Chapter 2

### Second Movement, To the Time I Longed For (2)

### Second Movement, To the Time I Longed For (2)

The musty smell of the old blanket.

It was a smell I had detested so much as a child, but somehow, I had begun to long for it.

No, perhaps it wasn't the old blanket I longed for.

It was the time I spent then.

The people I was with.

I longed for those things.

Because I would never be with them again.

“...Ugh.”

Was it from the hangover? A headache began to rise. But soon I realized it wasn't that.

Because the nostalgic smell came with the headache.

It couldn't be.

It was absurd.

My vision slightly distorted, and a rippling wave obscured my sight.

The old, shabby blanket I was under.

The old wardrobe over there.

The old, loose TV.

The moldy wallpaper in the corner.

Everything stimulated my memories and nostalgia.

I approached the mirror, which was stained in parts, with slow, heavy steps.

When I finally arrived, I saw myself reflected there.

My eyes were red-rimmed, staring back at me.

At that moment, a familiar voice echoed.

A voice I thought I would never hear again.

A voice I had so desperately wanted to hear.

“Hyunwoo, what are you doing there? Is something on your face?”

Thud.

Something I had been holding on to until the end snapped.

I turned around.

My graying hair had turned into fine black hair, and the wrinkled skin, which had always been filled with worry, was now smooth.

Unlike the last time, when she had always looked at me with worried eyes.

“...”

My throat, choked with emotion, couldn't produce any sound.

Just.

“Huh? Why are you crying all of a sudden?”

Drip, drip.

Tears rolled down my tender cheeks as I embraced the person I had longed for more than anyone.

“What's wrong? Why are you like this, my son?”

Warm hands patted my back and enveloped me in her embrace.

The person who had raised me alone after losing her husband.

The person who had supported me even when I became selfish and immersed in music.

The person who had believed in me even when I fell into the depths of despair and became a recluse.

The person who had left this world, filled with worry.

She embraced me.

“Huh, huh. Sob.”

“Really... Did you have a terrible nightmare, son?”

Burying my head and sobbing, I answered in a voice too low to be heard.

Yes, it was a very long nightmare.

I'm sorry.

Mom.

* * *

A cold, wet towel washed over my small, uncalloused hands, making them tingle.

“You should let Mom do this...”

“No, Mom.”

I insisted, making my mother sit down while I continued to mop the floor.

My hands were so cold they ached, but this was a daily chore my mother used to handle without complaint.

Silently and without any grudges.

Feeling a pang of guilt, my eyes welled up, but I spoke calmly.

“You must have been tired from work, and you even went grocery shopping.”

Finally, my mother, who had been fidgeting, sat down on the floor and stared at me.

It seemed she had given up on trying to stop me.

“Oh, what’s gotten into you...”

When I came home, the child who couldn’t stop crying was now helping with chores she usually ignored.

She must have been confused, but so was I.

In fact, I still couldn’t believe I had returned to the past.

‘Is this just a fleeting memory?’

At first, this thought kept crossing my mind, but the sensations I felt through my skin told me otherwise.

This was not a fleeting memory but a reality.

What had happened?

Confusing, but one thing was certain.

My mother was by my side.

The mother I had longed for so much.

Despite the still unsettled feeling in my heart, my actions were resolute. I did the laundry and mopped the floor, and the old, creaky faucet that barely dripped water reminded me of the cold reality of our poverty when I was young.

Thinking about how my mother had endured this pain every day, my throat tightened even more.

Ignoring the tingling in my hands.

“Oh, if you knew how to do this, you should have boiled some water...”

“I’m fine.”

“Really, I can do it, Mom.”

“I’ll do it today, Mom. You have to go to work tomorrow.”

I had no intention of stopping this behavior today, but I decided to calm my mother down for now.

In the background, I heard her mutter about whether today was Mother’s Day.

‘This time, I won’t let it pass like that, absolutely not.’

It was just two years ago.

I had been living a wasted life, collapsing without any will.

My mother had continued to support me, coming to Seoul every week to fill my refrigerator with homemade food and side dishes.

Even though I had given up on myself.

She had never given up on me.

And on that day, two years ago.

My mother, who had always come to see me, was nowhere to be found.

I was a terrible son, not even worrying a bit.

The call came late in the evening, from my mother’s phone.

“Are you Mr. Choi Eun-Young’s son?”

A deep, unfamiliar voice.

“It’s the hospital. Your mother has been in a traffic accident...”

I felt a chill run down my back and snapped back to reality.

I ran like a madman.

It can’t be.

It shouldn’t be.

Without even properly putting on my shoes, I ran into the white building. Inside, my mother lay on a bed, her face looking up at the white ceiling.

“Mom.”

I stumbled forward, my legs feeling like they would give out.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

No one, not the doctors or nurses, tried to stop me; they just bowed their heads.

Someone sighed and looked away. Their cold reaction tightened my throat even more.

“Son, you’re here. Mom, open your eyes.”

The greeting turned into a plea, the plea into a scream.

“Mom, please. I’m sorry. Please open your eyes. Mom...”

I collapsed beside my mother, who had already left this world, and cried for a long time.

The mother who had always been by my side was gone.

Without even giving me a chance to apologize.

After that, my life nearly fell apart. I became a complete recluse.

If it hadn’t been for that call.

“Music... teacher?”

“Yeah. You’ve been through a lot, but your skills are solid. You’re better than most professionals.”

It was someone from the music industry I had been close to but had cut off contact with long ago.

Confused by his sudden words, he casually mentioned,

“Be grateful to your mother.”

“Huh?”

“Your mother contacted me first. She asked if there was any place for you. You have solid skills, and I happened to be looking for a music teacher. It worked out well. We should catch up over drinks soon.”

Just before hanging up, he asked,

“By the way, is your mother doing well? I haven’t heard from her since then.”

But I couldn’t answer. Tears streamed down my throat, which was already choked up.

I just sat there, sobbing for a long time.

...

“What’s wrong, son? Are you crying?”

“No.”

“Really... It’s tough, isn’t it? Now, let me do it, okay?”

When I returned to reality, my mother tried to snatch the mop from me.

I insisted, holding the mop tightly.

“Really, rest. I’ll do it.”

“Really...”

Seeing my firm resolve, my mother sighed and stepped back.

Her expression was both endearing and nostalgic, and I rubbed my nose.

My cold fingers felt warmer than ever.

“I need to start preparing dinner.”

My mother hurried to the kitchen, and I was left alone, realizing again.

‘I’ve returned to the past.’

Whether it was a fleeting memory or not, I was now 15 years old.

What should I do?

Stocks, real estate, business, and other future knowledge.

There was a lot to do, but my options were limited.

Just 15 years old, and in this underdeveloped body.

At that moment, a sigh came from the kitchen.

“Oh... I forgot the eggs. They’re on sale today...”

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts, and made a decision.

What I could do ‘now’ was simple.

Not grand at all.

“Mom, I’ll go buy the eggs.”

I just needed to do what I hadn’t done in my previous life.

* * *

Creak.

Opening the rusty metal door, a familiar scene greeted me.

The stairs leading to the first-floor owner’s house, and below them, a row of jars filled with who knows what.

Above our house, the stairs leading to the attic.

Memories of living in a rented room and moving around this place came flooding back.

This must have been the first place we moved to after leaving the slums.

Feeling nostalgic, I was about to step out when I heard a voice.

“Oh, it’s Hyunwoo.”

“Ah.”

I instinctively knew this was the owner of the house.

“Hello, Auntie.”

And the pretty, reserved girl next to her must be her daughter.

“Hello.”

Not knowing her name, I gave a flat greeting.

The auntie, who smiled warmly with wrinkles, looked a few years older than my mother.

“Chae-won, you should greet him too.”

Fortunately, she didn’t seem to have a difficult personality.

Having experienced countless insults and neglect while moving from place to place with my mother, I felt a bit relieved.

Knowing her name, I added to my awkward greeting and even tried to smile.

“Hello, Chae-won.”

She was about my height, but considering my slow growth as a child, she was probably a year or two younger.

“Yeah.”

...Is that a greeting?

The girl, who gave a greeting that wasn’t really a greeting, urged her mother to hurry inside.

She seemed to be avoiding me a bit.

‘It’s not like we have to be close or anything.’

A good relationship with the owner was necessary, but there was no need to force it with her daughter.

Especially if she found me uncomfortable.

Thinking about it, we lived in this house until I entered the arts high school.

We had to move because the owner decided to sell the house, and my mother and I had to look for another place.

Of course, I had run away to the dormitory, leaving my mother behind...

What a terrible son.

“Do a good job with the errand, Hyunwoo!”

“Ah.”

Hearing the auntie’s words as she was pulled inside by her daughter, I looked at the bill in my hand.

I had been holding it tightly, as if it were something precious.

I pushed it into my pocket, determined never to run away again.

* * *

Boil, boil.

Staring blankly at the boiling stew, I felt like the little match girl.

What must the girl have felt, seeing the fantasy she had always dreamed of with her own eyes?

She must have felt both happy and lonely. After all, what she saw was a fantasy, not reality.

If this were a dream, how would I feel?

“Today is payday, so I added some meat. It’s your favorite, Hyunwoo.”

Even though it was just a bit of meat floating in the broth, it felt abundant.

I couldn’t help but smile genuinely.

“I’ll bring it over, Mom.”

“Can you do that?”

My mother, who seemed to be getting used to it, just nodded.

Wearing a large kitchen glove, I moved the stew to a small table.

“Let’s eat!”

“Enjoy your meal, Hyunwoo.”

Two bowls of rice, one fried egg. A kimchi stew with just the scent of meat.

It was a modest meal, but with each spoonful,

Two spoonfuls,

“...”

My eyes welled up, and my nose tingled.

It was so, so,

Nostalgic.

“Huh...”

Holding back the tears, I forced the food into my mouth.

Then I remembered.

The ending of the little match girl.

The grandmother who appeared in the red flames embraced the girl warmly.

To hold onto the fading grandmother, the girl had to burn all her remaining matches.

The next day, after the night had passed and the morning came, the girl was found dead with a smile on her face.

Her cold lips held a hint of happiness. In the cold snow, it was warm...

The girl closed her eyes.

I, too, held it in my mouth, determined never to lose it.

Even if this moment was just a fantasy.

This warmth I had longed for.

The childhood I thought I would never return to.

To remember it, I took a full spoonful.

Clank, clank.

The sound of the spoon scraping the bowl was all that remained.