Chapter 2 – System Error Due to First Love Reunion
Muru, jolted around like a sack of rice, demanded:
“Who are you?!”
Bang! The first-floor exit burst open. Dazzling sunlight poured over Muru’s tear-soaked eyelids. It was April, the streets were dusted with falling apricot blossoms. The man dashed through the petal-swept sidewalk.
“Park Tarim! Your first love!”
Huh? Wha—?
“You wound me, Ju Muru!”
The man named Tarim laughed out loud. White flower petals rained down on her face, and Muru squeezed her eyes shut. It was dizzying. A dizzying spring day.
Luckily, an orthopedist’s clinic was nearby. Muru, looking like a kid who’d been dragged in kicking and screaming to get a shot, was carried all the way into the doctor’s office. No matter how much she asked to be put down, Park Tarim ignored her and stayed until the doctor confirmed it was just a mild sprain before he finally looked relieved.
He had run with her on his back for nearly ten minutes, yet wasn’t even out of breath. Muru found that baffling. She refused his help getting up, but he insisted on taking her home, so they returned to the wedding venue’s parking lot.
In front of the wedding hall, where flowering trees lined the street, smiling guests swarmed in every direction. Muru still couldn’t believe everything that had happened today.
Park Tarim opened and closed the passenger door of his khaki-colored Jeep for her, then casually buckled her seatbelt once he was in the driver’s seat. Muru, distracted by the wedding building, flinched when she realized what he had done.
“Whoa! Why—why are you doing this?!”
“Huh? Doing what?”
“This! This, this!”
She grabbed the belt across her chest and wiggled it.
“Why are you buckling this for me?”
Tarim looked puzzled.
“What do you mean, why…?”
“Why did you carry me? Why did you take me to the hospital? Why are you giving me a ride?”
Muru knew that kindness didn’t always need a reason. Still, this unfamiliar man who claimed to be her first love and even her childhood fiancé could be a slick womanizer. Or a con artist. Tarim stammered:
“You were hurt… and… you were hurt… so I…”
“You’re 911 now? UNICEF? Why are you… responding to other people’s emergencies?”
“Are you ‘other people’?”
“That’s not what I meant!”
She knew. Park Tarim hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just being kind. Today’s Ju Muru was just… just…
Tarim cleared his throat awkwardly and started the engine. Tears welled up in Muru’s eyes again. She hadn’t even cried in front of that jerk Kim Bongpal, yet here she was, tearing up again in front of this man.
What a weirdo. So annoying.
She rubbed her eyes and mumbled an apology so softly it was barely audible.
“’m srr…”
“Huh?”
“…Sorry…”
“What was that? Say it louder!”
“I SAID I’M SORRY!!”
Muru shot him a death glare, eyes snapping in his direction. Tarim just smiled brightly. Muru jabbed at the GPS and punched in her address.
Her memories before age eleven were completely wiped out, like someone had hit the delete key. Tarim’s first-love backstory must’ve existed in that deleted section.
Ju Muru had grown up in Junsan City, so she probably went to the same elementary school as Park Tarim. Their childhood engagement was likely just the nonsense of a young Muru.
Even after the car pulled onto the road, awkward silence lingered. Muru strained to recall even a fragment of memory about Tarim. But, as always, not a single one surfaced.
Dissociative amnesia, triggered by PTSD.
That was her full diagnosis. Her father, who lived alone in Gangneung, said it was likely a side effect from a severe illness she’d suffered around age eleven.
Since it only affected early childhood, the amnesia itself wasn’t too inconvenient. What led her to seek long-term psychiatric treatment from her early 20s was… something else entirely.
Still, she couldn’t just turn to this man, smiling so warmly, and say, “Sorry, I don’t remember you.”
“Why were you at the wedding earlier?”
“I was taking photos.”
“You’re a photographer?”
“Thanks to you.”
Tarim grinned. Muru had no idea what he meant and forced an awkward chuckle.
“I do personal projects and freelance fashion and magazine shoots. The bride was related to someone I met through work. They asked me to do the wedding snaps. I didn’t know the groom was your boyfriend.”
What a coincidence.
Catching a falling first love on the stairs? Tarim must’ve been stunned—but Muru was even more shocked.
“I ruined your work. Sorry.”
“Oh, no. Shooting a guy like that would’ve made for a cringe-worthy gallery. It’s better this way.”
“Won’t this cause you trouble? You said he was a friend.”
“Wanna know a secret?”
Tarim lowered his voice.
“I don’t actually like him.”
Muru blinked for a second, confused, then burst out laughing.
“Pfft, you’re lying.”
“I’m not. I hate him. Remember I can’t eat cucumbers? I hate him that much.”
That broke the tension a little. Muru laughed it off as a joke, but quietly noted: Tarim, the cucumber-hating photographer.
She had planned to just hop out in front of her studio apartment building in Munjeong-dong. In any typical romance cliché, she’d at least invite him in for coffee, if not instant noodles. But Ju Muru had another secret.
A real one. A serious one.
With so many secrets, she’d firmly resolved to say a cold goodbye. Right up until Tarim parked in the piloti garage and, just like before, walked around to open her door politely.
Muru clenched her jaw to keep from trembling.
“Thanks.”
“Think you can make it up the stairs?”
“There’s an elevator.”
“Make sure to ice your ankle. Cold compresses help with swelling.”
So thoughtful. Too thoughtful.
“Where are you going now?”
“Back to Junsan.”
“You still live there?”
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t her business that he had to drive a long way, but…
“I never imagined I’d see you again.”
…his eyes, filled with sincerity.
“I’m really… really glad I did, Muru.”
Can’t see, can’t hear, I’m heartless, I’m heartless, she chanted in her mind.
“Take care. I’m off.”
Tarim smiled one last time and headed to the driver’s seat. Muru waved her hand stiffly, wondering if she was even being human at this point.
He pressed the ignition button. Click. Nothing happened. He pressed it again. Still nothing. The Jeep refused to start.
“Huh? Why won’t it start?”
Tarim got out, confused. Muru internally cried out to God. But apparently, the Almighty doesn’t help prodigal daughters who never even go to church.
Apparently, the starter motor had failed.
The repair shop owner later said the part wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow morning. Tarim said he’d take an intercity bus to Junsan and return the next day.
Muru gave up at that point.
Just sleep over. Go back tomorrow. Just sleep.
That offer, she would later blame on her brain malfunctioning from the emotional trauma of the day. Tarim hesitantly accepted.
A system error caused by the “first love reunion” update.
The door to her studio apartment, which contained one of Ju Muru’s many secrets, creaked open. Of course—of course—she’d forgotten to turn off the lights, so the full horror was on display.
Tarim involuntarily let out an “Oh dear…”
“Sorryyyy…”
“I’ve been really busy with work, so I couldn’t clean…”
The sight before Tarim resembled one of those hoarder homes you see on TV. Maybe it wasn’t that extreme objectively, but to someone who liked cleanliness—like Park Tarim—it was appalling.
Muru, limping on her sprained ankle, scrambled to clean up as fast as possible. Her roughly 400-square-foot studio had zero floor space. Five or six bags of recycling sat piled by the shoe rack.
A mountain of laundry of uncertain age had formed under the bed. The sink was buried in takeout containers, revealing the tenant’s pitiful diet. Overflowing books and paperwork lined every corridor and shelf.
No amount of frantic tidying would fix this.
