Beyond the Mists of Summer

"Suhmi, do you remember me?"
The voice sounded familiar.
"Ah—are you Ki-young, the returning student?"
"That’s right. How did you recognize my voice so quickly?"
"I heard it so often back in school, from behind me in class. It’s a voice I got used to. It’s nice to hear it again. Where are you now?"
"I came to visit my sister in New Jersey."
"But… how did you get my number?"
"There are ways to find out. Can we meet and talk?"
"Can’t we just talk more on the phone?"
"I have something to tell you. I’d rather say it in person."
"Then… come to my place tomorrow at 3 p.m."

It had been over 30 years since Suhmi had heard from Ki-young. Why couldn’t he say whatever it was over the phone? She wanted to talk longer, right then. Even after all those years, her heart still fluttered at the faint memory of him. She remembered the first time they ever talked. It was a sunny day in early May, suddenly warm after a long stretch of cold. After class, not wanting to go home, she was sitting on a bench on campus. Ki-young, riding his bicycle, stopped and sat down beside her.

“Waiting for someone?

“Oh… no. The weather’s just nice.”

“It’s been a while since it felt this good.”

The wind carried the scent of him—like the sweet smell of ripe apples. She looked at him closely: thick curly hair, faint double eyelids, sunken cheeks, freckles scattered across high cheekbones, and a small, square face. He was… attractive.

He stretched out his long legs, looked up at the cloudless sky, and grinned slightly. Then he looked directly at her—his deep, moist eyes meeting hers.
"Looks like the long, dull winter is finally over."
His low, sweet voice stirred something in Suhmi. Her heart suddenly raced.
How could she have missed his charm, even though he had been back at school for a year?

Perhaps it was because he was older, a returning student, and she had felt awkward around him. She remembered how she had glanced back a few times in class when she heard his voice—it had always sounded nice. But she had never really considered him attractive.

“Hop on. I’ll take you to the bus stop.”

He rested one foot on the bike pedal.

“It’s okay…”

“Come on. The weather’s great, and I feel like giving a pretty lady a ride. Hold on tight.”

She grabbed his waist and rested her head on his back. Her whole body flushed with heat, like she had just taken a shot of apple wine. The bike didn’t stop at the bus stop—it kept going, all the way to the Han River.

He parked the bike in the shade under a bridge and lay down.
“Lie down next to me, Suhmi. It’s cool here.”

She lay down beside him, gazing up at the blue sky—completely clear.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked.

“No.”

After asking that, he didn’t say anything else.

How strange to be lying next to a man she barely knew an hour ago—without feeling awkward.

‘Maybe love really does start when and where you least expect it,’ she thought.

After that sunny May day, she waited impatiently for him to talk to her again. But he seemed busy, barely even looking her way. Near the end of June, right before summer break, he came over and asked:
“How have you been? Any plans for summer break?”
“Not really.”

“Can I have your number? I’ll call you.”She gave it to him, full of hope. She even hummed a tune while cleaning her room, excited to hear from him. But he didn’t call.

She paced by the phone. When it finally rang, she rushed to answer it—only to hear a girlfriend’s voice. Disappointed, she made up an excuse and hung up quickly. By the fourth day, she checked the phone constantly, wondering if it was broken. On the sixth day, it really was. She pressured her father to fix it, and finally, on the ninth day, it was working again. Still no call.

Then one day, their housekeeper told her that a man was outside. She looked out the window and saw Ki-young leaning against a streetlamp. Shocked, she pulled her head back inside. She hadn’t even washed her face and was lying in bed looking like a mess. She quickly fixed her hair and looked out again. He waved. 

“How did you find my house? I haven’t even washed up! Please go.”“Can you just come out for a minute? It won’t take long.”

“No! You can’t just show up like this without calling.”

He nodded, waved, and turned to leave. He didn’t even wait for her to get ready. She panicked, thinking of chasing after him, but by the time she looked again, he was gone. She curled back into bed, her mind spinning. Was that a dream?

A few days later, he finally called to ask if she wanted to meet the next day. When they met for coffee, her hands were trembling so badly she almost spilled her drink. She couldn’t look up, just stared at the flower pattern on her cup.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” he said.

She didn’t have much of an appetite but agreed. She barely touched her food.

“I want a drink,” she said, hoping alcohol would help calm her nerves. At the bar, he gently touched her hair.

“So soft,” 

he said. Then his hand moved to the back of her neck.

“You’re tense. Let me help you relax.”

She blushed, unsure of what to do. Seeing couples dancing nearby, she suggested, 

“Let’s dance.”

She tried to lead, but he just pulled her into an embrace, gently swaying in place. Suhmi buried her head in his chest. Outside, it was already dark. She wondered, 

"Are we dating? Or not?"

But after that night, he didn’t call.

Her mom noticed she was a mess.

“Did someone break your heart?”

Suhmi just cried. Her mom said,

"Some jerk made my precious daughter climb a tree, then shook the tree to make her fall. Just look at yourself. Go to Ewha University street, get your hair done, buy some clothes, and cheer up."

When the hairdresser asked how she wanted her hair, she replied,
“Perm it tight. Make it really curly.”
It was her way of punishing herself.

She didn’t hear from Ki-young again before the semester started. Sometimes, she’d look out at the streetlamp in front of her house—the same one that had stood there since before she was born—and think of him.

In early September, just as she was heading out to a study abroad center, the phone rang.

It was Ki-young. They walked the stone path in Anguk-dong, wandered into a palace, sat on stone steps, and watched people go by. The silence was awkward. Are we too far apart now to be close? she wondered. She asked,

“What are we?”

“We’re friends,” he replied without hesitation.

“I never go back to women I used to date. But I never break up with friends.”

“I see,” she said. “Then even if we part ways, let’s not end on bad terms.”

She walked home feeling strangely hollow.
To him, was I just one of many? Just someone he saw, liked for a bit, and moved on from?
She had even heard rumors he had slept with a few older students. At the bus stop, she waved and said goodbye, feeling it might be the end. She buried herself in preparing for her studies abroad.

In late November, he called again. While walking side by side, he suddenly grabbed her hand.

“What do you think of me?” he asked.

“Aren’t we just friends?” she replied, reminding him of his own words.

He said nothing. They walked in silence. It was cold. He cleared his throat. A red neon motel sign glowed in the distance.

“Want to go inside and rest for a bit?” he asked.

“No, I should go home.”

“Are you scared to be alone with me?”

“No. I just have to be home by nine.”

“Then… should we start dating?”

“Whether we’re friends or lovers, we’ll break up eventually anyway. Every meeting is heading toward a goodbye.”

That was the last time they met. Suhmi decided not to waste any more time on someone who might hurt her.
She left for her studies abroad.

Even though their time together was short, he had once meant everything to her.
Time passed, but he remained like a scar in her heart—faded, but not gone.
Like homesickness, his crooked smile would suddenly pop into her mind.

He reached out after all these years. Could he not forget me either?

She was filled with hope. She cleaned, prepared snacks, waited. When he finally arrived, he stepped out of a black car with a faint smile and a woman beside him.

“This is my wife,” he said. Why hadn’t I even considered that he might bring his wife? A gentle-looking woman politely handed over a pizza box.

“We got this from a famous pizza place in Brooklyn. The line was so long—we were late because of it.”

‘Ah… So this is the kind of devoted wife Gi-young was searching for, trying things out with all those women. She must’ve given him what I couldn’t.’

Our time together back in college had been so short.

Yet even after all these years, we greeted each other as if we somehow knew everything that had happened in our lives. The moment we sat at the table, he asked about our old college friends in Seoul.

“I’ve been so busy with life, I haven’t seen our friends much. Their names are starting to fade from memory. I bet you, living in New York, know more than I do now.”

Excited, I shared all the stories I’d heard from friends who had visited New York.

But strangely, his wife kept leaning toward him, quietly whispering the things I’d said into his ear.Curious, I asked, 

“Is something wrong?”

“I can’t hear well anymore—that’s why I couldn’t talk much over the phone.”

So I leaned closer and spoke louder. He just nodded silently.

And suddenly, I wondered—did he even understand what I said? I felt deflated and fell quiet. Trying to lighten the mood, he said,

“You’re still cute now, but you were especially cute back then. You were really popular.”

I looked at him and wondered—was his eyesight also failing?

Could it be that he couldn’t even see me clearly, like a woman hidden in the fog?

The thought made me feel strangely sad. Had he already aged so much? I poured him a drink.

“Here. Do you remember this? Back in college, all the guys and girls from our major had a drinking contest at that little bar by the railroad. You were there too. The girls’ team won.” 

“Oh yeah, I remember. You didn’t get drunk at all and finished the last drink, so the girls won. You were such a strong drinker. But now… I can’t drink anymore. My health isn’t good.”

“Come on, we’re not that old yet,” I said.

His wife added,

“He’s telling the truth. His teeth aren’t in good shape either. He can’t even chew radish kimchi unless it’s been stewed soft in soup. His health’s been poor, so he retired early. We came to the U.S. for a break. If he had stayed in Seoul, the doctors said he might not live long because of liver cancer. We’re staying at his sister’s place for now.”

She said it like she was a nurse.

I had hoped—just maybe—that he’d come to the U.S. alone, like me. But here he was, with a wife who looked like a caregiver. He couldn’t hear well, couldn’t join in on conversations about old friends. His eyesight seemed blurry, and he still called me “cute,” even though I was almost sixty. He couldn’t drink. He couldn’t chew properly. The little hope I had stirred up before the meeting slowly drained away. Time with Gi-young seemed to freeze ike a clock with a broken pendulum.

By 8 p.m., when the evening gathering had just begun to feel lively, he looked at the clock with a slight nod, gave me a weak smile, and stood up to leave. I didn’t stop him. I watched him disappear until I could no longer see the car he left in. Then I sat by the window, drinking alone, watching the sky turn from red to blue to a deep charcoal gray.

“Friends don’t break up.”

I remembered something he once said. But now I wondered:

Is a male-female “friendship” just a convenient placeholder?

Someone you store away while you’re dating, only to pull out when you're single again?

Was I one of those forgotten people, stored away for years, now being checked on—just to see if I was still there?

The thought left a bitter taste.