AAE -- Twists of Fate

Part 1 -- Chapter 06

by LoveCR2

edited by All-About-AAE

 

 

Hyung Chul's BMW pushes out of the underground car park into a deluge. He flicks the wipers to full and turns up the radio against the rain hammering the windshield.

 

Sun-Mi's voice fills the car -- thinner than usual. "Haruki Murakami wrote -- 'Lost opportunities, lost possibilities... they're part of what makes us who we are.' -- Maybe... that moment you missed... was never yours to catch..."

 

The radio goes silent. He glances at the dash. The dead air stretches for one second, then another.

 

Hyung-Chul's brow knits. He leans forward slightly, his hands tightening on the wheel, preparing to circle back into the underground lot.

 

"I've been thinking about this myself recently," Sun-Mi's voice returns, stronger. "Perhaps what appears as a loss was intended to shape you in ways you don't see yet. Here's a song for the things we wish we could go back and change..."

 

The introductory chiming piano notes of 'The Way We Were' float from the speakers, followed by Barbra Streisand's silken, seamless voice.

 

Hyung-Chul leans back into the plush leather, breathing easier. He navigates the surface lot to the exit, where the security guard bows and gestures for him to pass through. He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on the gearshift. The wipers slash across the windshield in quick, rhythmic arcs. The road glistens under the streetlights, each puddle catching a brief flash of gold before disappearing beneath the tires.

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

"...The way we were... the way we were..."

 

"Fifteen seconds," Ji-Eun's warning cuts through the headset.

 

Sun-Mi lays the picture of Woo-Jin down carefully as the song fades, blinking tears from her eyes.

 

"Someone asked me recently what it means to choose a path..." she says, her voice shaky. "Whether the familiar one is loyalty, or the new one is betrayal."

 

Her hand rests on the desk, palm flat, fingers slightly curled -- touching Woo-Jin's face in the photograph.

 

"Robert Frost wrote -- 'Two roads diverged in a yellow wood...' -- People quote the part about choosing the road 'less traveled,' but they forget he never said whether that choice was good or bad."

 

Her voice lowers, almost a whisper. "Sometimes the familiar path feels like a promise. Sometimes the new path feels like a lie. But a path is just a path. It's your heart that gives it meaning."

 

She closes her eyes briefly and takes a slow breath. "And sometimes... the heart needs time to speak."

 

Ji-Eun's voice crackles through the headset. "Sun-Mi? Let's take a break."

 

Sun-Mi opens her eyes and touches her thumb and forefinger together, in an 'OK' sign. The opening piano notes of 'Butterfly Waltz' grow in volume.

 

"We'll take a short break for our sponsor," she says into the microphone. "If you're carrying something heavy tonight... something you can't put down yet... be gentle with yourself. As Yun Dong‑Ju wrote -- 'Even if the wind passes by, the stars remain.' -- Be back in a minute."

 

The ON AIR light goes out.

 

"Is something wrong?" Ji-Eun asks. "You went off script with that Robert Frost quote."

 

"I had something in my eye," Sun-Mi replies. "Everything was blurry for a moment. But I'm fine now."

 

"If you say so," Ji-Eun's tone is dubious. "After the break, let's pick up where you left off, and drop the last postcard."

 

Sun-Mi nods. "Sure." She gazes at the photo again, biting her lower lip, and lets out a quiet sigh.

 

"Fifteen seconds, Sun-Mi."

 

Sun-Mi picks up the photo and slips it back into her wallet. She clears her throat, the sound sharp in the silent booth.

 

The ON AIR light comes on. The mellow piano melody of Jim Brickman's 'Coming Home' rises.

 

"Welcome back to 'Musical Postcards'..." she inhales, barely audible, as the music wanes. "Kim Min-Seo in Nowon sent in our next card..."

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

As the piano melody of 'Coming Home' wanes in the car, Hyung-Chul listens to the rhythm of Sun-Mi's shallow breathing -- the sound of a woman pushing through on sheer discipline. The fatigue in her lilt is unmistakable.

 

He sighs, recalling his harsh words criticizing her for not working hard enough -- words spoken in a heated exchange one night in a driving rain like this one. Words he regretted as he carried her, unconscious, into the hospital emergency room.

He reaches for the volume knob and turns it down until her voice is a murmur beneath the rain. He drives into the dark, amber smears of the streetlights blurring against the glass.

 

"Jin Sun-Mi, I was wrong," he says, his confession lost in the storm. "You don't have to prove yourself to me any longer."