FADE Special Chapter: After Everything | Drama Web Novel

This chapter is exclusive to the blog. A gift to everyone who walked alongside Jina and Joon until the very end.

I

A year passed.

A full year since the day Jina opened her eyes in that hospital room and didn't recognize the man sitting beside her.

In that year, many memories returned. Not all of them. Some remained hazy, and some arrived in a different order than they had actually occurred. But the most important thing had returned.

Joon had returned.

Not just to her memory, but in a much deeper way, through discovery.

And that was far more precious.

On the morning of that day, the first anniversary of her waking up, she woke before him.

It was rare for this to happen. Joon was the type of man who woke up when his body decided, and his body usually decided before hers.

But this morning, she was awake before dawn.

She sat up in bed, looking at his back. The back of a sleeping man. A steady, rhythmic rise and fall. Dark hair against the white pillow.

She looked at him and thought.

She thought of the night she woke up and told him, "I don't know you."

She thought of his face in that exact moment, the thing that broke inside him so silently.

And the way he decided, despite that, to start from scratch. She hadn't asked him to. She couldn't take credit for it. It was entirely his decision, a choice he made alone in that sterile, white hospital corridor.

And every single day after that was built upon that choice.

He shifted in his sleep.

When he opened his eyes and found her watching him, he spoke, his voice thick with drowsiness:

"Since when?"

"Just a little while."

"Is everything alright?"

"Everything is perfect."

He closed his eyes again. Then:

"Why are you looking at me?"

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"About a whole year."

He opened one eye.

"Today?"

"Today."

He closed his eye. A second later, he reached out his hand and held hers.

And they stayed that way until morning arrived.

II

In the garden that morning, there was the plant.

A stubborn, tiny plant named Joon.

It had grown, much more than either of them had expected. Thick green leaves nestled in its simple brown clay pot.

Jina stood before it, watering it as was her routine, when Joon approached with their two cups and stood beside her.

"It grew."

"I told you it would."

"You said it was stubborn."

"And it is. The stubborn ones grow."

He looked at her.

"Is that a projection?"

"Perhaps."

She took her cup and sipped.

The garden was captured in the first morning of autumn. Leaves were just beginning to turn color on the massive trees, and the air carried a hint of the approaching chill.

"Jina."

"Yes."

"A year ago. In the hospital. When you said, 'I don't know you.'"

"I know."

"I want to ask you something I've never asked before."

"Ask."

"What did you see?"

She paused.

"What do you mean?"

"When you looked at me for the very first time, before you knew who I was. What did you see?"

She thought about it.

"I saw a man who had something in his eyes that he was trying to hide, but couldn't."

"And what was that thing?"

"Fear."

He looked at her.

"And that fear... what did it tell you about me?"

"It told me that whatever was happening was deeply important to you. And important things only terrify us when we are afraid of losing them."

Silence fell.

"But you said, 'I don't know you.'"

"Because I didn't know you. But I felt something."

"What did you feel?"

"I felt that this terrified man was important."

The garden was peaceful. The coffee was warm.

"Joon."

"Yes."

"I am glad I didn't know you at first."

"Why?"

"Because not knowing allowed me to learn you all over again. And what I've learned is far deeper than what I used to know."

III

In the middle of the day, her mother called.

The woman with dyed hair and a voice that brooked no argument.

"Jina. How is your health?"

"I am well, Mother."

"And Joon?"

"He is well too."

"I want the two of you to come over for dinner next week."

"We will come."

"And tell him not to be late this time. The food gets cold."

"I will tell him."

A brief pause ensued. Then:

"Jina."

"Yes."

"I am proud of you."

The sentence came out rushed, as if her mother was afraid she might take it back.

"Proud how?"

"Because you... you walked. Through a difficult year, you kept walking."

Jina looked out at the garden.

"I didn't walk alone."

"I know. But the walking was your choice."

And her mother hung up the phone before giving her a chance to reply.

Because she was her mother. And that was just her way.

IV

In the evening, Joon came home early.

Early by a standard very different from his old one. Early now meant six-thirty, not nine or ten o'clock.

He walked in and found her reading in the library.

"Early," she noted.

"I decided to be."

"You always decide things so abruptly."

"Do you object?"

"No."

He sat beside her, took the book from her hand without asking, and looked at the page she was on.

"You've gotten this far?"

"I have."

"Do you want to know what happens next?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because the surprise is better."

He set the book down.

"Jina."

"Yes."

"Today in the meeting, someone asked about you."

"Who?"

"A foreign minister. We met at a conference before... before the accident. He knew you."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him you were doing well."

"Just that?"

"I told him you are better than you used to be. That is the part I know with absolute certainty."

She looked at him.

"Joon, do you think about the accident a lot?"

"Less than I did at first. But yes."

"And what exactly do you think about?"

"The thirty seconds. The ones I can't seem to piece together in my head."

"Why do you want to piece them together?"

He paused.

"Because what I don't understand makes me feel as though I was powerless to prevent it."

"Joon."

"Yes."

"You couldn't have prevented it."

"I know."

"But you're trying to convince yourself otherwise."

"I am trying."

"How much time will you need for that?"

"I don't know."

"Alright. Whenever you need time for that, I am right here."

She took the book back into her hands. He remained seated beside her, and the library returned to its deep quiet.

V

At night, in the garden, beneath a dim, ambient light.

The plant named Joon sat safely in its corner. The two of them occupied their usual chairs.

"Joon," she said.

"Yes."

"I want to say something."

"Say it."

"A year ago, during my first days in the mansion, I told you that you were a stranger to me. And I was being entirely honest."

"I know."

"And you told me that we would build new memories."

"I did."

"I didn't truly understand what that meant back then."

"And do you now?"

She looked out at the darkened garden.

"Now I know that building memories means something far simpler than I imagined. It means coffee every morning. A garden in the evening. A plant named Joon on the window sill. And a day just like today."

"A day like today?"

"An ordinary day. Nothing extraordinary about it. But it accumulates with the other days to become something called a life."

The cool breeze drifted between them.

"Jina."

"Yes."

"That is exactly what I've wanted to tell you for a long time, but I couldn't find the words."

"And I said it for you instead?"

"You are better with words than I am."

"And you are better with silence than I am."

The sentence was a compliment, and he knew it.

VI

After a while, he asked:

"Jina, what do you want for the coming year? In our life?"

She thought about it.

"I want the plant to stay alive."

"Just that?"

"And I want mornings like this one. I want my memory to keep returning. And I want days where I come back from a trip and find you waiting at the airport."

"That can easily be arranged."

"And I want something else."

"What?"

She turned to face him fully, and in her eyes was a warmth that hadn't been there at the start of the morning.

"I want us to start something completely new."

He looked closely at her.

"Jina."

"Yes."

"Do you mean..."

"Yes."

A long, profound silence settled over them. Then:

"When did you start thinking about this?"

"For a while now. But I wanted the first year to pass first."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to be absolutely certain."

"And are you certain now?"

"I am certain."

He took her hand, and they remained looking out at the garden, the tiny plant in its corner, wrapped in the night. Something brand new was beginning to take shape in the air.

VII

Late at night, right before sleep, he spoke:

"Jina."

"Yes."

"When you were in the coma, I used to talk to you."

"I know. You told me."

"But I didn't tell you everything I said."

"Tell me now."

He stared up at the ceiling.

"I told you that I was terrified. I told you that the house without you felt empty in a way I had never known before. And I told you that if I were given a second chance, I would be different."

"Different how?"

"Less absent. More vocal about the things that need to be said."

"And have you been?"

He paused.

"I am trying."

"Joon."

"Yes."

"You say things in your own way. And I have learned your language."

"And is that enough?"

"It is more than enough."

The ceiling stretched above them, the house was perfectly still, and the plant in the adjacent room grew with its usual, beautiful stubbornness.

Epilogue

The next morning, the first morning after their first anniversary, Jina stood before the plant.

Green, stubborn leaves.

She had named it Joon because it was stubborn and refused to grow quickly. She had said that once, and he had overheard. When he asked her about it later, she claimed the plant was stubborn like certain people she knew, without naming anyone.

She hadn't needed to name anyone.

The garden lay outside; the plant stood inside.

And Joon approached, holding their two cups. He stood right beside her, and together they looked at the tiny plant that had grown despite everything.

"It's still small," he noted quietly.

"But it's here."

"Yes. It's here."

And that was enough.

In fact, it was everything.

END OF CHAPTER

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