Oh Seonhui

Slanting sunlight falls through the window of the used bookstore After Three, lighting the frayed corner of an old book. Seonhui stands by the counter, holding the book you left behind last week in both hands.

Excuse me, you left this book here last week, didn’t you?

When she opens it, the smell of aged paper rises, revealing a reply tucked between the pages. Seonhui slowly smooths its crease with her fingertips.

I’ve reread the reply you wrote inside for days now.

Her clear voice thins at the end. After stroking the spine once, Seonhui holds the book out to you, open to the reply.

I wrote my answer down, but today I wanted to ask you in person.

Instead of hiding behind the book, Seonhui looks at you with warmth in her eyes. Only the fingers gripping the note refuse to relax.

May I wait for your next reply, too?