Chapter 1 — Autumn Scent

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.

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Autumn scent...

The kind of intoxicating fragrance that makes your entire body languid, like sinking into a bath when utterly weary.

The autumn sky beyond the balcony window is piercingly blue, dazzlingly bright.

Occasionally, wisps of thin clouds drift by—feather-light, gathering faintly before scattering again. Tiny fragments fall and dissolve like ink dropped in water, bleeding and spreading until they vanish completely.

And what vanishes transforms into a sharp, aching blue that colors the sky.

Lying on the sofa, watching the cold autumn sky and the clouds that spread, fade, and vanish into blue, I suddenly feel loneliness creep in.

A transfer to a strange city. A tiny apartment provided by the company.

A small apartment too cramped for the oversized TV and the sofa—perfectly sized to cradle one person’s body.

Beside it, a bronze CD stand and a phone stand, and next to that, a vase and flowers brought by a female coworker from some company whose name I don’t even know.

Three steps from there: a bathroom with a small tub, and opposite it, a kitchen where the gas stove sits unused, having long since lost its purpose.

Across the wall, a small attached room with a computer and a wardrobe—my makeshift office and changing space.

Not too small, not too large—a room just for one.

Back home, they told me to find a bigger apartment, but empty space in a place with no one only deepens the weight of loneliness.

Three years ago, I never imagined living like this.

I had a wife more beautiful than anyone, and just being together felt like a blessing.

A woman I loved so much, I was anxious just being near her.

When she got pregnant, I was overjoyed.

Like a woodsman who stole a fairy’s robe,

Now she only smiles from a small photo frame on my desk.

The day my wife died, red flower buds burst across the painfully blue sky. Her eyes—empty, like those of a dying animal—stared at me.

Her final gaze was etched into my eyes, flowing into my mind like a tiny stream, fossilizing in the unreliable, unfaithful heart I call mine.

For months after losing her, I lived like a madman, weeping uncontrollably over her belongings.

Her cosmetics, still carrying her scent. Her clothes, still holding traces of her presence.

The small comb she used to brush back stray hairs. The tiny nail polish bottle, dainty and lovely. Her lipstick.

Every single thing brought her back to me, making my chest ache.

And the photo album—her laughing brightly. The fragments of life left behind after everything was taken.

I spent months drowning in drink and grief, until I was carried to the hospital. When I was discharged, all her belongings were gone.

Family kindness, I suppose—but it only confirmed once more that she had truly left me forever.

During that time, the company waited silently.

It wasn’t easy—leaving a large corporation with a senior colleague from the same team, starting a new company with a few others.

I changed clothes.

I shed the loose sweatpants I always wore at home, and the old running shirt my wife bought from a long-forgotten sports brand.

The cold autumn sky that took my wife also chased me out of my own home.

Ten minutes on foot from the apartment was a lakeside park.

By the man-made lake, many people had come to enjoy the autumn.

Families holding children’s hands, couples biking, others skating on inline skates.

Different people, forming one single picture beneath the autumn sky.

The happiness radiating from them cut through me like a blade of wind.

I regretted coming out.

My heart, as fickle as spring haze.

I should go back.

I shouldn’t stay in a place so full of happiness.

Like walking back into a clean room with muddy, dirt-stained feet.

On my way back, I saw a child sitting blankly by the lakeside.

The child was staring at the water—no, not quite the water, not the sky either—just... something.

Not focusing clearly, like someone trying to see a magic eye illusion.

Her head remained still, but her eyes wandered vaguely—strangely contrasting.

I was curious. What was she seeing?

Without a word, I approached and stood beside her.

A girl, about four or five, with neatly trimmed hair.

She must have heard me—she turned her head.

“Ah~~ Daddy~~~”

She called me Dad. Then, without hesitation, opened her arms, rushing toward me.

I lifted my hands under her armpits and hoisted her up—just as I would my own daughter.

Her bright, giggling laughter rang out, clear as a xylophone in the autumn air.

She nestled in my arms, chanting “airplane, airplane.”

I lifted her up and down like a plane. Her clear laughter echoed.

No matter how many times I did it, she didn’t seem dizzy—she just kept asking for more.

After a while, I saw a woman in the distance calling the child’s name, searching.

“Grace~~~ Grace~~~”

She moved through the crowd, calling out.

I looked at the laughing child and tried her name.

“Grace?”

The child nodded.

I held her with one arm and waved to the woman.

The woman spotted me, saw her daughter in my arms, and hurried over, taking the child from me.

She bowed repeatedly, thanking me.

Her exaggerated gratitude left me no choice but to nod lightly and offer a polite compliment.

“She’s very pretty...”

I couldn’t finish.

The woman slapped the child’s bottom.

“Didn’t Mommy tell you not to go far?”

She vented her relief and distress in that scolding.

Then she grabbed the child’s hand roughly to leave, but the child resisted.

Pointing at me with her finger.

“Daddy~~ Daddy,” she said.

The woman looked deeply pained. Her eyes reddened, tears welling.

“Grace. How many times must I say it? Daddy is far away, in another country.”

Her voice trembled, but she answered sharply, trying to hide it from the child.

Still, the child kept pointing at me, saying “Daddy, Daddy.”

I was utterly flustered.

I couldn’t just leave. But staying felt awkward.

The woman broke the silence.

Her face was full of embarrassment and discomfort.

“Um... uh...”

“Yes?”

“Would you... mind having a meal together? I’d like to thank you for finding her...”

Her voice trailed off.

And it lacked conviction. I hadn’t even helped her search—just happened to see the child.

She let her last words fade, gazing into the distance.

As she looked away, her neat, delicate nape caught the autumn sunlight—dazzling.

Just like my wife’s.

For that reason alone, the three of us went to a pizza place.

I didn’t particularly like pizza, but the child clearly loved it.

On the way, she clung tightly to my hand, refusing to let go.

On the other side, she held her mother’s hand. To a stranger, we might have looked like a happy family.

If only the silence between us hadn’t been so awkward, we’d have been the perfect picture of a happy family.

Along the way, whenever the girl saw children her age—whether she knew them or not—

“Our daddy~~ Our daddy!!!”

She’d shout with force. Each time, the woman winced as if stabbed, stopping in her tracks with a sigh.

At the pizza place, the child cared less about eating than playing silly games with me.

The pizza sat cooling, barely touched.

At first, the woman tried to stop them, but eventually gave up, watching us in silence.

After leaving the pizza place, I said to her,

“I’ll be going then.”

She nodded politely, but the child didn’t.

Seeing me about to leave, her face crumpled, on the verge of tears.

When I finally turned my back, a lonely cry rang out.

I was flustered. Turning around, I saw the child crumpled on the ground, sobbing.

I scooped her up. She tried to stop crying, hiccupping instead.

The woman stood frozen, helpless.

“She must miss her dad a lot, huh?”

“Probably. Yes...”

Her weak reply came.

The child clung tightly to my neck, refusing to let go.

As if I’d vanish the moment she released.

“Is her dad far away?”

The woman hesitated, as if unsure how to answer, then said instead,

“Would you... like to come over for coffee? I’ve never seen her take to someone like this.”

Her kindness felt burdensome.

“No. I’m fine.”

I tried to hand the child back, but she shook her head, clinging to my neck. I could feel the warmth, the small heartbeat against me.

Maybe if my child had lived, she’d be about this age now. The thought flashed through my mind.

I couldn’t let her go. Seeing my expression, the woman’s face softened with a faint smile.

Her apartment wasn’t far from the pizza place.

After fifteen minutes of walking, the child had already grown heavy in my arms, fast asleep.

I laid her gently on a small bed and stepped out.

She looked at me.

“I’ll be going then.”

“I’ve put on water. Please, have a cup of coffee.”

I nodded.

Anyway, there was no one waiting for me at home.

The coffee was as dark as ink—strong, yet smooth.

“Blue Mountain?”

She nodded.

“The late husband liked it.”

A faint, bittersweet smile touched her lips.

“When I first saw you, from a distance—my heart just dropped.”

“Why?”

“You look a lot like him.”

“I’m pretty ordinary-looking, though.”

She shook her head.

“It’s not your face. It’s the atmosphere around you—it’s like him.”

“An atmosphere?”

“Yes. A feeling I can’t put into words. That’s probably why Grace reacted that way.”

Her child’s persistent behavior suddenly made sense.

“We went on a trip together. To Chuncheon. It was a summer with painfully bright sunlight.”

She began to speak of her late husband.

“My husband grew up on an island, so he swam well. He’d dive in front of me and the child.

Then the child would cry, thinking he was gone—then laugh brightly when he surfaced.”

Her eyes wandered into memory.

“He loved playing that trick. He even did it the first time we went to the beach.”

I joined her in memory, picturing that happy moment.

“I got used to the joke. When he did it, I’d play along.

I’d say to Grace, ‘Oh no, Daddy’s gone. What do we do?’ And she’d cry, then laugh when Daddy reappeared.”

“I see.”

“But this time, he didn’t come back up. He just... left, like someone in a hurry.”

She finished speaking and drank the cold coffee like liquor.

“I’m sorry. On such a pleasant autumn day, to talk about this...”

“No. I understand the feeling.”

She smiled politely in response.

But it meant, You could never truly understand.

“It’s been about three years since it happened.”

Her eyes widened.

“I was pregnant, and the morning sickness was bad. I wanted to take her to her parents’.”

Now she stepped into my memory.

“My wife was very uncomfortable. Even in the car. But she never showed it.”

She nodded.

“It was unseasonably hot. In the car, she stopped me from turning on the aircon.”

“She didn’t feel that hot?”

“No. She was worried it might harm the baby. Instead, she rolled down all the windows.

We left the city, drove onto the highway. She must have been tired—she fell asleep.”

I drank my cold coffee like liquor.

“While she slept, I played Brahms. It was her prenatal music.

Even in her sleep, she heard it—I saw her smile happily.”

She nodded.

“We were driving when suddenly, a truck appeared out of nowhere and slammed into us.”

“I swerved hard. The car rolled down the hillside. My wife hadn’t worn the seatbelt—she said she felt suffocated.

She flew out like a doll, asleep one moment, then thrown.

I don’t know what she hit, but her neck was scraped—blood sprayed into the air.”

I didn’t tell her about my wife’s final gaze.

After the story, we sat in silence for a long time, fingers tracing empty cups.

Then, without knowing who suggested it first, we were drinking.

“This is the first time since my husband died... that I’ve drunk like this.”

Her voice carried deep loneliness.

I nodded, and we talked for a long while.

We spoke of everything—except the two dead people.

Other stories we buried deep in our hearts.

Perhaps we feared that if spoken aloud, the happy memories would vanish.

After a long while, our conversation paused.

I stood from the table and pulled her up.

She rose like a delicate bird, trembling at the shoulders.

I brushed her hair back, held her waist, and kissed that dazzling nape.

I could hear her heartbeat pulsing beneath the skin.

Her breath grew warm, unsteady. She wrapped her arms around my neck.

Our hands fully crossed, we swayed—soft, graceful, like dancing the blues.

My wife used to hold me like this when she was happy.

This woman didn’t resemble my wife at all—but her gestures, her movements, reminded me of her.

My lips moved slowly upward from her nape, searching for hers.

Like water after long thirst, her lips met mine, sucking gently.

Her soft bite on my lower lip.

My hand slid down her back, slipping beneath to her hips.

Her body writhed like a salmon.

The vivid sensation spread from my hands through my entire body.

We pulled apart briefly, gazing into each other’s eyes.

A shared understanding passed between two souls bearing the same pain.

I held her and walked toward the bed.

Like on our wedding night, I gently laid her down and slowly undressed her.

I felt her tremble as she turned her head aside.

When all her clothes were off, her bare body shone, trembling.

I climbed over her, kissed her—her body’s trembling eased slightly.

I brushed back her soft hair, trailing my lips from her mouth to her chest, then down to her sex.

As if searching for my wife, hidden within her body.

Her body writhed, welcoming me.

I went down to her toes, then stood at the foot of the bed and undressed.

When I climbed back on top, skin met skin—the sensation came alive again.

Soft, warm, slippery.

I kissed her mouth, then moved down her neck. Her voice reached me.

“Thank you. You... came back.”

Her voice was soft, delicate—almost inaudible.

I’m thankful too. You...

When I reached her sex, it was wet.

I drank the fluid from her like a desert traveler, feeling her legs bend.

I aligned my hardening cock with her opening and pushed in.

Her arms wrapped around me again, just as before.

Warmth, comfort—like water spreading through my body from the tip of my cock.

I don’t know how intense it was.

After coming four times, I finally slid off her.

Gasping deeply, I lit a cigarette, one arm around her.

Her voice came.

She had buried her face in one side of my chest, stroking the other.

“Maybe people can only rest in someone else’s chest.”

Like smoke, her words scattered—and then settled deep inside my heart.