If Silk Flowers Bloom by the Water’s Edge Chapter 52

As if annoyed by the sound of a bird chirping, Yirok buried his face in his pillow. He didn’t want to wake from his rare, sweet slumber.

However, his reason, sharpened by sleep, ruined the moment. It reminded him of his schedule, which didn’t allow for sleeping in, and forced him awake. But Shinwoo’s bed, which should have been the first thing he saw upon opening his eyes, was gone. In its place were yellow wallpaper and a tacky cuckoo clock. Yirok, his neck stiff, felt a sudden wave of dizziness and gagged.

“You’re awake?”

Returning to his prone position, Yirok’s eyes shot open at the awkward greeting. When he managed to turn his head, he saw Chaehwa biting her finger. His head automatically pulled back, conscious of the sweet scent of her skin. But Chaehwa moved just as close and placed a hand on his forehead.

“Stay still. Why did you wake up when I came in when you were sleeping so well?”

The world, which had been spinning in one direction like an amusement park ride, came to a sudden halt. Her small palm was like a faucet. It felt as if cold water was gushing out and washing his brain clean. As the nausea subsided, Yirok could see the white bed he was lying on and the sunlit doorway. Before he could ask where he was, Chaehwa answered perceptively.

“This is where the patients stay. Right now, it’s just you, Yirok. If you’re really sick, we bring in a doctor from the outside.”

Yirok decisively grabbed Chaehwa’s hand that was hovering over his forehead. As soon as her soft hand was gone, a headache began to rage. He returned Chaehwa’s hand, which he had pulled away, to a suitable spot on the bed. Chaehwa, whose meddling was on another level, tried to place her hand on him again. Yirok turned his head to the opposite side.

“Your head hurts right now. I can….”

“Leave it.”

Yirok turned over completely as if to give Chaehwa his back. Chaehwa, who would normally have grumbled something about being hurt or whatever at his desire for distance, was unusually quiet. He needed to close his eyes, but they wouldn’t shut. His gaze settled on the empty wall. How could the silence behind him be more troublesome than his aching head?

In the end, it was a sniffling sound that made him look back. She wasn’t the kind of girl to cry like a baby bird; she was more likely to hit someone over the head with her fist. But Chaehwa was crying, shedding tears as large as chicken droppings. Startled, Yirok rolled his torso halfway around, oblivious to his arm getting tangled in the blanket.

“I didn’t order them to do it.”

Looking deeply wronged, Chaehwa poured out hot breaths and tears together.

“How was I supposed to know Chaho and Shinwoo would do that? To me, they’re both good kids. You never even told me what happened with them all this time. You know, if I really wanted to, I could make you sick to the point of death, you know? But would I make you bedridden so pathetically like this?”

“…What are you talking about.”

“You’re being so cold because you think I ordered them to do it! Just when we were starting to get along… It’s so unfair.”

Yirok had avoided Chaehwa’s hand not because of some other grand misunderstanding. He simply didn’t want to get used to such a cool and sweet sensation. It was a pain that would return once Chaehwa was gone. He had avoided it thinking it was better to just get used to the pain.

Of course, he lacked the talent to package this series of thoughts into kind words. While Yirok lost his words and let the misunderstanding grow, the tip of Chaehwa’s nose turned cherry-colored.

“You’re always like that. The moment it feels like we’re getting close, you pull away. Is someone going to eat you or something?”

For Yirok, the most difficult person in the world was, without a doubt, Chaehwa. There were many times he couldn’t understand even half of what the girl with the flower in her hair was saying. What was important was that Chaehwa’s tears brought on his neuralgia. Tears were still rolling down the cheeks of a pouting Chaehwa, her lips swollen.

Chaehwa’s tears felt as scratchy as dust in his eyeball. His hand moved before he could think, pushing the thought to later. His lightly clenched fist dabbed at Chaehwa’s cheek and pulled away.

Chaehwa’s tears stopped abruptly. She looked dumbfounded, as if she had never seen a man wipe away her tears with his fist before. Yirok, feigning ignorance of the tears on the back of his hand, leaned back comfortably.

“I believe you… once spilled water on me as I was passing by.”

“That’s because you first, no, never mind. I’ll apologize. So this time, it wasn’t me….”

“I know.”

“What do you mean, you know?”

“I know. You’re not petty enough to have a bunch of guys harass me. I know that, so… go now. You should eat. The food you like.”

“Why do you keep telling me to go eat whenever you see me?”

At Chaehwa’s way of speaking, which jumped to an unrelated topic, Yirok felt an uncontrollable emotion. Her nose was red, the rims of her eyes were redder, and yet her expression was so vivid that he found it funny and whipped his head away. He covered his smiling lips with the back of his hand as a disguise. As it happened, Chaehwa’s tears that were on it transferred to his lips.

It felt as though he had stolen what was flowing on Chaehwa’s cheek to moisten his lips. Yirok felt something tingly, incomparable to his headache, strike his chest and pass through. But he didn’t want to delve into it deeply. He wiped the smile away with the back of his hand and returned to his usual expressionless face to look at Chaehwa again. He tried with all his might not to focus on her lips, which were pouting as if she were hurt.

“When we were tied together by the bracelet. You lectured me, saying that food is the most important thing in the world. Go and do the most important thing in the world to you.”

“It’s not a bracelet, it’s a spiritual command.”

“…A spiritual command.”

Yirok, who had repeated Chaehwa’s words without realizing it, let his guard down at the last moment. Chaehwa, the corners of her mouth turned up in a grin, was beaming as if she had never cried. A moment in which he could offer no retort, no thought, came over Yirok, so much so that even the cuckoo clock in the hospital room, which he had thought gloomy, looked different.

“Seeing you run your mouth, you must be all better.”

Chaehwa stood up and handed him a rabbit-themed notebook she had been hiding. His body, rather than his mind, reacted instinctively and took the notebook. With a proud face, Chaehwa turned the first page of the notebook for him herself.

“You couldn’t come to class. I took notes on everything.”

“You did?”

“What was that, that remark that sounds incredibly rude? I hope I’m misunderstanding. From now on, your class progress depends on me.”

With a tone as if she were giving him something grand, Yirok slowly examined the first page. The notes, filled with Chaehwa’s round handwriting, were merely a transcription of Teacher Myeong-il’s words. There was no sign of organization or summary; it was just haphazard note-taking.

However, just by reading the words, Yirok felt as if he were attending Teacher Myeong-il’s class in person. This was thanks to her having written down even the jokes and lighthearted stories. Yirok, following the text, tapped the empty margin with his fingertip.

Tap, tap.

“Ahem, ahem.”

He was so focused on the notebook that he had momentarily forgotten Chaehwa was there. When he raised his head, he saw Chaehwa’s cheeks, fully basking in the sunlight. In contrast, Yirok was expressionless, like a person who had been robbed of his smile. It was not of his own will.

The forsythia-yellow sunlight was split into the shape of window bars. When he focused on such bright sunlight, he would see things as if he had a microscope on his eyes—the shape of Chaehwa’s lips, the curve that appeared whenever her eyes crinkled, the downy fuzz on her cheeks. Despite it being a short moment of about one second, Yirok rashly passed judgment on the future.

It will be hard to forget. Even after I ruin the naive Chaehwa’s life, I will often recall this very moment. The greed that surpasses guilt is so repulsive I want to cut my own body. Yirok did not want to put a name to these thoughts. It was obvious that if he went that far, there would be no turning back.

“Since Shinwoo and Chaho played a prank on you, there has to be compensation. I call it the ‘Free 24-Hour Treatment Service’.”

Chaehwa waved her cell phone, which she carried around like a treasure, next to her cheek. Yirok could not say a single word and had no choice but to endure it all.

“If you press and hold 1, it’ll connect to me. So if you feel like you’re going to die anytime, press 1. It’s my first time opening the abyss without the proper procedure, so you’ll be sick for quite a while. I’ll explain everything to your grandmother. And if… you want to punish those two, tell me that too.”

He hadn’t even thought of Shinwoo and Chaho’s faces until Chaehwa mentioned them. In Yirok’s mind, there were only two thoughts. I want to feel this miserable yet blissful moment for as long as possible. No. I wanted to push Chaehwa away and escape from this picture.

“Well then, I’m going. Leave the notebook out front there in the morning. So I can take it and take more notes.”

Chaehwa waved her hand and said a cute, “Bye.” Left alone with the rabbit notebook, Yirok pressed his drained head against the wall. Chaehwa, who had already left through the door, could not hear the sigh that finally burst out.

“Ah….”

His hand moved on its own, pressing the rabbit notebook to his chest. It felt as if something was about to burst out of his body, as if something was about to spill out from him. The notebook used to block it seemed too fragile to be of any help.

If he uttered those words, he would not be able to treat Chaehwa as he had before. He would not be able to treat people as coldly as before.

Wasn’t that a terrible and cruel thing?

For him, who knew today but not tomorrow. So, it was Chaehwa’s fault. It had to be.