text messages increased in the urgent ardor of their confessions, her own had grown steadily more impersonal; one of her last text messages, in answer to my declaration that I "must see her and would come at once," was decidedly curt. It expressed her cold regret that such a visit as I had proposed would be impossible-- that she and her family would be "away for the weekend".

 

Even the chilling tenor of this last text message failed to quench me. Instead, I "read between the lines," I insisted on finding in those curt phrases the silent eloquence of love. I was convinced that Nayeon's protracted silence was just another sign of her love-- that she was being suppressed through fear, that she was held in bitter constraint by that tyrannical brute, her K-pop career. 

 

From that moment on, the ruin of that final and impossible hope is written on my face whenever I bumped into Nayeon now, inscribed in my heart and living in unspeakable despair.

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