Chapter 7 – Contact Me Anytime
Han Ji-hoon gave a troubled, bitter smile. That question wasn’t something she would normally ask. Sure, she often talked about what her boyfriend did or didn’t do, but she had never directly asked something like this before.
Kim Bong-pal was an acquaintance of psychiatrist Han Ji-hoon. They met at a real estate investment seminar that included both college students and the general public. Despite their seven-year age gap, they quickly became close, calling each other “hyung” and “bro.”
One day, Bong-pal came to Ji-hoon and said his girlfriend, a fellow student, might need psychiatric treatment. Ji-hoon advised her to visit the psychiatric hospital where he worked as a freelance doctor. That girlfriend—Ju Mu-ru—diligently continued her treatment there for six years.
“I don’t know how he’s doing. I just found out he got married from you.”
“…”
“It’s been years since we last spoke.”
“I probably shouldn’t have told Bong-pal about the hallucinations.”
Her ex-boyfriend was the only person she had ever confided in about her secret. Now, there were only two people who knew: Kim Bong-pal and Doctor Han Ji-hoon.
“Thanks to that, we got to meet like this.”
Ji-hoon looked at her warmly. Mu-ru was someone he truly cared for. He always gave her longer-than-usual sessions, and even gave her his personal number, saying she could text him anytime she saw a hallucination.
“You’re a special patient to me, Mu-ru.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
“You know he was a jerk, right?”
“I do. Now.”
“Filling that void won’t be easy. You spent eight years tailoring yourself around your boyfriend. Even if you feel fine now, you might get hit with a wave of depression out of nowhere. So try meeting new people, okay?”
“…Haha. You think so?”
“How are the hallucinations?”
Still the same. Just like that night.
Mu-ru didn’t bother saying it out loud. She forced a smile.
“They’re just… the same. No better, no worse.”
“Should we try changing the medication?”
“They’re not that bad. I’m managing.”
“Contact me anytime. Even in the middle of the night.”
Would other psychiatrists give out their personal number like that?
She was always grateful for how devoted he was. That’s why she tried to be honest during their sessions.
“There’s one more thing I wanted to ask…”
“Yes, go ahead. Speak freely.”
“What if… I mean, what if… this is really just hypothetical. Like, really, really hypothetical!”
Ji-hoon chuckled softly.
What was she trying to ask with such hesitation?
“Is it too soon… to meet someone new?”
His smile froze, lips still shaped in laughter but muscles stiff. He put down his pen and leaned forward in his chair.
“That friend?”
“Sorry?”
“The classmate you said you ran into by chance.”
Mu-ru flinched like she was under interrogation.
“Uh… no, that’s not it…”
But he must’ve figured it out. A sharp psychiatrist knows their patients—especially those they’ve invested effort in.
Suddenly, she felt embarrassed, like a silly little girl.
Yes, that classmate—Park Ta-rim. She didn’t know for sure, after just a day together. But if she were to allow herself this uncertainty… then maybe…
“If I date someone else… maybe the pain Bong-pal left behind would sting a little less?”
She trailed off and gave an awkward smile. Her ears flushed red with heat.
Ji-hoon rested his folded hands on the desk and spoke firmly.
“No.”
“…?”
“You can’t.”
He was smiling, but his voice had the strictness of a commanding officer. It felt like she was being scolded.
“Too soon?”
“Yes.”
She wanted to crawl under his desk and hide in the shadows.
“It was just a thought.”
She kept trying to explain herself.
“Just a thought, really.”
As always, she left the office without saying thank you out loud.
Beyond the closed clinic door, Ji-hoon could hear Mu-ru talking to the nurse at the front desk, paying for her visit. A soft laugh cracked in the air, followed by her faint footsteps as she left the hospital.
A notification popped up under his monitor—his next patient was waiting.
But instead of calling them in, he turned his gaze to the orchid pots lined up along the clinic’s window. Five cymbidiums he had nurtured himself—just recently, they had all bloomed.
He walked up to them and examined their yellow petals closely, each one with a sharp, knife-like gaze. A story about orchids he had read in a book came to mind.
In ancient Vietnam, when it was still the kingdom of Van Lang, there was a beautiful but arrogant girl named Hoa Lan. Men who fell for her were so bewitched by her femme fatale charm that they took their own lives in despair.
The gods, angered, cursed her so that anyone she loved would never love her back. When she fell for the handsome Mung Khai but was rejected, she begged a witch for help.
“Make him unable to think of anyone else.”
Mung Khai was turned into an ebony tree, unable to embrace anyone. Driven mad, Hoa Lan clung to the ebony tree and wept…
“…And became an orchid.”
Murmuring the end of the legend, Ji-hoon picked up his pruning shears. Among the five pots, one had always sprouted crooked leaves. He gathered them in one hand and clipped them at the base.
Snip. The unsatisfactory orchid was mercilessly cut away.
[Come rest in Gangneung. Don’t worry about anyone watching. Mu-ru-ya.]
Her father, as always, reached out with warm sincerity. Mu-ru was walking along a sidewalk carpeted in white petals when she answered his call. Her heart felt suddenly, deeply warmed.
“I’m okay, Dad. I’m eating well and sleeping great!”
Since she was eleven, her father had raised her alone. About a year ago, he began a sweet relationship with a fellow teacher at his elementary school. Though he hadn’t said anything official, the woman lived alone too, and Mu-ru figured they were living together now. She didn’t want to interfere with her father’s new beginning.
“I haven’t written my second novel in three years, right? If you count the missed deadlines, I’m three years late. Lately, the creative agony is insane. I think it’s finally time to make up for lost time—just gotta focus hard in Seoul!”
It was a lie.
There was no way her overdue second novel would suddenly start flowing now. Her debut romance novel, published at 25, was a fictionalized version of her relationship with Bong-pal.
Since he was older and had graduated first, he had helped her gather material about office life. Unexpectedly, the novel became a hit. As “Sailor Muk,” she began earning a solid income. In hindsight, that’s when Bong-pal started to change.
He was already the kind of guy who boasted about his “perfect life.” When Mu-ru struggled for two years post-grad trying to debut, he nagged her to get licensed or find a stable job. But when she finally hit it big, he seemed to grow resentful. Whatever the reason, Mu-ru had been dumped by him—and was now completely blocked on her second novel.
[That bastard. I’ll teach him a lesson.]
“Haha. How?”
[I’ll sneak into Seoul, wait in an alley, and beat him up.]
“Please do. Promise?”
Even though it wasn’t lunchtime yet, her stomach felt full and warm. As their call ended, a spring breeze swept through the street. Petals rained down from the cherry blossoms blooming above.
The dazzling street. The sturdy back that let her lean on it so freely. Mu-ru remembered the view she saw while hanging off his back.
Her phone buzzed briefly in her pocket—it was a DM from her Twitter friend, Solar.
[Are you okay?]
What is coincidence, really? By chance, she met Solar online. At their first meetup, Bong-pal paid for the meal. Solar saw his face, remembered it, and later recognized him in a wedding invitation sent to her friend. And then…
Mu-ru met Ta-rim.
And yet, something inside her still felt empty. She replied to Solar:
[Of course I’m okay!]
But she wasn’t.
[You literally saved my life, girl.]
But it hurts. So bad.
[I’m worried about you.]
[Nooo I’m fine hahaha 😊]
That night—maybe she shouldn’t have done what she did.
Mu-ru quickly wiped away the tears forming again, a reflex by now. The street was far too beautiful.
[Ta-rim. How much is the house share per month?]
Ta-rim snatched his phone off the top of the fridge. Even alone at home, it had become habit over the last 12 days to cautiously check his messages as if someone might be watching.
A message from Ju Mu-ru—after twelve days.
He had been packing camera lenses to go on a shoot, but the equipment was forgotten in an instant. He hurriedly unlocked his phone. It wasn’t a mistake—right beneath his two awkward messages from twelve days ago, her name finally appeared again.
April 19, 2025 – Sunday
[Ta-rim. Can we talk on the phone today, maybe?] 8:02 AM
[Sure. Anytime’s fine. How’s your ankle?] 8:03 AM
[Not even sore. Thanks to you.] 8:03 AM
[My heart still hurts.] 8:05 AM
[When should we talk?] 1:14 PM
But that day… Mu-ru never called.
