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.
