Hope Is A Dangerous Thing

The quiet days are a blessing. Time to sketch the girl by the window, who also has her pad open, pencil in hand, with a view of the quaint village street. It’s a moment she has captured so many times now that she’s beginning to perfect it. She draws other things too, but this is her constant.

Minju notices that the mug is empty, and as she has so many times before, she approaches with another.

Complimentary, of course. Moka has stopped insisting on paying for her refills now - it was a losing battle.

“You have changed how you shade the tree,” Minju notices, which catches Moka a little off-kilter.

“Oh. I have - wait. How did you know?”

“You sketch that a lot. You’re getting better.” Minju sets into a mini panic, backtracking her choice of words. “Not that it isn’t already good. You’re talented. It’s so pretty.”

Moka grins at the sincerity. Minju pauses in contemplation, realising Moka is wearing the same t-shirt as the day before and remembers the scolding she once got for doing so.

“So, are you an artist?” Minju asks. The question has been bouncing around that little Moka-obsessed brain for far too long.

“Not an artist. I wish I were. I want to illustrate comics.”

“So why don’t you?”

Moka laughs; she can’t help the reaction. “I can’t just do it. I need a portfolio and well… For that, I need something better than just a notepad and a pencil.”

“Do comics not look like that?”

“Like this?” Moka points her pencil at the sketch. “No, they don’t. Wait, do you not know what comics look like?”

“I was never allowed to read them. ‘They are for dumb people who don’t want to learn about the real world,’” Minju recites.

“How sad,” Moka contemplates. “I should give you one. I know something you would like.”

Minju looks over her shoulder at her mom in the office, who is doing one of her regular checks past the curtain, giving her eyes that order her to return to work. Minju turns back to Moka, worry on her face. “I should get back to work, sorry.”

-

A busier day. The girl at the window is devoid of the attention she usually receives from the now ever-working Minju. Back and forth, she works alone, from table to table. Cookies and coffee and cakes, and it’s all under her mother’s gaze. No breaks. No time.

Minju serves a balding man his cake and takes the order from the young couple, then quickly slips over to the table by the door to clear the empties. She cuts through the room with the practice of her many years of working daily.

A hand on her arm. So much strength for something so small. “My comic was still here. Did you read it?”

“No, I would never -”

“You were supposed to read it.” Moka sighs.

Moka is doing that thing again. She’s just talking, but it’s all quick and confident, and it’s turning Minju into a stuttering mess. “I don’t - It’s not - Not my thing.”

“Because it’s a yuri?”

“Yuri?” Minju tilts her head.

“Girls loving girls,” Moka says so casually, but the idea of it puzzles Minju. “You know. A relationship. A love story.” Minju remains silent as Moka presses the issue. “Why are you looking at me like that? It’s like you’ve never dated.”

“I, uh -”

“Oh.” Moka realises. Not all girls are like the ones she knows in the city, not out here.

“Dating is…”

Moka glares past Minju, meeting the stare of the woman peering past the curtain. “I get it.” She pulls her comic book back, tucking it into her backpack. “Let me know if you do want to read it.” To that, Minju nods, mildly embarrassed, and then rushes back to work.

-

It’s a particularly hot day, and Moka’s basking in the afternoon sun through the window. It’s too hot to sketch, too hot to read, too hot to drink coffee. Everyone else seems to share that sentiment. Moka’s almost alone, aside from the woman at the counter who’s flicking through her notebook.

Minju goes through the pages, watching how her ability to draw Moka has improved over time. With each new attempt, there's another little detail she adds. So much care in each line by the most recent entries, and they are still not good enough, as Moka is so much more beautiful than she can convey on the page.

There’s no watcher in the office today, and that means Minju can make the most of days like this. She sits with the girl by the window, and they pick up where they left off. No one else would care enough to think twice, but Minju knows Moka’s secret.

"Have you decided to go home yet?" Minju asks, knowing that Moka must go at some point, and dreading the moment she does.

"I have a little more time. I could stay a few more weeks."

"But you'll have to go back to your real life."

Moka shrugs. "What's so real about it?"

Minju tilts her head, confused.

"I can be me here. Back in Seoul, I'm no one. And here, I have you." Moka blushes at her words, as if she hadn't realised how much of her heart was slipping out.

"Mom keeps talking about telling the authorities."

"So she's not a fan of strays?" Moka sighs and glances toward the open office door. "You don't have to do everything she says, you know? There's a whole world outside of this town. I could show you the world." Moka pauses, wondering if she's taken it too far. "If you want, of course. I mean, you would hate it, wouldn't you? You like the quiet life. You don't want to be caught up in my mess."

"You're not a mess," Minju soothes. "You're just different."

-

It's late in the day, and Minju is cleaning the empty cafe. The door's locked, and the blinds are down. She's wiping down tables and sweeping floors, while her mom makes calls from the office. She reaches the table by the window. She left it again. This time, there's a note tucked between the pages and poking out of the top, ready to be noticed. Minju places the cloth down on the table and reaches for the note.

7 pm. The yellow umbrella by the beach.

Minju sighs, crushes the note into her palm and heads to the bin. She stops, holding the little ball of paper over the trash can. She catches her reflection in the window. Sigh. She drops the note.

Minju collects her notebook and flicks through the pages. So many drawings. Most of them are pointless, careless doodles, but the drawings of her are detailed and precious.

-

It's just minju and the sound of waves. She's ten minutes late, and she's not sure if she wants to do this, but Moka is nowhere to be seen. A little part of her is relieved, but a larger part is disappointed. She places her fingers on the railing of the beachside boardwalk and stares out at the horizon. It's a beautiful sunset, not that she ever took much notice of them. She'd always been too busy. Too busy to notice the beauty of life, or to have a life.