2. 둘 ‘dul’
Behind the counter of my bakery, I lean by the nearest window. The sunlight warms my hand through the glass.
Where there used to be empty seats outside, this time of the year people are talking, enjoying their cup of tea.
The gold bell on top of the door rings, diverting my attention inside. Two young girls enter the shop, allowing some red and orange leaves to fly inside and land on the soft-brown wooden floor. They’re laughing, a rare sight in the usual grim weather of London.
The bakery has been busy for the last few days, so much so that I haven’t yet set up my mailing box at the post office to receive the letters from my pen pal. Before I left the house this morning, I noticed a notification on my phone from Modern Pen Pals letting me know that Daldust had sent me a message, but I haven’t got the chance to read it.
‘Mrs Josephine, good morning,’ I say to the old lady who entered my shop behind the girls.
She comes here every day to get her husband a slice of the cake of the house. My speciality is a light vanilla base with a creamy and sugary lemon frosting.
‘My sweet Lilah, how are you this fine morning?’ Mrs Josephine’s wrinkles under her eyes deepen with her smile.
Many times when I stare into her eyes, the kindness that sparkles in the hazel covering them reminds me of my grandmother.
I sigh and try to look cheered for this kind woman. ‘I’m well, thank you very much. How was yours and Mr Blake’s weekend?’
‘It was good. At this age, all weekends seem the same. There isn’t much to do, but we enjoy each other’s company.’
‘It doesn’t matter what you do as long as you enjoy doing it together,’ I say. ‘If you’re here for your usual, you’re in luck. I’m about to take it out of the oven in a minute.’
‘You’re an angel. Blake can’t go one day without eating that cake, and this time I’ll take a slice for myself as well. We are having a little picnic by the river today. It’s our anniversary.’ Mrs Josephine looks at the bracelet on her arm and smiles. Her husband must have gifted it to her.
They make me want to believe in love, believe that everybody has a person, someone who is just waiting to find their other half and that those relationships can last. That love and care can outlive the traumas and regrets.
‘Happy anniversary! I’ll make sure to choose the big slices then.’ I wink at her, and she goes to sit at the table near the window by the door.
I exhale at the sight of the clock hitting 1 p.m. Lunchtime.
When you’re your own boss, you are supposed to make your own schedules, right? If I wanted to take a day off or get an extra lunch hour, I could. But if I do that, the regulars that come at those hours will leave, and that means less money to support the bakery.
I’ve had proposals to expand my business a few times, but the thing is, I do what I do because I love it, not to get more money out of it. Besides, it wouldn’t be Sweet Delilah without Delilah.
Owning your own business is a lot of work—one of the most stressful things one can do—but it’s also the most gratifying because you know everything you receive is based on your hard work.
I lock up the shop and walk towards the green-framed door next to mine.
Rebecca—or as her friends call her, Becca—is my waiter for the day. It rotates between her and her twin Jeremiah. They own this little place called Greener’s . The food is organic and vegan, which I love since all my treats are vegan as well.
People in this neighbourhood call us ‘the tasty animal lovers duo’ because we show them that food can be delicious with no animal harm. We love to spread awareness through delicious food, and they say that the way to people’s hearts is through their stomachs.
Becca walks to the kitchen in the back corridor to place my usual order. Their spaghetti carbonara is to die for. My eyes travel to Jeremiah, who’s attending to a customer at the counter. As soon as the customer leaves, he walks over to where I’m sitting.
‘H-Hello Lilah,’ he says, avoiding eye contact.
‘Hi Jer.’ I smile at him.
‘How’s the bakery today?’ He plays with his hands, glancing briefly at me before looking back at the ground.
‘It’s doing fine. How are you?’
I’ve known him since my bakery opened, and although at first my words were scarce towards him, they quickly grew as I began noticing that he’s always more nervous than I am, allowing me to relax for a bit.
‘I’m doing better now that you are here. Have a delightful meal,’ he says, leaving as he watches his sister bring my plate to the table.
I try to thank him, but when I look back at him, he’s already behind the counter, accepting a customer’s payment.
‘Here you go.’ Becca places my order in front of me. ‘Did my brother come to bother you?’ she asks. ‘That guy cannot keep his cool when you are here.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
‘Jer hasn’t said it out loud, but I think he has a crush on you. He always gets jittery when you’re around.’
Jittery? I’ve never seen him not nervous. I assumed it was his natural state.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘What’s there to not believe?’ Her eyebrows frown. ‘He just never dared to ask you out. He can barely look you in the eyes.’
‘Exactly. The fact that he can’t look me in the eye makes it hard to believe he likes me. I would first assume he didn’t like me very much.’ I chuckle to hide the tightness around my chest.
‘Anyway, enjoy. I’ll go get a little dessert on my break.’ Rebecca winks, moving to attend another order.
Some days I wish I could look at myself through someone else’s eyes. Maybe I would find something I can’t see with my own. But other days I don’t want to fathom what they might see. It could be even worse than what I imagine.
I pause my thoughts and hold them for my therapy session on Friday. Ms Julie always says if I get a bad thought to not think about it at the moment, to let some time pass and see if I can handle it with a clearer head, or hold them until our session. By then it can either be gone or if it remains she’ll help me face it.
After lunch, I make my way to the post office at the end of the street. At this hour you can catch the birds singing. I look around, inhaling the fresh air and letting the stillness of this calm hour relax me before I walk inside.
‘Good afternoon, miss. How can I be of service on this fine day?’ the man behind the counter asks as I arrive.
‘I’m here to open a postbox…’ I say, looking around for the correct area. I hope I’m doing this right.
The officer directs me to the side of the post office and hands me some papers to sign. I settle on postbox number nine since it was the day I signed up for Modern Pen Pals—it just seems to fit.
It’s weird how eager I am about this. It can go very wrong and Daldust and I might have nothing in common, but because they aren’t seeing me—even if they judge me, they don’t know who I am.
I don’t get nervous about talking to a stranger; I get nervous about the disappointment on their faces when I talk to them, and this time, I can’t see it, so I picture a smile.
After setting up my mailbox, I go back to my bakery. The sun reflects through the window towards the painting I have on the wall.
I’m cleaning up the tables when Elisa comes into the shop. The corners of my mouth lift at her sight, but my whole body freezes as my eyes meet the people in the back. Elijah and the other guy that was in my house last night walk in behind her.
‘Lilah,’ my flatmate says, ‘tell me you still have your delicious signature cake.’
I compose myself and walk fast behind the counter. Be professional, be professional , I repeat to myself.
‘You’re in luck. I still have a few slices from the morning.’ I hope they can’t hear the tremble in my voice.
‘Amazing! I want three.’ She looks back at the men that stand by the door and speaks to them this time, ‘What are you doing standing there? Get here and grab your plates. I’m not your mum.’
I let out a light laugh. Elisa has an energy nobody can seem to ignore. She can be the life of the party but also scold you when you need it, and no one can ever be mad at her .
She winks at me before grabbing her plate and sitting at the table near the counter—the one I had just been cleaning.
The guys approach me and my words scramble in my mind, making it harder for me to speak. I hate that this happens.
‘Good afternoon, Lilah,’ Elijah says, and I smile at him, giving him a plate. ‘Thanks.’ He turns around to join Elisa.
The strange man—whose name I keep forgetting—approaches me later, looking at the table before looking at me.
‘Hi.’ The corners of his mouth lift.
There’s a calm about him. He doesn’t make me as nervous as Elijah, but that could be because of my feelings towards him.
‘Here.’ I reach my arm forward, giving him the slice of cake.
He grabs it and asks, ‘Can you also make me a coffee?’
‘Sure, what kind?’
‘An iced Americano.’
I nod and turn my back to him to prepare his drink.
When I turn back again, preparing to call for him, I’m confronted with his body, still in the same place, the cake’s plate on the counter. He never moved. He stood there waiting for me. That’s rare. Most customers leave to sit at their tables and wait, but this man stood there.
With his stare on the painting on the wall in front of the door, a wave of serenity washes over me. It’s the only painting I have hung because I want people to notice it. The rest of the walls are decorated with stencils of mauve-pink baked goods and acoustic-white flowers. Two soft-brown shelves filled with small cacti and some books for decoration stand on the wall opposite me.
‘It was my grandmother’s,’ I say.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he says, his eyes never moving from the cream wall.
‘It’s my favourite one.’ I sigh, remembering how I begged to keep it when they were deciding what to take from her home.
She always said it reminded her of me; a beautiful garden filled with colourful flowers. Dull because of the grey clouds above it, as they seem to be about to cry, but behind it, you can see a light—the sun—trying to force its way out and illuminate the day. She said I was like that, a beautiful soul tormented by life’s events, just waiting to shine again.
‘I keep it to remind myself of her, of us,’ I say, and his eyes move in my direction.
It’s the first time I notice how dark they are, a deepness in them that matches the night sky. Where it’s so dark you can’t see beyond it, but just by looking, you know how vast it is, how many secrets it holds.
I glance at the coffee in my hand and reach out to him.
‘Thank you, Lilah,’ he says, quickly glancing at me once more before moving to join the others for their afternoon snack.
They stay for a while in the shop; eating, talking, laughing. Elisa tries to integrate me into the conversation sometimes, asking my thoughts about some topics and telling curiosities about the four of us.
Elijah and his friend work at the tattoo shop down the street, InkPark . From what I gather, Elijah is the owner, hence the name of the shop that comes from his last name, Elijah Park.
‘If you ever want a tattoo done, we are the guys for the job,’ Elijah says.
I noticed he has tattoos on his arms. What do they call them? Tattoo sleeves? One peeks from his shirt towards his neck, but I had no idea he was a tattoo artist.
I’ve always loved tattoos, the art of getting something you love, something meaningful, on your skin so you’ll never forget it. It’s the definition of wearing your heart on your sleeve. Each tattoo tells a story, one that you are displaying for everyone to see, even if they don’t know the meaning behind it. To me, that’s beautiful, but I’ve never done one. Not because I don’t want to, but because I want to smile when I see myself in the mirror before getting them.
‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ I say. Honestly, I believe that was the longest sentence I’ve ever said to him.
They get up and one by one come to pay for their snack.
‘See you at home. I’m working there today,’ Elisa says.
If I had a job like hers, where I could work from home, I would never leave my room. On one hand, that would be great for my introverted self, but on the other, I love seeing my customers’ faces every time they enjoy one of my creations. Besides, my therapist encourages me to be around other people. Elisa might work from home, but in her free time she gets out. We are complete opposites.
Elijah speaks the best way he can—with body language—and winks at me, making my heart skip a beat when I hand him his receipt. But I know he does that every time and to everyone. He’s a natural flirt .
He throws the receipt into a mauve-pink trash bin with cream crochet cupcakes near the door, and that reminds me to ask if they want it, or it’s a waste of paper and judging by the portion occupied by receipts in the rubbish every time I take it out, I’ve been wasting a lot of paper.
I tell them both goodbye as they open the door to step outside. Today I had closed the door to keep the shop fresh in this warm weather.
Then the friend gets up. He has been counting the money in his wallet.
‘Here.’ He reaches his hand to mine, handing me the money. I count more than what it should be, but he’s already approaching the door.
‘Hey! Here’s the change.’
‘Keep it. It’s a tip for your fabulous service.’ His big, round eyes almost close when he smiles, turning back to the door once more.
‘Wait! What’s your name?’ If I don’t ask this now, I’ll never ask again.
‘Kim Moon Hee,’ he says, looking down.
‘In Korean, the last name comes first, so Moonie?’ I say, unsure of my pronunciation.
He swiftly lifts his head and stares at me, making me hold my breath for the first time.
‘I-I’m sorry, I’m terrible at pronouncing things.’
‘No, it’s not that.’ He eases my nervousness with his gentle smile. ‘I just…I’m surprised you knew that.’
‘Oh.’ I let out a chuckle. ‘I listen to a lot of K-Pop, and K-Dramas are my favourite dramas.’
He nods, and before leaving, the man speaks once more. ‘It’s Moon Hee, but I like Moonie better.’
I smile and thank him for the tip, unsure if he hears me before the white door closes behind him as he joins his friends.
I watch as they walk away, my focus on the last to join the trio. Even though we are complete strangers, something in the way his eyes landed on me felt so familiar.