Breeze was trying to decide how to direct the conversation now. She knew if she didn’t do what she’d dreamed of doing for over three long years, she’d kick herself later. She’d been working toward this goal ever since the first night Namjoon’s voice had crossed an ocean to reach her. She fiddled with the American quarter in her hand, sliding it between her fingertips. She was visiting Korea for a year with a foreign exchange program at the university. She had the next two days off, so she had traveled here. She’d ridden the train from Seoul to Ilsan, her backpack holding all the belongings she’d need for her two-day stay. She’d simply wanted to escape the city for a little while. She had also known this was Namjoon’s hometown. His birthday was approaching. And he was on a break. He’d come home to visit his family. She had flung a prayer heavenward hoping against hope that she would run into him here. Now here she sat, her first morning in Ilsan, and she had found him. In fact, he had come straight to her! It was truly remarkable! So, she had to take full advantage of it.
Namjoon watched her. She wasn’t a typical ARMY, fawning all over him and asking for a selfie and an autograph. She was cultured and sweet, reserved and brilliant. He thought she just might be the embodiment of all his dreams of his ideal mate. Could she be the one holding his red thread? Had she traversed an ocean to bring it to him? He already felt so drawn to her open personality. Perhaps it was because she was pulling on that crimson cord.
As he’d entered the cafe this morning, he had been reflecting that he could finally relax. He’d come home to see his family for his birthday, for the first time in six long years! He was in town for the whole week and very much looking forward to spending time with them all and with his mother especially. He’d been planning to set aside all thoughts of work for this one week. And just as he’d dropped his guard, this lovely lady had appeared.
She figured it was now or never. He was nearing the end of his tea and had already polished off his pastry. She had shoved her cinnamon roll to the side. She was not going to risk her life in front of him again. She took a deep breath and offered, “I have something for you,” before turning to dig through her backpack.
She missed the mystified look on Namjoon’s face. They had literally just met. How could she possibly have something for him? But he didn’t reckon the way she did. He might have just met her, but she had met him nearly four years ago on a cold winter’s day, her sixteenth birthday.
It was supposed to have been a day full of wonder. Her very own sweet sixteen. Her mother had even planned the perfect surprise party to celebrate her birth. She’d invited all Breeze’s friends. She’d even rented a room in Chicago to host it.
Breeze had been looking forward to her birthday for weeks. She’d believed she was taking a day trip to the city with her best friend, her mother planning to join them later for dinner at her favorite restaurant. She hadn’t suspected that her mom had rented a room at the restaurant to surprise her. She had entered the back room with her friend to a joyous cacophony of people shouting, “Surprise!” and “Happy Birthday!” and “Happy Sweet Sixteen!”
The evening had seemed so full of promise. But a careless boy had shattered her heart two hours later, ruining the celebration of her life. She had fled from her friends before the tears could escape their bonds to flow down her face. She had walked back to her hotel through the pouring rain alone, not even with a simple umbrella to shelter her.
She had never understood how she’d even found Namjoon. Later that night in the dry confines of her hotel room, she had Googled “sad love song” and up had popped “BTS I Need You.” It made no sense. She’d been staring out the window at the shimmering skyline of downtown Chicago, and a Korean pop band had found her. She’d listened to the song once and read the lyrics, and she was taken. She’d found her solace. So, she’d then performed a search on BTS and found a picture of Namjoon along with his name. There were seven members in the band, but his smile grabbed her the first time she looked at a picture of him. In the photo, he’d been hiding his right eye behind a lovely, dark pink rose he was holding up in his right hand. But even with a third of his face obscured, his brilliant smile had captured her. Even one of his darling dimples had been visible. He had looked like such a sweetheart. Namjoon had reached out across a vast sea to comfort her in her hour of need. She’d listened to the song on repeat all night long. And then for the next week.
When it had sunk down into her bones, and she knew every bar, each chord, every note, and each lyric, both English and Korean, by heart, she had done a very specific search, looking for songs Namjoon had helped to write. She had then discovered he’d written many lyrics for the band. She’d found other songs of his. His words had drawn her near and held her close. Comforted her. Grounded her. Rescued her. And the love affair had deepened. The connection between them had searched the far continents of her soul. And found common ground. She had finally found someone who understood her. He was standing there, on a far island in the Pacific Sea, handing her hope. So, she had sought to repay his kindness. If he had found a way to send her the gift of his words, she too would find a way to give him her thoughts. The night she turned a not-so-sweet sixteen, Breeze had handed Namjoon her heart with a pen and a piece of notebook paper. She had sat down to inscribe the first of many letters to the rapper. In a day of instant messaging, she had begun writing a book that had taken her three and a half years to complete. She was working on its sequel now.
She pulled a spiralbound book from her bag. The cover read simply, “Dear Joonie.” Namjoon sat, stunned. Why was his pet name on the cover of a book in this lovely girl’s hands?
She set it down on the table. Curious, he reached for it, but when his fingers touched the cover, he paused.
“May I?” His eyes echoed the question his tongue uttered.
She simply nodded.
He pulled the book closer to himself and opened the cover. He read the top of the very first page. It echoed the cover. His eyes perused that page quickly, then he flipped to the next page, then on to several more. Finally, he picked up the book and, holding the spine with his left hand, he leafed through the remaining pages. The entire book was typed; though, every so often there was a handwritten signature that read “Love, Breeze” in the most beautiful script. She had written him an entire tome full of love letters. But not just any love letters. This stuff was no fluff. It held her deepest thoughts, her most intimate longings, the shades of her soul, her heart’s colors.
