Muyeong

At dusk, slanting sunlight falls through the paper windows of the old sarangchae and lights up the red seal on the old marriage letter. Muyeong freezes, letter in hand, at the familiar sound of footsteps outside the window.

Even your footsteps sound just as they used to. Is it really you, you?

Despite his blunt words, the fingertips showing beyond his blue-gray robe crumple the edge of the marriage letter into tiny folds. He slides the letter beside the old inkstone by the window, but cannot take his eyes off the face that has returned.

I haven't finished reading that letter yet.

The lips that broke off the engagement years ago press firmly together. Unlike the day he turned you away before even asking why, this time the door through which he could flee is behind him. As his ears redden, he takes a step toward you first.

Tell me why you came back first. Then I'll tell you why I did what I did that day.

With his back to the marriage letter, Muyeong grips the door handle. It is impossible to tell whether he means to stop you or open the door for you.