---
The apartnt door closed.
Click.
Our shoes sat side-by-side on the rack.
I sat down at the table and placed the school form in the center.
---
"The number," I said.
Yuna took off her bag slowly.
Unhurried.
She sat across from , unzipped her bag, and took out a small pencil case.
From inside, she pulled out a blank scrap of paper.
Not a pre-prepared slip.
Not a ready-made secret note.
She was actually writing it out right now.
---
I watched her hand.
Her handwriting was neat.
I didn’t expect this writing.
Co from a child.
Ten digits.
---
She stopped after the last number.
Didn’t add a na.
Didn’t add any symbols.
Just numbers.
She slid the paper toward .
---
"There."
I looked at the string of numbers.
No special area code that I imdiately recognized.
Not a service hotline. Not a public corporate number.
---
A personal number.
"Who is it?" I asked.
She gave a small shrug.
"The person who will always answer."
Who?
The answer is full of mystery.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Always?"
"Yes."
"No matter the ti?"
She thought for a mont.
"If not him, his assistant."
I raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Assistant."
She realized she had said too much.
But she didn’t take it back.
---
I took my phone out of my hoodie pocket and set it on the table.
The black screen reflected both our faces.
"I’m going to call it now."
She didn’t answer right away.
She just sat up a little straighter.
Her hands returned to her lap.
Like a child waiting for grades to be announced.
---
"Do you want to listen?" I asked.
She shook her head slowly.
"It’s up to you, Papa."
A deliberate choice of words.
I punched the numbers into the phone.
One digit. Two. Three.
Ten.
---
I stared at the call button for a few seconds.
If this man was really who I suspected he was—
then he was already waiting.
I pressed the green button.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Click.
---
User Comments
0 comments from readers