MFLA 06

[My First Love Lives in the Attic] Chapter 6
“Did you just drop a truth bomb?”

“As a seasoned pro in dating, let me give you some advice.”
“I get it, but can you not give me that intense look while you say it?”
“Listen to me, man! Love takes time!”

Even a cornered mouse will bite a cat—or not quite, but close. That’s how desperate Park Tarim had become as he tried to gently push Ho-sik away.

“No matter how close you were in elementary school, you’ve gotta take it slow—like ink spreading softly on paper, get close naturally.”
“Hm…”
“First of all, your face and body already pass the preliminaries.”
“But what if… I mean, what if she’s in no place to even think about prelims or finals?”
“She married?”
“No!”

Tarim shuddered at the thought.

“It’s just that… I can’t really say much, but… she’s been through something. Some kind of wound? She’s not in the headspace for dating or whatever.”
“Sounds like her ex was a real piece of work.”
“Wow, seriously, I’ve never seen trash like that guy.”

The sound of water running in the kitchen sink suddenly stopped.

Lee Gyeom abandoned the dishes and dove onto the sofa, one hand still wearing a rubber glove and holding a bag of popcorn.

“This is a total popcorn moment. Good thing I stocked up. Go on.”

His eyes sparkled like the North Star as he tore open the bag. That weird sparkle helped Tarim snap back to his senses.

“Ho-sik… I don’t think you’re the right person to be giving dating advice.”
“Why not? Who else here has been in a longer relationship than me?”

At that, Lee Gyeom burst out laughing and rolled around on the sofa clutching his stomach. Popcorn flew into the air like a war scene from Welcome to Dongmakgol.

“Hahaha, Kwon Ho-sik, you’re killing me. Seriously.”

Tarim gave the popcorn-covered floor a cold stare. Ho-sik, in turn, glared at Lee Gyeom—who had no sense of tact—just as coldly. Then Lee Gyeom abruptly dropped the act and launched a full-on verbal assault.

“Even if we generously call your three-year relationship long—which it’s not, in my opinion—you guys broke up and got back together like, what, three thousand times? Broke up, got back together, ‘this time for real,’ then back again, fought like crazy and—mmph!”

Ho-sik threw himself across the sofa to shut Gyeom’s mouth.

“Shh!! Quiet!”
“What! What! Am I lying?!”

Lee Gyeom’s pent-up frustration finally exploded. It was like tiger energy had surged through him—he ripped Ho-sik’s hand away with ease and started rapping like an angry outsider.

“All this time we drank together!! At least three thousand crates of booze!! My liver levels skyrocketed!! And yeah, you guys are broken up now but you’ll get back together again!! I’m sure of it, you’re destined for each other!!!! You wanna give Tarim love advice after that trainwreck of a relationship?!! Hahahaha!!”

Trapped between them, Tarim quietly thought to himself—Lee Gyeom was either a genius or completely insane. Ho-sik’s face had turned so pale he looked like he was about to turn into a Smurf.

Quietly, Tarim folded his giant body and tiptoed upstairs. Just as he reached the second floor, Ho-sik’s lion’s roar rang out from behind him.

“Are you insane, dropping truth bombs like that?!”

Thud, crash, bang.
Ho-sik swung his fist at Lee Gyeom.

“Ow! What! I said what was true! It’s all true!”

Tarim, climbing to the third floor, murmured a good night that no one heard.

“Night, guys…”

They’d probably make up after going to a PC bang, argue about who sucked at games, then reconcile when it came time to split the bill. It was the same old cycle he’d seen since middle school. He didn’t even feel like stopping them anymore.

* * *

On the first floor was the kitchen and living room. The second floor had three bedrooms along the hallway. The tenants of the Hwalan House shared the first and second floors.

But not the third.

The attic under the triangular roof, with its circular window, was different. No tenant had ever stepped foot there. Only Park Tarim used the entire third floor—essentially an attic.

You could climb the wooden staircase from the first-floor living room to reach the second-floor hallway, but the third floor ended in a locked door.

Built in 1958 in full European style, each door in the house used an old-fashioned lock. You had to insert a key into the slot below the doorknob to open it.

Tarim inserted the key into the attic door. Click. He had oiled it recently, so the sound was short and smooth.

When the door opened, a hushed darkness tilted inward in a triangular shape. Unlike the first and second floors, which were divided by walls depending on their use, the attic was a wide studio-like space—except for the bathroom, which only Tarim used.

He switched on a desk lamp and sat down, pulling out a notebook with a leather cover. Though he had changed pens and refills countless times, the dark brown cover never changed. Like one would caress something both dear and painful, his fingers traced the embossed letters on the cover:

Y U N H E E.

Through the round window facing the front of Hwalan House, the night seeped in. The large window was covered by intricately twisted iron bars for security, but under the moonlight, even those looked fitting.

A name tumbled from Tarim’s lips.

“…Muru.”

The houses at the foot of the hill still had lights on here and there.

“She’s in one of those…”

Tarim clenched his teeth.

Then—

Heehee.

Laughter came from somewhere. When he turned his head, all he saw was the ventilation window near the floor. A suppressed, intermittent giggle slithered up from it.

Tarim spoke quietly.

“Stop it.”

The laughter ceased. Only the orange light from the desk lamp remained to fill the lonely room.

“…She really did get married.”

Han Ji-hoon’s pen froze mid-note. It was time for Ju Muru’s regular psychiatric check-up.

With a round face and soft smile, psychiatrist Han Ji-hoon habitually tapped his pen tip on the memo pad. A few dots appeared at the end of his last sentence.

“She didn’t even tell me. At the time, I couldn’t breathe. But after about two weeks, I felt… sort of okay.”

Muru said it like it was no big deal.

Ji-hoon asked,
“How’s daily life been?”

“Actually better than before. I eat and sleep better now, thanks to a friend.”

Tap, tap. More dots formed on the pad.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends?”
“I didn’t. But that day, at my ex’s wedding, I ran into someone from elementary school.”

Ji-hoon paused to think.

“Although I don’t remember him… he said we used to be really close.”
“You’re sure he’s really a former classmate?”
“I… guess so?”

Muru didn’t know how to explain further, so she just smiled sheepishly. Ji-hoon smiled back, though a hint of concern lingered.

Though Muru functioned fine in daily life, her amnesia meant unexpected changes had to be handled carefully. The cause of her memory loss was still unknown—and could resurface at any time. Fortunately, her generally cheerful personality reduced the risk of self-destructive behavior.

“Be careful. Especially with people you knew before age eleven.”
“He didn’t seem like a bad person.”
“Still, better safe than sorry.”
“True. But…”

Ji-hoon returned to jotting notes. Muru watched the tip of his Schneider pen glide across the page as she said—

“Something weird came to mind.”

His pen stopped again.

“Do you know the word ‘Hwalan’?”

A bold period followed the last medical term.

“No.”
“I looked it up—it’s an old Korean word for ‘Holland.’ He said he lives in a place called Hwalan House. In Junsan. Oh, Junsan is…”
“The town you were born and raised in. Though you don’t remember it.”
“Doctor, you have an amazing memory. Anyway, when I heard ‘Hwalan House,’ a strange image popped into my head.”

One dot, two, three…

Muru described the house she remembered in great detail. Even though it had been two weeks, not a blade of grass was forgotten.

“When I searched, there really is a Hwalan House in Bongnim-dong, Junsan City. It’s such a unique-looking house that tourists have posted blog photos. A Dutch missionary who came to Korea during the Japanese occupation used to live there. Isn’t that wild? I used to live in Bongnim-dong.”

Ji-hoon nodded cautiously.

“Sounds like your memories are starting to come back.”

Her eyes sparkled with hope. Ji-hoon clicked his pen shut.

“Let’s take it slow. Step by step. Memories don’t follow rules.”

“…I guess I got a little excited.”

Muru gave an embarrassed smile. Her small, plump lips carried a hint of regret.

“For now, let’s focus on moving on from Bongpal.”
“…Doctor?”

She hesitated, then finally asked—

“…That Bongpal sunbae… is he doing okay?”