OCTOBER 11, 2023.

"Alright. Since we have a special pair of film students in the room, I'd like to show you the film that won the Seoul Short Film Festival this year," Professor Park clicked her tongue, looking around. Finally, her eyes reached mine and began to smile. "Yewon and Beomgyu. Please come up here and give us background to your film before you begin."

We heard the barrage of clapping– one silently clapping–and made our way to the front. Beomgyu held my hand behind the pedestal, urging me to speak; so, even in fear, I looked directly at Soobin, letting it all come back to me. People stared at him, too. Nobody has seen him at all, not even lingering–with suspension and fear, Soobin's presence unsettled everyone. Both seats next to him were empty. "The theme we went with this year was about memories being a memorial place in someone's life," I announced, swallowing the knot in my throat. "And focused on old flames, Beomgyu and I thought of the idea of an ill-fated past–growing into a slowly beautiful present."

Beomgyu continued. "In the perspective of a young high schooler, the girl puts past triviality and learns to grow alongside the roots holding her down–becoming not a butterfly, but a moth."

Soobin looked stoic–for the first time, he wasn't the only one who knew who the film was about. The surrounding students pointed at him and expressed discontent his way, but our eyes stood twisted into each other, the first one to cut the thread being me. "Please enjoy," I whispered as I pressed play on the laptop, turning to the video on the board.

There, it began. The actress, my friend Shin Gyeowool, who looked so similar to myself at that age–the one who experienced heartbreak before I could grasp it. "Don't you understand!?" She screamed, pushing against him–a him that wore that death-black hair and that same striped shirt. Beomgyu squeezed my hand, but I was captivated. "You can't do this now. You can't lie! You can't tell everyone we weren't something when we were!"

"Get off of me!" The younger depiction of him had yelled as the screen turned black, quietness ensuing. "It's not like I know what to say! Do you think that by stopping me, I won't leave you?"

"Please," I was moved to tears–all the times I closed my eyes trying to direct each scene, this was in front of me the whole time. "Please, don't leave me."

Then, we cut to their memories, the memories that I had incorporated by telling Beomgyu everything that ever happened to us. Playing in the snow on a winter's evening, singing at a coin karaoke hours past midnight but having school in two hours, pressing flowers onto sheets so we could have matching wallpapers, and going on numerous dates. There was so much more that I refused to acknowledge because I was sure that if I turned to Soobin while they played, he'd call me out.

But, then there were trivialities. There was distant arguing in every scene, subtitles reading, "Why won't you say anything?!", "What is there to say?!", "Why aren't you ever sorry?" Though there were blossoming flowers, we focused on the double-edged sword of our romance, where it was obvious that we were never going to work out. Then, the screen goes black.

It cut to the younger me riding her bike back home at midnight, along the not-so-bustling Han River for a long, unsettling time. The silence was filled with her tears, of quiet sobbing as she wiped her tears with every arm, switching every second.

Then, it flickered to every season where she did something knew in the briefness of her silence–winter she had taken up lying in snow, spring she had learned how to use a camera, summer she had ran three miles a day because she had nothing left, the first autumn where she made her first film, the second winter where she cried in her dorm bathroom, the spring where she read scripts and held back tears, the summer that was filled with trying to find footing, and now, the present–I am reminded of the cold autumn where I remembered meeting him again at our college initiation party.

"There you are," He whispered, and I watched the present me's expression change. The only thing different between me and her, between the depiction of me and the current me... was our ending.

The memories are depicted in reverse, indicating that if I had the opportunity to go back in time, I would. I knew it all too well, everything about him and all the warning signs, but in an attempt to constantly prove myself wrong, I put all my faith in him. Then, we're back to the current scene. I remembered clutching my water bottle, the grip around it tightening. The memory of film-making filled my head.

"Are you sure you want to change the ending, Yewon?" I downed the shotglass of soju that was left on the table, blinking profusely. Beomgyu worried for me–that all of a sudden, an ending full of hatred and continued arguments was going to become something new. "Aren't we trying to make this realistic?"

"We are," I nodded slowly. "And I know, realistically, Beomgyu, if I lingered a little longer that night..."

I looked at the empty glass, fingers turning it every which way. "...I would've forgiven him."

"Aren't you going to say anything to me?" The depiction of him released from his lips, tilting his head. His motives were evident in the way his expression changed. "You've changed a lot, Han Yejin."

I hoped Soobin could hear my thoughts, just for a moment: I saved you this sliver of face, asshole.

I watched her swallow, eyes flicking between him. "It really has been a while," Instead of the grimace I gave him that night, she sparked a smile, falling for his trap–the alluring sound of his voice made her forgive him again. "Choi Seobin."

And the camera zoomed into a moth landing on her shoulder, right unto the skin of her collarbone, and focused into how it moved. Then, it switched to his shoulder, a butterfly landing on his clothed shoulder, the energetic movement of its wings symbolizing all that the audience needed to know.

Then, it went back to the scene between us, two shared smiles and hearts that never had meant to synchronize. After her smile grew, the butterfly and the moth began to fly. They flew in each other's direction, but just before it's implied they collided, the screen turned black for the last time.

Distantly, for ten seconds, we can hear my depicted self in the background. "I have always loved you," Almost inaudibly, she continued. "But the memories are why I'm finally... choosing to surrender."

And the film ended. Silence and tension filled the room, but Professor Park was the first one to clap. I was brought back to earth the moment I turned around and found out he left, his seat empty. How much did he watch? Did he leave near the beginning? I could hear distant sniffles from the rest of the crowd, some moved to complete tears.

"Absolutely beautiful, Yewon and Beomgyu," Professor Park nodded, exchanging an extra glance. "It's beautiful... how you proved that memories can't be the reason someone stays."

As Professor Park began speaking, we walked back up the stairs to our seats. My eyes dragged to his empty chair, seeing the appearance of a small, manila note folded by four. I grabbed it off the desk, took a seat right behind his row, and unfolded it.

Dear Yewon,

Thank you. For everything.
I was really a fool to think that I could change your mind.
The film was beautiful, like you. I mean it. I watched it online at the festival.
You're right. Perhaps we were never meant to be fated nor supposed to understand each other.
But I'm grateful for all the memories.
Now, I will leave them where they're supposed to lie, where you sent me–the grave.
I hope if we ever cross paths, you keep walking,
Because I realized now,
I would still look back.

Sincerely, your oldest flame,
Choi Soobin.

"So," Beomgyu and I walked out of the lecture hall, sunlight seeping through the windows and landing on the side of his face. I tilted my head softly, curious of what he had to say. "It's all over now, Yewon. How do you feel?"

"I feel great," I smiled, Soobin's note sitting in my pocket. Beomgyu glanced at it, but didn't say a word. "How about you, Beomgyu? Our film won, we both were able to get good roles in broadcasting club, and–"

"I mean now that it's over with Soobin hyung, Yewon," I know, you adorable idiot. I just wanted to see you face contort into a sense of sarcasm. "How do you feel now that things are over, for good, between you guys?"

"I think that the burden of revenge, hatred, and negativity are all off my shoulders," I replied honestly, gripping my tote bag straps. "They've been gone for a long time, though, so I'm not worried at all. Actually, I think my life is bound to go uphill now that he's seen the film first hand and could see what I went through for the last three years–because he clearly didn't want to hear it from my lips."

"Do you..." He trailed off, reaching a hand to his nape. "Still like him, Yewon?"

I widened my eyes slightly. "What gave you the impression that I even liked him in the first place, Beomgyu?"

"When you got drunk, you told me you would've gone back to him," Beomgyu replied, gazing away. "You were saying that things would've been different, so that's why you changed the ending. That's why I figured that your heart may still lie with him, even if he's supposed to never see you again. And–" Beckoning to the letter, he frowned. "–He wrote you something. What's in it?"

"He wrote me a goodbye letter–a letter that is meant to say goodbye for good," His eyes widened slightly. "And, Beomgyu, I only said that for the good of the film. The scene that happened was at the very beginning of the year, when the thought of Soobin changing was fresh in my head–that the possibility of him and I was still up in the air if I wasn't as strong as I was."

Then, I paused, grabbing his chin. I made sure he was looking at me, locking eyes with him. "And, that was before I met you, Gyu."

I could practically feel his heartbeat blow at the nickname. "You mean...!"

"The possibility of us happening is still up in the air," I let go of him, but his hopeful expression never left his face. "We're fresh off closure, so I'm still going to need some time before we jump into things. I don't know completely if these feelings mean something romantic, so I hope... you're able to understand that I'll need a little longer."

Beomgyu blinked profusely, grinning.

Suddenly, without consent (that he didn't need,) Beomgyu embraced me, placing his head in the crook of my neck.

"I am willing to wait a lifetime for you, Han Yewon," That sent beautiful, embracing butterflies up my stomach. "Any lifetime, through any form of life."

Soobin, thank you. You sent forth a living hell,

but I have found peace–both by human and life–because of you.

To you–I wish you only the best.

Sincerely, your oldest flame,

As she continues to live on with the help of her new flame picking her up...

From the grave.