Chapter 24 – A Lemon Tree on a Rainy Night
Muru typed quickly on the keyboard.
[Hehe, sent it by mistake?]
A reply came back quickly.
[ㅎㅎ]
Just two consonants, like a sheepish laugh. After that, Sola went completely silent, ending with a brief “Good night” message. It left a faint sense of discomfort. So faint, it was easy to overlook.
Anyone could accidentally send the wrong message. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even irritation.
What do you call this feeling?
Why did it have to be—
That message.
Ah… I must be getting overly sensitive from stress.
Muru pushed the emotion aside and sank into her mattress, reading an e-book.
Around 11 p.m., the soft tapping of raindrops on the window escalated into a steady downpour.
The new novel she’d picked up after a long time was engrossing. It was probably the shadows cast by the schizophrenic mother’s hoarder house, the hundreds of changelings, the silent aunt, and the tales from the grandmas of Taeyang Villa that melted subtly between the lines.
Knock, knock.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Who is it?”
Only three people could be knocking—Tarim, Ikyum, or Hosik.
Muru got out of bed and opened the door. But instead of a person, darkness from the living room spilled in heavily.
Huh?
She hesitated at the unexpected scene. A rich scent of warm milk lingered in the air.
Looking down, she saw a steaming mug of warm milk beside the door.
Pfft. She let out a quiet laugh. No one but Tarim would do something like this. He must have come downstairs, noticed her light was still on, and thought she couldn’t sleep—so he warmed up some milk.
Too shy to say anything, he must’ve just knocked and ran.
She brought in the tray with the mug, blew gently, and drank the whole cup.
The rain softened not long after she turned off the light. Drowsiness swept over her like a tidal wave. She tumbled into deep sleep.
…The doorknob slowly turned. A foot stepped cautiously into the room from the living room.
Eyes adjusted to the darkness. The figure quietly passed by Muru, fast asleep, and approached the desk.
The shadowy figure, familiar with the dark, carried her laptop to a kitchen corner and pressed the power button.
Fingers danced across the soft keyboard and touchpad.
After a secretive task, the laptop was turned off and returned to its place on the desk, the same way it had left. A hinge creaked faintly on the way out, but the sound was drowned by the heavy rain.
The shadow stepped out the front door, pulled on tall rubber boots, and threw on a black poncho raincoat, head down, leaving Hwaran House behind.
In the pouring rain, the figure hummed a tune while trudging down the hill:
I’m sitting here in a boring room…
Like someone who knew the forest would bloom after the rain, the shadow sang happily.
And all that I can see…
Is just a yellow lemon tree…
Their wet boots tapped along like a dance. Somewhere along the way, the lyrics changed:
It’s raining. It’s raining.
Jumuru, back at Hwaran House.
It’s raining…
Baekmo parked his bicycle in a corner of Bongnim Elementary’s lot. It was practice night for the Bongnim Badminton Club, Smash It Hard.
The school shared a gymnasium and auditorium, so they could use the space twice a week in the evenings.
True to Korean style—laptops left out are safe, but bikes aren’t—Baekmo locked his bicycle and glanced around the unusually empty lot.
No members’ cars. They’d all seen the message:
“00 Month 00 Day, Farewell Party for Club Leader After Practice.”
It was a drinking night—so no one had driven. In Junsan, calling a designated driver wasn’t easy.
But what mattered was: “Farewell party.”
The club leader was none other than the wife of the Bivaru Supermarket owner, Lee Bok-nyeo.
Baekmo twirled his racket and blinked away tears as the wind from his swing stung his eyes.
He shoved open the gym doors and ran toward the gathered members around the badminton net, crying dramatically.
“Nunaaaaaaaa!”
“Baekmooyaaaaaaa!”
Club leader Lee Bok-nyeo opened her arms wide. Baekmo sprinted adorably and flung himself into her embrace, teary-eyed.
“Nuna… Is it true? You’re really moving? Bivaru’s really shutting down?”
The club leader ruffled Baekmo’s bleached hair with affection.
“What will I do when I miss our Baekmo?”
Nearby, her husband stretched and grumbled at their melodrama.
“Why don’t you pack Baekmo in the moving truck too? This is chaos.”
The news of Bivaru’s sale had come just the day before. As soon as the sale closed, she informed the group: the building had sold for a good price, and now she could move closer to her daughter.
All her previous whining about hating to move? Turned out to be fluff. With her kids grown and the store sold, retirement made sense.
But Baekmo had one pressing question:
“Nuna, who bought Bivaru?”
“A doctor from Seoul. Must’ve had a lot of money—he paid extra to move in early.”
“A doctor…?”
Everyone gasped at the word.
Park Ji-young, who worked at the duck BBQ place Flower Bud, chimed in.
“That guy who came to our restaurant, right?”
She’d been the first to report that the well-dressed man in the Benz was a doctor.
“What kind of doctor?”
“Dunno, but he’s young.”
Apparently, they hadn’t asked much—he paid well and asked for quick move-in, so they had no reason to pry.
Then, a small voice spoke from the back:
“Psychiatrist.”
Psychiatrist?
Everyone turned to see who’d spoken. All eyes fell on Ji-do Bom, whose face turned bright red. She and her brother Ji-man Bom ran the local sign shop—she did CAD and design.
Do Bom was the youngest member of Smash It Hard.
Baekmo asked quickly:
“Did your shop make the sign?”
Do Bom nodded.
“He was in a rush, asked for it fast…”
It looked like Bongnim-dong was getting its very first psychiatric clinic—a private one, no less.
Where am I?
Who am I?
Jumuru squatted on a stool in the bathhouse, deep in thought. It had been three days since she received that strange message from Sola. Three days of being ignored by her aunt—two unanswered calls a day, one message, no reply.
Clinging to her laptop like a lifeline, she’d been dragged to Bongnim Bathhouse by the Hwaran House crew.
The couple from Bivaru—the ones they’d seen at the market—were leaving for good.
The bathhouse owner, Madame Kim Deok-i (also Smash It Hard’s oldest member), closed the shutters at 8 p.m. and opened the men’s locker room for the party.
Muru, Tarim, Hosik, and Ikyum arrived as the club members were just starting to get buzzed. Baekmo was already tipsy and flirting with the older ladies.
The wide locker room was filled with bath stools arranged in a circle, perfect for drinking. Even at the Bivaru market, bath stools had been stacked high—seemed to be the go-to seat in this neighborhood.
Somewhere along the way, Muru realized she was already three soju-beer bombs in. What started as a farewell for Bivaru had turned into a welcome party for Jumuru.
“Oh my, has Muru grown up so beautifully?”
A middle-aged woman sat down beside her, someone who clearly remembered her as a child. She had fair skin and an elegant air, perhaps mid-50s at most.
“Ah—um, hello!”
Muru quickly downed her drink and held out the empty glass. The woman skillfully mixed a perfect 2:8 soju-to-beer ratio.
“I’m the owner of this bathhouse.”
