ilay riegrow.

I was sat within my Uncles dormitory room, Skimming through one of the borrowed books I had pended from him when a sharp ringing sound came from the open computer on the desk. Like any curious person, I answered it.

“Hello?” I answered.

A calm, unfamiliar voice replied, “Who’s this, where’s instructor Jeong Chang-in.”

“Oh, he’s in the bathroom. He’ll be out in a bit..” I said.

“Then who is the person in his room, taking this call for him..?”

“I’m the niece/nephew of the owner of this room. He’s uhm.. currently in the bath. ”

A brief pause — then a soft chuckle.
The soft clink of his mug pressing against his wooden desk accompanying the silence. It was then that I noticed his hands. Large, pale hands that are big enough to dwarf the mug he was holding..

It was his hands — long, elegant, almost artistic.

Without thinking, I said, “Your hands are… really nice.”

Silence. Then his voice, softer:
“…Interesting. And you are…?”

“Jeong Hanni” A hint of caution slipping into my voice as I eyed his hands, the screen tilted slightly downwards so I wasn’t able to see his face.

“Then what’s your name?”

Pause.

“Ilay.”

The call ended — at those hands — wondering why a stranger could unsettle me so easily.

The bathroom door slid open, followed by the uncle himself, Jeong chang-in, the director of the Asian branch at UNHRDO