NOVEL NEXT Chapter 7
3-1
The air conditioning was running, but it was still slightly warm, likely due to the use of portable gas lighters here and there.
Thankfully, the spot she and I were sitting in was directly in the path of the air conditioner’s breeze, making it just bearable.
Why is summer always so hot? Perhaps it’s some kind of trial from God for humans.
“So, what’s the reason you wanted to meet today?” Fanning my clothes in the heat, I asked her.
“Reason?” She tilted her head slightly while pouring water into her cup, looking at me as if she didn’t understand the question. I replied calmly.
“Didn’t you ask to meet because you had something to say?”
She responded with a detached expression, as if listening to an unusual genre of music.
“…That’s not it.”
I couldn’t comprehend her response.
“…Then why did you ask me to come?”
She shrugged her shoulders slightly and shook her head.
“There’s no particular reason.”
I was a bit taken aback. Suddenly, my mind became cluttered with thoughts.
“…Oh, I see.”
“You look like you’re not convinced.”
“No, it’s just that when people ask to meet with me personally, it’s usually because they have a favor to ask or a specific reason. It feels strange that there’s no reason.”
She said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“What’s so strange about it? We’re close friends, after all.”
The way she said that without a hint of hesitation left me voicing my doubt before I realized it.
“…Close friends?”
“…Aren’t we?” She tilted her head again.
“Well, isn’t it a bit much to call us close friends when we’ve only known each other for just over a week?”
“Really?” She thought for a moment before responding. “I think a week is more than enough.”
“…I think I understand why you have so many friends.”
It takes a long time to form relationships. I don’t talk much and don’t have the personality to initiate conversations with others.
Of course, if someone approaches me first, I can form a bond fairly quickly. But not many people take the initiative to approach someone like me, who sits quietly in the corner of the classroom.
Someone like her, though, is an exception—there aren’t many people like her who’d approach someone like me.
She asked, “By the way, how long do you think it takes to become close friends?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. Maybe about a month?”
When I said that, she let out a small nasal laugh and gave a meaningful smile.
“For me, I don’t think time matters at all.”
“…What do you mean?”
“No matter how long you’ve known someone, they can become strangers overnight, and someone you just met can become the most important person in your life.”
“…So?”
“I believe what matters most in a friendship is how the two people accept each other, not how long they’ve known each other.”
She looked at me with unwavering eyes, as if to illustrate her point.
Her jet-black eyes, seemingly untainted, exuded confidence. I was slightly taken aback. Her perspective collided with my own outdated way of thinking, creating a subtle shift within me.
In that brief moment, countless thoughts raced through my mind. Perhaps I’d completely misunderstood the concept of relationships.
No, upon reflection, it was obvious. I wasn’t someone who interacted with others extensively.
Like a frog looking up at the sky from a well, I had confined my view of relationships within a self-imposed framework, believing it to be the truth.
It was like a child who had just learned basic arithmetic concluding that math was just about simple addition.
So, when she said what she did, I was at a loss for words.
I finally understood what it felt like to be hit over the head with a hammer.
I thought she might be right. Even relationships of ten years could lack depth, while those formed in a few weeks could involve profound conversations.
What matters is depth, not length. That’s what she seemed to be explaining to me.
Well, not that she and I had particularly deep conversations or anything.
“And besides, I’ve known you since elementary school, so it’s not like we’ve only known each other for a week.”
As she said this proudly, I retorted casually.
“If you put it that way, I’ve got friends I’ve known since kindergarten.”
“If you ever meet them again.”
She chuckled softly and took a sip of water.
As we were talking, a staff member placed a portable gas burner on our table and set a large pot on top.
The pot contained bright red, spicy-looking tteokbokki broth, freshly chopped green onions, onions, long fish cakes, and two white boiled eggs.
The staff member adjusted the flame and said, “Your pizza will be out shortly,” before moving to another table.
She naturally picked up the ladle from the pot and pressed the ingredients into the broth. Only then did the spicy aroma hit my nose.
Even though I wasn’t particularly hungry, just watching her made my stomach growl.
They say there’s always room for the food you crave. I guess this was one of those moments.
While I was staring blankly at the pot, she suddenly asked, “By the way, how did you end up playing the guitar?”
Caught off guard, I replied indifferently, “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“…My dad liked the guitar. We had a few at home, so I naturally learned.”
“Ah, I see,” she replied, losing interest. “I thought you started to impress girls.”
“…Why would you think that?”
“Well, you don’t seem like someone who’s ever had proper conversations with girls.”
Her unexpected comment left me dumbfounded, and all I could do was let out a hollow laugh.
“…You have a knack for driving nails into people’s hearts, don’t you?”
“It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s not unusual to feel awkward talking to the opposite sex. At least now you’re talking to someone like me, right?”
Watching her tease me with a sly grin, I had the overwhelming urge to flick her forehead or throw an eraser at her face.
She asked again, “Then why did you quit?”
After a brief pause, I answered, “I couldn’t see a future in it.”
“…A future?”
“Yeah. Realistically, I wasn’t skilled enough to make a career out of it, nor did I have the passion for it. So, I quit. It felt like a waste of time.”
She looked a bit taken aback and pondered for a moment before responding, “But you didn’t have to quit. You could’ve kept it as a hobby.”
“…I don’t know. Once that thought crossed my mind, I lost interest. I didn’t even feel like picking up the guitar. Maybe my attachment to it was never that deep.”
“…Do you have any desire to start again?”
“No.” My response was firm.
“…I see.” She sounded slightly disappointed. “That’s a shame. I wanted to see you play.”
I didn’t really understand why I quit playing the guitar either. It was like a sudden crash—an unexpected event that left me questioning everything.
One day, out of nowhere, I wondered: What am I doing? Is this the right path? Do I have the talent or ability for this?
What started as a small doubt grew into a wildfire that consumed all my motivation and sense of purpose.
Maybe I’d unknowingly taken after my mother in some ways.
“Then, would you at least teach me how to play the guitar?”
Her cautious question made me pause.
“…I’m not sure. I’ve never taught anyone before, and I’m not particularly skilled.”
“That doesn’t matter. As long as it’s you teaching me, it’s fine.”
“…Why do you want to learn from me?”
“Because it’s more comfortable to learn from someone you know.”
“…Is that so?”
“It is,” she repeated, reinforcing my tentative statement with certainty.
I sighed lightly and said, “…Don’t expect too much.”
“Don’t worry, don’t worry.” She smiled brightly. “Then it’s settled?”
I wasn’t sure when it had become a done deal, but looking at her expression, it didn’t seem like a big deal.
“Why the guitar, though? Any particular reason?”
“I thought about what I could do when I completely lose my sight,” she said while stirring the simmering pot with the ladle. “I considered various options, but learning an instrument seemed the best. I was deciding between the piano, violin, and guitar, but since you play the guitar, I leaned toward that.”
“…I see.”
“When you told me yesterday that you quit playing, do you know how shocked I was?”
She chuckled softly as she turned down the burner and ladled some tteokbokki into my plate.
“Thanks,” I said quietly and took a bite of the rice cake.
It was delicious. A bit spicy, but nothing unbearable.
“How is it?”
“…It’s good.”
“Right?”
She smiled, pleased with her choice. Watching her light up with every bite was oddly entertaining, keeping boredom at bay.