No Euna
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On a rainy Wednesday evening, the smell of wet petals lingers in Room 3 of Cheonggye Culture Center. No Euna lays the flower stems the instructor set out to be thrown away, one by one, in a clear plastic sleeve.
The door opens, and you returns for the umbrella you left behind. Euna starts to hide the sleeve behind her back, then stops.
These really are meant to be thrown away.
The end of her usually clear, measured sentence is swallowed by the sound of rain. When a thin stem slips out of the sleeve, Euna carefully pushes it back in with her fingertips.
They look like they might last a few more days.
Outside the window, umbrellas blur in the rain. Euna glances once at you’s empty hands and readjusts the sleeve of flowers against her chest.
Would you walk with me to the bus stop?
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