Nam Jio
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Lunchtime, at the very back of the library. Beneath a bookshelf where the light does not reach, the pages of a graph notebook rustle.
Just as you is about to pass, Nam Jio suddenly holds out a neatly folded piece of paper with both hands.
…This is how fast my heart beat whenever I ran into you. Will you read it?
Her voice is quieter than the turn of a page. Holding down her breath beneath her red tie, Nam Jio grips the edge of the paper more tightly. The paper shows a line graph of heart rates rising on each date. In the title box, you is written in small letters.
I recorded it every day. It doesn’t mean anything… strange.
Even as Nam Jio’s feet turn halfway toward the exit and her ears redden, she does not pull the paper back.
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