The Breakwater on the Window

Suhee kept the last windowsill in the waiting room clear for the midnight departure. Her cloth and spray bottle went under a chair. Juwon was moving to another city tonight; Suhee had asked her to come ten minutes early.

She had discovered the window’s secret last month. A snail she traced in her breath crawled down onto the sill. Suhee hardly dared breathe as its antennae, smaller than her fingernail, explored her finger.

The rule proved simple. Things drawn with a finger on the misted glass became three-dimensional, confined to the sill. When the glass dried, they vanished. On breaks, Suhee sometimes drew a flowerpot or a tangerine.

Juwon arrived seventeen minutes before departure. One suitcase wheel clicked with every turn. Suhee took the case and parked it against the wall. Juwon handed her a convenience-store bag containing two rolls of gimbap.

“You haven’t had dinner, have you?” Suhee accepted it. She had learned about the move from a photograph of boxes another friend posted. Since then, their messages had been brief, containing only what was necessary.

Juwon studied the empty sill. “What did you want to show me?” Suhee breathed a long patch of mist onto the glass. She drew a horizontal line, then a string of short curves beneath it.

A sea, two palms wide, filled the sill, stopping before the chipped paint. Suhee added a narrow breakwater and a lighthouse. She could not draw its red roof, so she just touched the top with her finger.

Juwon crouched. Little waves struck the breakwater, their faint splashing almost lost beneath the waiting-room television. She released the suitcase handle and lowered her face until her eyes were level with the sill.

“It’s that place,” Juwon said. The seaside town they had meant to visit last year. They had saved a photograph of its breakwater and checked bus times. The date changed three times, then became no date at all.

Once, Suhee’s shifts changed. Once, Juwon slept through an entire weekend. Finally, a forecast of rain postponed it. Neither could remember whether it had actually rained that day.

Suhee nearly said, I wanted to take you there somehow. Instead, she opened the gimbap bag. Still watching the sea, Juwon said, “I should have told you as soon as I got the job.”

“Why didn’t you?” Suhee asked. Juwon watched the lighthouse. “I thought I’d sound too excited. You’d still be working nights here. So I kept putting it off, and telling you got harder.”

Suhee rolled the end of the wrapper into a thin cord. “I would have said I was happy for you. Then felt hurt by myself. Still, I hated finding out from a picture of boxes.”

“Can I say it now? I’m happy I’m going.” Suhee extended the breakwater a little. “Yes. I wanted to know that.” A few more small stones settled where her finger had passed.

The five-minute departure announcement sounded. Juwon stayed crouched and breathed onto the glass. Beside the breakwater, she drew a square and circles. A chair appeared on the sill with one leg too short.

“You fix it,” Juwon said, laughing. Suhee extended the short leg with her fingertip. The chair stood straight. They each ate a piece of gimbap, then sat side by side, foreheads against the glass, watching the little chair.

The mist cleared from the edges. Water lowered on the far side of the little sea. Juwon began to breathe on the glass again. Suhee shook her head. “Go on. Your suitcase wheel’s slow enough already.”

Juwon pulled her case away, then turned. “Send me your shifts when you get them.” Suhee handed her the remaining gimbap. “Yours too. Mark the days you want to go first. Then we’ll see what’s possible.”

“Even if it rains?” Juwon asked. Suhee considered. “We’ll watch the sea from a snack bar. You check whether there’s one with window seats.” This time, Juwon immediately made a note on her phone.

The clicking wheel receded toward the platform. Suhee watched Juwon board. Once seated, she pressed her face to the bus window, cupping her hands beside her eyes to look back into the waiting room.

Suhee waved as the last ripple became dry glass. The bus moved. The breakwater and chair were gone. Only chipped white paint remained on the sill, and the watermarks Suhee had left there before they began.

Suhee retrieved her cloth. She cleaned the sill, then swept the cloth across the glass. She left until last the places where their foreheads had rested as they looked into the little sea.