Kim Woon-hak at 11 o'clock at night
11
When I left the library, the sun had already set.
The sky was turning a dark blue, and the campus streetlights were turning on one by one.
I followed the light and suddenly stopped. The tumbler with the bear sticker on it felt heavier today.
It wasn't a weight that could be held in one's hand, but a weight that accumulated in one's heart.
For the past few days, I have been increasingly quiet in the comments section.
Even when I turned on the broadcast, he didn't say anything anymore, or just said something like, "I'm listening."
DJ—No, now I clearly remember my sister's face.
My heart became complicated as the smile I had on her face in the library overlapped with the smile I had given to other listeners on the broadcast.
김운학
“If I were just a listener, I could have just listened.”
My lips moved on their own.
김운학
“But… I can’t do that.”
I stopped walking and turned on my phone.
As it happened, a live broadcast notice had been posted.
The title is ‘A night of listening to the same music in different places.’
It seemed as if his voice could be heard in every single sentence of the notice.
I sat by the window and quietly put in my earphones until the broadcast started.
And on the hour, a familiar greeting came out.
“Hello. Thank you for joining us at 11 o’clock today.”
The moment I heard that voice, all the emotions I had been holding back burst out.
This wasn't just my feelings as a listener.
The name that calls me, the eyes that look at me,
And the heart that remembers my laughter.
I already knew that it all came from a person called ‘Noona’ and not from a DJ on the radio.
The comment section went up quickly as usual.
springletter left a smiling emoticon, and other listeners recommended today's song.
But I couldn't leave even a single line.
I kept trying to type and then erasing the letters.
All I wanted to write was one sentence.
bearwith_u
DJ, no… Noona. I'm not just a listener, I've come to like you as a person.
But the moment I wrote those words, I was afraid that the relationship beyond the screen would fall apart.
I was afraid that the familiarity I had built up until now would be broken, and that we would no longer be able to be together even on broadcasts.
After the broadcast, I walked around campus alone.
The streetlights stretched out long, casting two overlapping shadows.
In the shadows, courage suddenly raised its head.
Now I have to say something even if I lose it.
That determination spread coldly from the tips of my toes.
A few days later, I ran into my sister again at the library.
It's been a long time since our eyes met, and at that moment, I felt strangely breathless.
My sister smiled briefly, then put down her pen and looked straight at me.
“Unhak-ah.”
My heart pounded loudly at that call.
김운학
"huh?"
“I… am now going to speak with the intention of losing.”
Those words were unexpected, but at the same time, they were the words I had been waiting for.
For a moment, all sound seemed to disappear.
The sound of a pen rolling, the coughing in the library, the ticking of a clock.
Only her voice was clear.
I clenched my fists.
And finally answered.