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A year later, and everything’s heightened. The excitement, the anxiety, the hope and the fear, even though Ji-yeong read her note forever ago and sent her a bright-red rose emoji. Min-ah couldn’t answers for hours, because her head was pounding from emotional turmoil and her first taste of alcohol. She remembers staring at the rose until her eyes watered, and then Ji-yeong sent a heart, and Min-ah squealed.
They text all the time. But they’re so busy, in different cities, Min-ah frantically trying to make it into her choice university and Ji-yeong studying hard there. So their texts stay mostly surface. Ji-yeong tells Min-ah about all the books she’s reading, and Min-ah whines about classes, and they try to see the same movies sometimes so they can chatter about the pretty actresses that are never as pretty as Ji-yeong. Min-ah follows all Ji-yeong’s socials and likes every picture, because Ji-yeong’s a gorgeous model, but Min-ah also kind of misses seeing her in the same school uniform that Min-ah’s currently wearing. It’s the last day she’ll ever have to wear that same red tie.
She wonders distantly if Ji-yeong still has her uniform, and then Min-ah’s heart is pounding again, thinking of the last time they were wearing the same thing. They were in the same place. Min-ah was on the same swing, the green one, the red now empty beside her, the playground quiet but about to be full of either Min-ah’s joyous cries or broken sobs. She hangs her head, closes her eyes, grips the rope and wills herself not to check her phone for the millionth time to make extra sure that Ji-yeong’s coming.
She hears the gravel crunching, and when she opens her eyes, there’s another pair of sneakers next to hers. Sometimes Ji-yeong’s wearing fancy heels online, but mostly she’s still a sneaker girl—the same cool, casual creature that Min-ah’s always fit beside. Min-ah’s head snaps up, and her stomach clenches, because it’s all happening again.
This time, Ji-yeong says, “Congratulations.” She says it like Min-ah’s run a marathon and won the gold. Hundreds of other students are graduating too, but it was particularly hard for Min-ah, because she had to do that last year without ever seeing her crush in the halls. She’s beaming back, matching Ji-yeong’s wide smile.
Ji-yeong’s not in the old uniform, but she is wearing a button-up white shirt and a red skirt over black leggings—not all that different. A pink purse hangs from her side, the same one she sent Min-ah pictures of last week, asking, Should I get this? And Min-ah said, Yes! because she thinks Ji-yeong should have everything.
Ji-yeong tucks a lock of dyed strawberry-brown hair behind her ear and turns to take a seat, manicured nails wrapping around the rope. She kicks out to idly swing back and forth, but Min-ah stays still, because she already has butterflies making her queasy.
It’s been a year. A whole three hundred and sixty five days. Min-ah’s counted down every one, waiting for an answer. Ji-yeong gave her the hope of a yes one year ago and promised to wait, but now it’s time to ask if the ‘yes’ is still on the table. If it can be official. Min-ah wants to ask and wishes she had more beer to give her the courage.
First, Ji-yeong opens her purse. She pulls out a little box, yellow with blue ribbon, a big bow on the top. She hands it over.
Min-ah wasn’t expecting anything. Surprised, she accepts it. Her hands are shaking as she tugs at the ribbon—she’s hyper aware that her nails aren’t as nice as Ji-yeong’s, even though she went to the trouble of learning how to paint a pink-white gradient. She wanted to look good. Her mother said her cherry lipstick’s too bright, but she’s a grown woman now and can make her own beauty choices.
She lifts the lid, and there’s a keychain inside: a pretty pair of dice painted in rainbow colours. Ji-yeong tells her, “It’s for your phone. I thought about getting a bookmark... don’t get me wrong, I think it’s really cute that you’ve been reading more for me... but... it’s kind of obvious that’s not your thing. And I know you love your phone, so...” There’s a light chuckle in her voice, all good humour, but Min-ah’s blushing anyway.
“I’m sorry. You’ve got great taste in books; I always love the stuff you recommend me. It’s just...”
“No, it’s fine,” Ji-yeong promises. “You’re perfect how you are.”
Min-ah’s cheeks must be redder than her lipstick. They hurt from how hard she’s smiling. She can’t bring herself to look up at Ji-yeong, because it’ll be too much, so she just stares down at her gift. She tries to calm her racing pulse. Her heart’s beating so fast. She says, “Thank you.”
Then she sucks in a breath and makes herself go on. “I like it. A lot.” When her head finally lifts, it’s like she feared: Ji-yeong is radiant. Min-ah’s missed her so much. It’s not the same over the phone. “But... what I really want is...”
She takes too long to finish, and Ji-yeong softly asks, “Do you want to go out for drinks? At a real restaurant this time.”
Min-ah bites her bottom lip, chewing it, hesitantly checking, “Like... a celebration for graduating...?”
“Like a date.”
Min-ah drops the lid atop the box, both hands flying to hide her face, because she’s blushing so hot that she may as well be punch-drunk. Ji-yeong laughs, warm and beautiful. They have to make sure they don’t have hangovers tomorrow, because they’re taking the train up to look for where Min-ah will stay when she starts university, preferably somewhere close to Ji-yeong’s place.
Ji-yeong’s hand covers hers, gently pulling it back. That gives Ji-yeong room to lean in and peck Min-ah’s cheek—she squirms and squeaks in shocked pleasure. Ji-yeong laughs and kisses her again, fingers lacing through hers.
Then Ji-yeong squeezes her hand and tugs her off the swing—they head off to start.