✎ I dreamed of rain. I dreamed that the water streaked down my cheeks like icy tears. I dreamed an umbrella covered my face. It covered my sad face and the icy tears dried up. I felt safe. I was safe. I was home.
I keep thinking about rain. Mom says it's rainy season and it'll rain again soon enough. I wonder, when it does rain... will someone be there to cover my face with an umbrella? Will someone be there to dry icy tears? Will someone make me feel as safe as I did in my dream?

[Her]
There's a boy sitting on a park bench. His legs are crossed, head bent over a small notepad on his lap. He has earbuds in and he's writing something on the notepad in pen.

I slowly walk up to him.

His head is bent so I can't see his eyes. He's not smiling so I can't see if he has dimples. But he's writing. Kim Namjoon likes to write. He's listening to music. Kim Namjoon likes music.

Is this Kim Namjoon?

I finally halt right in front of him.

He lifts his head. His eyes widen. And I can see the galaxies in them.

He smiles. Deep dimples appear on either side of his cheeks.

"You came," he says, pulling out his earbuds. He sounds happy.

So this is the boy I've written so much about in my notebook. And though it's my first time meeting him, I feel at ease. As if I've been with him for a long time.

"You're Kim Namjoon." It's not a question. I know, somehow, deep down, this is him.

He laughs. "Yes, yes I am." He has a beautiful laugh. Just like I'd written. "Want to sit with me?" He gestures to the empty space beside him on the bench.

I daintily sit next to him. The bench is a bit small and even when he scoots to the very edge to try and make room for me, my body presses against his.

He's warm. I can feel his muscles under the light jacket he wears. He smells like soap, with a hint of sandalwood. He smells like the outdoors, in the middle of a lush forest where it just recently rained.

It makes me blush.

"What are you doing?" I peer at the notepad on his lap.

He smiles at me. He reaches over to tap the worn notebook on my lap. "You have your notebook that you write your memories, your passions, your feelings in." He holds up his little notepad. "This is my notebook where I write my memories, my passions, and my feelings in."

My eyes scan the words across the paper he shows me. "It's a poem." I look closer. "About a spring day."

He smiles lovingly down at the words he's written. "Right."

I wish I could write as well as he does. His words are beautiful. His words are like music itself. I look down at my notebook. The edges of the paper are turning a little brown.

"I wrote about you a lot in this notebook," I tell him.

He doesn't reply. He just watches me. His gaze is gentle. It's intense but it's gentle. Is that even possible?

"Is there... is there anything you want me to write about you in my notebook?"

"Write whatever you want about me into your notebook," he says tenderly. "Write me in however you want to remember me."

I hug the notebook to my chest tightly. My memories. The only memories I have.

❀