Kyong,
I should have come to see you a long time ago. I think about you when I wake up, all day, and late into the night, but I never give voice to these thoughts. I only have to close my eyes to picture your face. You’re here, leaning over my desk, reading me and translating me at the same time in your thoughts, without ever saying a word. You know I’m watching you, so you keep your feelings concealed.
If only heartache were contagious, you would love me as much as I love you.
When feelings are hard to pin down, we hope that they will take shape as they grow. Mine are now fully grown, but I have been trying hard not to show it. You and I can do anything with words. We create beautiful stories. So why is it so complicated to create our own story together in real life?
I am coming to Seoul, not just for the book fair, but for you. And if you feel like it, we can spend some time together. You can introduce me to your city and your friends. Or I could simply sit down and write, and this time, you would be the one watching me.
I’ll be counting the days, with bated breath . . . as my longing for you slows time to a crawl.
Paul
As he finished writing the message, it occurred to him that Kyong had already woken up. When would she read the words he had sent her? This thought kept him awake long into the night.
Arthur sat with the laptop on his knees. He entered the address of the dating site, logged in with the username and password, and accessed the profile he had created, this time with the sole intent of deleting it. A little envelope was blinking under the image of his best friend’s face. Arthur turned to Lauren, but she was asleep. He hesitated—two seconds, maybe less—then clicked on the envelope.
Dear Paul,
We talked about calling but we didn’t mention email, so this doesn’t count.
My email address is at the bottom of this message, because I’d rather avoid this site from now on, in an attempt to forget how humiliating that whole debacle was . . .
I wanted to thank you for our impromptu lunch, and to tell you not to worry about my “oh.” I have been thinking more about your story and I really want to know what happens next—so I can only hope that you soon overcome your writer’s block.
I’m excited about the idea of visiting the Opera, especially when it’s closed to the public. Things that are out of reach are always more desirable.
A grueling night tonight at the restaurant. Lots of people—too many, almost—but that’s the price of success. It seems my cuisine is absolutely irresistible!
Good night, and see you soon . . .
Mia
“Can I have my laptop back?” Daisy asked, poking her head into Mia’s room.
“Sure. I just finished.”
“Who were you writing to? I heard you working those keys like crazy.”
“I have trouble writing on a French keyboard, with the letters in all the wrong places.”
“So who were you writing to?” Daisy pressed, sitting at the foot of the bed.
“Creston. I was just giving him an update.”
“Only good things, I assume?”
“Yes, I rather like my life in Paris. I even like my job at the restaurant.”
“There weren’t many people there tonight. If it goes on, I’ll be forced to close down.”
Mia shut the laptop and focused all her attention on Daisy.
“It’s just a phase. People are strapped for cash right now, but the crisis won’t last forever.”
“You can count me among those strapped for cash, and at this rate, my restaurant won’t be around to see the end of the crisis.”
“Daisy, if you don’t want me as a partner, at least let me lend you some money.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I may be penniless, but I still have my dignity.”
Daisy lay down next to Mia. The pillow was oddly uncomfortable; she slid her hand beneath it and discovered a book. She turned it over to read the blurb.
“Why do I feel like I recognize this face?” she asked, looking at the photo of the author.
“He’s a very well-known American novelist.”
“I never have time to read. But I’m sure I’ve seen this face before. Maybe he came to the restaurant.”
“Who knows?” Mia replied, turning bright red.
“Did you buy it today? What’s it about?”
“I haven’t started it yet.”
“You bought a book without even knowing what it’s about?”
“It came recommended by the bookseller.”
“All right, well, I’ll leave you to your reading. I’m off to bed.”
Daisy stood up and walked toward the door.
“Um, the book?” Mia said timidly.
It was still in Daisy’s hand. She took another look at the photograph and tossed the book on the bed.
“See you tomorrow.”
She closed the door and then, almost immediately, opened it again.
“You’re acting weird.”
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know. Was it that stranger on the phone who gave you this book?”
“Well, if it was, wouldn’t it be written in a dialect from northernmost Sweden?”
Daisy frowned at Mia before leaving the room.
“You’re definitely being weird,” Mia heard her mutter from outside the door.
10
The alarm went off. Lauren stretched like a cat and then curled up against Arthur.
“Did you sleep okay?” she asked, kissing him.
“Never better.”
“What’s put you in such a good mood?”
“There’s something you have to see,” he said with a grin as he sat up.
He picked up the laptop from under the bed and opened it.
“For a date that only lasted ten minutes, this is one solid follow-up!”
Lauren rolled her eyes.
“So they hit it off, despite your tasteless joke—good for them. But don’t jump the gun.”
“Just making observations from what I read, is all.”
“He’s in love with his Korean translator, so I’m not sure this mysterious stranger would make any difference. Or if she even wants to.”
“In the meantime, I’m going to print this out and leave it right on his desk where he can see it.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Just to let him know I’m not stupid.”
Lauren read the letter again.
“She just wants to be friends.”
“And you know this because . . . ?”
“Because I’m a woman, and it’s plain to see, written in black and white. Emails don’t count. Translated into womanspeak: I’m not trying to get you into bed. And she talks about something that might be pretty important going on at this restaurant, but Paul doesn’t seem to have anything to do with it.”
“And what about the whole ‘things that are out of reach are always more desirable’ thing? Come on, you don’t think she’s flirting there, just a little bit?”
“I think your mind is playing tricks on you because you’re so desperate for Paul to stay in Paris. If you want my opinion, this woman is fresh out of a relationship, on the rebound. She seems to be genuinely looking for a friend and that’s that.”
“You should have gone into psychology instead of neurosurgery.”
“I won’t dignify that with a response. But even assuming that there are mixed messages . . . if you want Paul to take the bait, the last thing you should do is bring it up.”