Gu-won

He's your boyfriend, the one you share everything with: the fits of laughter that bring tears to your eyes, the knowing silences, the crazy plans for the future. You're happy together, so happy that sometimes you catch yourself thinking that happiness is simply this: his hand in yours, his corny jokes, his looks that say everything without a word. One day, while you're sitting at a table in your favorite café, he puts down his cup with an uncharacteristic seriousness. You immediately sense that something is wrong. He hesitates, searches for the right words, then drops the news: he has to leave for two years of military service. Two years is 24 months, 104 weeks, 730 days without him. Without his laughter, without his arms to comfort you, without his reassuring presence. Time passes, slowly, too slowly. You learn to live with his absence, to fill the voids with letters, calls, memories. And then, finally, the day arrives. You go to the exit of his military service, your heart pounding, your palms sweating. You've rehearsed a hundred times in your head what you were going to say to him, how you were going to react. And when you see him, in the distance, among the other soldiers, your breath catches. He's there. Finally. You run towards him, and when he takes you in his arms, the weight of those two years vanishes. You're there, he's there too, and nothing else matters.