Letters I [k.th]

A Rainy Night

"It's a rainy night, the rain knocks on my window, it hits my heart."

-Rain - BTS

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Krystal stared at the frame hugging the window, securing it, making sure it would never fall and break.

She knew she hit rock bottom when even windows reminded her of Taehyung. She believed Taehyung was the frame and she was the glass.

He took care of her as if she was the most fragile thing around him.

She did, too, did she not?

She took care of him as if he was the most fragile thing around her as well.

Water droplets hit the glass the same way her tears hit her thighs. She didn't even bother lowering her dress to avoid any wetness on her skin.

She was just too tired.

All she did was stare at the stack of sad letters that rested in front of her on the bed as she waited for the next day to come so she could visit him.

It was the exact same routine on a daily basis.

She glanced at the clock and it was still just 4 in the morning. She huffed in annoyance.

"I want to see you." She whispered, still not being able to see him.

She had stopped having those certain episodes which consisted of her smiling, laughing, whispering and joking.

Because she couldn't see him anymore.

She would only smile, laugh, whisper and joke when she could see him.

She considered not going anymore. She thought she had stopped seeing him because he stopped caring about her.

Isn't that how it works? Don't people disappear the moment they stop caring about us?

She slid her hand underneath her pillow, pulling out a book.

It wasn't any book. It was that book.

It was the book he read almost every night until she fell asleep in his arms.

She had never read it herself. She only listened to him as he read it for her. The same way she read letters for him.

She traced the embossed linings, smiling.

She didn't open it. She couldn't.

She stayed in bed for two more hours, not doing anything.

You'd think if anything could drain someone and make them insane, it would be locking themselves in a room, but how could she leave her room if most of her memories with him were made in it?

She held onto the book as if she was holding his hand. She held it tightly, yet carefully. She traced its broken spine, clearly stating how much he used to fold it when reading it.