Seul: The Broken Symphony/Episode 4

Author’s Note:

Here are the translations for the Korean words used in this episode/chapter:

Episode 4

“The assignment is due in two weeks. Late entries will not be graded.”

I stand and fling my backpack over my shoulder. While all my other music assignments had decent grades, I wanted this one to stand out—and so did my professor. Before the lecture started earlier today, he had pulled me aside and told me he hoped to see an improvement in my music. I tuck in my chair and sigh.

“So, what are we going to do?” Asher appears beside me, his arms full of music books and his backpack on the verge of bursting.

“What we always do,” I reply as we make our way out of the lecture hall.

“Shouldn’t we do something different this time?” Asher stumbles, and I take some of the books from his arms.

“Why?”

“C’mon, Em, work with me. I want us to go above and beyond.”

We get to the lockers, and I help Asher put his stuff away. Instinctively, we head to our music room to discuss the project.

“Took you guys long enough,” Santiago comments when we walk in, causing the others to look up at us. Jaemin gives me his usual nod, his expression neutral and unreadable. I sit and run my fingers through my hair. I wanted us to get good grades this time, but to step out of my comfort zone—to show my feelings to the whole school? I wasn’t so sure.

“It’s all up to you.” Jaemin’s deep voice cuts through the silence. I stare at the ground, knowing his eyes are boring into me.

“No matter what grade we get on this, we’re still your friends, Emery,” Noah speaks up, and the others hum their acknowledgment.

“Well?” Jaemin presses.

I take a deep breath and release it all in one rush.
“We won’t write a new song,” I say quietly. “We’ll use the one we were playing around with.”

Jaemin smirks, and I can tell he agrees. The other members grin and grab their instruments. I pull out a sheet of lined paper and start writing the lyrics. I hope this is worth it.

 * * * * * 

“Intro and verse one have no bass and no drums, right?” Malachi asks quietly.

“Oui,” I reply. “But I want the synth pads in the whole time.”

“What’s taking Elias so long?” Jaemin grumbles.

“I’m here with the printed lyrics!” Elias bursts into the room triumphantly. He hands everyone two sheets of paper. I place mine on my music stand and scribble in some notes. The room becomes quiet as everyone does the same.

I smile. I’ve never had so much fun working on an assignment.

“Let’s take it from the top,” Haneul instructs. Since three of the members weren’t playing, they were guiding and coaching us so everyone still got credit.

We take the song from the top, and this time, when we finish it, I’m satisfied.

A knock sounds on the music room door.

“Yes?” Haneul calls out, slightly annoyed.

The janitor pokes his head in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but the school has been closed for some time now. I have to kick you guys out—I’m about to lock up.”

I walk to the window and lift the blinds. It was dark outside. I groan. My mom was going to be so worried.

“Kamsahamnida,” Haneul bows gratefully. “We’ll leave now.”

“Okay, boys,” I smile. “Same time tomorrow.”

They all chuckle, and we say our goodbyes before heading home.

* * * * * 

I unlock the door and step into the house quietly. The house is silent. I check my watch. Strange—my parents were usually up at this hour.  I close the door, and suddenly a sound like an explosion goes off above my head.

“Aigoo!” I scream, dropping my phone. I clap a hand over my mouth and stare in shock. Mom is grinning, holding a confetti cannon.

“Emery!” she squeals. “We’re so proud of you!”

My heart nearly stops. Did they know about the song? How could they? We had just started working on it.

“Jihoo-ah…” my father looks at me in surprise. “Did you just say ‘aigoo’?”

I let out the breath I’d been holding. It could’ve been worse. Out of respect for my parents—and their faith—I never swore, no matter the language.

“I was just surprised, Appa.”

Appa grins. “I told them you knew Korean!”

“Don’t get sidetracked!” Mom pulls me into the house and sits me on the couch. Appa takes off my shoes, muttering about walking inside with them on.

“How was it?” Mom sits across from me, hands folded.

“How was what?” I glance at Appa, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.

“The party, silly.”

“Party?”

“Where else could you have been at this hour?”

“Mom, it’s only nine o’clock…”

“It’s your first party, that’s okay.”

I sigh and rub my forehead. Where did she even get this from?

“It was fine. I’m not a party person though,” I lie.

Appa turns to look at me. He knows.

“I’m so proud of you,” Mom sighs. “Next time you should go with your cousins.”

The silence after her words is heavy, like they’re both holding their breath.

“Maybe next time,” I say simply, standing. “I’m heading to bed now—I’m a bit tired.”

“Of course. And I suppose you’re not hungry. You must’ve eaten tons at the party.”

I nod, ignoring the pinching in my stomach, and head upstairs.

* * * * * 

After showering, I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. My parents talk and talk for hours before finally falling quiet.

My phone chimes suddenly, and I flinch. It’s only Hana.

Can you buy me a plane ticket to Korea?

Go to bed, I reply quickly, then set the phone back down.

I open my bedroom door quietly and tiptoe down the stairs. In the kitchen, I grab a glass from the cupboard and open the fridge for the milk. Movement from my left startles me, and I bite my tongue to keep from screaming.

“Appa!” I whisper-complain. Closing the fridge softly, I pour myself some milk.

My father doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pulls out bread and makes two sandwiches. I pour him another glass of milk, and we both work silently. When we’re done, Appa motions to the living room. I wait for him to sit before taking a seat beside him. He hands me a sandwich, and I hand him the milk. He says grace, and we dig in, enjoying the midnight snack and each other’s presence.

A little time goes by, and still he says nothing. The silence sits heavy in my stomach.

“Emery…” Appa finally begins, but his voice drifts off. That bothers me. He’s always so certain of what he wants to say. What was the problem today? And why did he use my English name?

“Appa?” My voice shakes a little, so I clear my throat.

“It’s not like you, Jihoo…” he pauses to sip some milk. “This behavior…it’s different.”

“I don’t understand,” I whisper.

“Why did you lie to oma?” His tone is calm, but the disappointment in it makes my chest ache.

“Mianheyo.” I bow my head, hoping it’s enough.

“That’s not what I asked.” Appa stares at me, and I look away. “Is this about Grace?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, but the image of Grace doesn’t go away. My eyes tear up, and I wipe them aggressively. No matter how many people tell me it wasn’t my fault, I know it was.