Page 43 of The Way Back Home

We find a spot away from the crowds and sit in the warm sand. I pull out the rest of the snacks from my bag and we eat in silence, watching kids build sandcastles while their parents lounge under umbrellas.

I wait. Give him space. But eventually I can’t hold it in anymore.

“What happened?”

Ryowoon doesn’t look at me. He tears a piece of hotteok in half, stares at it, then sets it back down on the paper wrapper between us.

“He came home and destroyed the house.”

His voice is flat and empty. Like he’s describing something that happened to someone else.

“I locked myself in my room until he passed out. Then I grabbed my bag and left.”

I want to ask where he slept, if he’s planning on going back, what he’s going to do now. But the look on his face tells me he doesn’t have answers to any of those questions. So I keep my mouth shut.

We stay until the sun dips toward the horizon, the sky streaked with orange and pink. Families start packing up, shaking sand from their towels, hauling coolers and tired children toward the parking lot. Ryowoon and I walk back through the cooling sand, brushing it off our feet before shoving them back into our shoes.

The last bus back to Haemok leaves at eight. We buy two more ciders at a convenience store near the station and drink them on the ride, the bus nearly empty now. Ryowoon tips his head against the window, his eyes half-closed, and I lean back in my seat, exhaustion creeping through my limbs.

His head drops onto my shoulder, his breathing evening out. I glance down at him, his face slack with sleep, the bruises from weeks ago long faded but the shadows under his eyes still dark.

I tip my head against his and close my eyes.

34 Years Old

Isit on the edge of another generic hotel bed, this one somewhere in Pohang, the lights of the city spilling through the gap in the curtains. My wallet’s getting lighter every day. The academy’s being patient about my absence, but I can hear the impatience in the principal’s voice when she emails me asking when I’ll be back. I keep saying soon, another week, just a little longer.

I open my laptop and stare at the screen, rubbing my eyes. They’re dry and scratchy from too many hours on the road, too many nights sleeping badly in unfamiliar rooms. The envelope sits on the bedside table, propped against the lamp. I look at it for the hundredth time this week, seeing both our names stamped on the front.

I pull up a search engine and type in reunite with old friends forum korea. Several results pop up. I click through a few, scanning posts. There are people looking for elementary school classmates, childhood neighbors, siblings separated by adoption. Some of the stories make my chest tighten. Long separations, desperate searches, a few happy endings scattered among the uncertainty.

I settle on one of the more active forums and create an account. The username field sits there blinking at me and I type in something generic, then navigate to the section for posting requests.

The cursor blinks in the empty post box. I stare at it for a long moment, then pull out my phone again and scroll to the messages I exchanged with my mom days ago. She sent me a photo of the picture from her living room, the one of Ryowoon and me at graduation. I save it to my laptop and attach it to the post.

In the photo we’re both grinning like idiots, caps tilted back on our heads, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Ryowoon’s making a peace sign with his good hand, the other one tucked behind my back. I’m holding our diplomas in one hand, caught mid-laugh at something he said right before the camera clicked.

I start typing.

Looking for old friend. Last seen in Haemok, Gyeongsang Province, 10 years ago. Name: Cha Ryowoon. Would be 34 now. Approximately 185cm tall, black hair, likely speaks with Gyeongsando dialect. Distinguishing features: scar at corner of mouth (left side), several scars on arms. May be working with cars or motorcycles. Possibly located in Busan, Ulsan, Pohang, or surrounding areas.

If anyone has seen someone matching this description or has any information, please contact me. Any help appreciated.

I reread it twice, then hit post before I can second-guess myself.

The page refreshes. My post sits there at the top of the board, Ryowoon’s face staring out from the thumbnail image. I lean back against the headboard and close my eyes, suddenly exhausted.

This is a long shot. I know it. But I’ve seen those videos where people track down birth parents or childhood friends through forums like this. Strangers piecing together clues, sharing information, making connections across distances and decades. If it can work for them, maybe it can work for me.

I set the phone on the bedside table and stare at the ceiling. Tomorrow I’ll head to another city, check more garages, ask more questions. It’s an almost comforting cycle now. I’ll show Ryowoon’s description, watch faces go blank or thoughtful, get the same apologetic shakes of the head. Sometimes I’ll get a maybe, someone who knew a guy who kind of fit that description but moved away years ago or stopped coming around. Always a dead end.

But tonight I’ve done something different. Cast a wider net. Put Ryowoon’s face out there for anyone to see.

I refresh the forum page. No responses yet. It’s only been five minutes.

I get up and head to the bathroom, splash water on my face. When I look in the mirror I barely recognize myself. There are circles under my eyes, my hair’s a mess, I need a shave. I look like someone who’s been living out of a suitcase for weeks.

A few days later I’m cross-legged on another hotel bed with a container of jajangmyeon balanced on my thigh, chopsticks in hand, watching a variety show where celebrities are trying to guess song titles while wearing noise-canceling headphones. It’s stupid enough to shut my brain off for a while.