Ji-hun's eyes went wide as he looked at the corkboard in the hallway. The Photography Club had put up that month's required theme: family. Everyone had to choose some photos they had taken of their family, along with older family photos. One student would be picked to present their photos and talk about them while they were shown on the projector in the auditorium in front of everyone.
During the weekly meeting, Shin Ho-jin was giving Mr. Kim his report and showing him the selection of student photographs from the club. Mr. Kim spent a long time looking at one of them and asked Ho-jin.
"Who took this?"
"Moon Ji-hun," Ho-jin answered calmly. The teacher's interest in that particular photograph did not surprise him at all.
"He was also the student whose photo was published in the school newspaper, wasn't he?"
"Yes. That was Moon Ji-hun too," Ho-jin replied.
"Have him do the presentation, Ho-jin."
Several students turned around to look at Ji-hun in the back. Of course, he was getting attention again. Some of them were probably even wondering why they were in the same club as him.
"Sir, maybe it would be better if someone else did it," Ho-jin said quietly. "The other students also—"
Mr. Kim shook his head. "No. It makes perfect sense for Moon Ji-hun to do it."
This guy came to the club maybe once a month. This was the first time he had held the weekly meeting with Ho-jin in front of the students, and of course he felt like he had to make it clear in front of so many students that Ho-jin could not make every decision on his own. Once he shut it down, no one had anything left to say.
Ji-hun turned toward the window. He just wanted to get away from the looks and whispers around him.
Ho-jin stopped arguing. Still, it was obvious he was unhappy with the decision. His face fell, and he hardly said anything until Mr. Kim left.
As soon as the meeting ended, Ho-jin came straight over to Ji-hun. He leaned over the table and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Ji-hun, if you don't want to do this, you don't have to just because they told you to."
"It's fine, sunbae. Why did you think I wouldn't want to?"
Ho-jin looked at him in surprise for a moment. "I..." he said. "I just felt that way. There's no reason. I mean, if you don't want to do the presentation, you can tell me."
"No, I'll do it. If Mr. Kim wants me to, he must have a reason."
The subject ended there, and neither of them said anything more about it. Ho-jin noticed it again. Ji-hun understood things in a way that did not feel right for a kid his age, and Ho-jin did not like that.
—
A week later, students were bringing in the photos they wanted to show and talking about what they were going to use. Some students wanted to use childhood photos. Others talked about funny things that happened with their families. Most of them were having fun with the project.
Ji-hun was not.
He spent two nights at home going through old photos and crying. He opened boxes that had been closed for three years and went through the pictures again and again.
There were not hundreds of photos. No. There were thousands. There were fashion shoots, photos from parliament and war zones, and landscapes from countries his parents had visited. Some of those places Ji-hun had never even been to. His parents' names were still written on the back of every photo.
Ji-hun went through the photos while Dong-min sat in his chair and listened to them slide against each other, the stiff prints making small sounds in Ji-hun's hands.
"Are you busy, Ji-hun-ah?"
"No, Dad. I'm looking for something for school," Ji-hun said. "I have to prepare a presentation about family."
Dong-min looked so happy you could see it from a hundred meters away as soon as he heard that. "Then you have plenty of photos to choose from!" he said with a laugh.
Ji-hun kept going through the boxes. "Yeah, Dad. More than enough."
He had not been able to tell Ho-jin how the assignment made him feel. He had not told Mr. Kim either. Now he could not tell his father.
So he continued quietly, sometimes running his little fingers over the smiling faces of his mother and father before moving on to the next photograph.
—
The day of the presentation came quickly, like every day when you know something annoying is going to happen.
Students from different classes filled the auditorium. The lights over the stage were still on, but the projector was ready. After the photo exhibition along the walls was over, the students went up to the podium one by one and talked about their pictures.
There were childhood photos, wedding pictures from before some of them were born, and funny family photos from when they were three.
For a long time, everyone in the auditorium was laughing.
Eventually, Mr. Kim called Moon Ji-hun to the podium.
When Ji-hun stepped onto the stage, the microphone was much too high for him. He bowed first, then adjusted it quietly without a smile.
As soon as he reached for the computer in front of him, the blank screen behind him changed.
A beautiful woman appeared.
His mother was at a fashion shoot, wearing a white T-shirt and shorts, holding her camera at shoulder level while she winked. Her long black hair was loose, and she looked nothing but happy.
"This photo was taken in Seoul," Ji-hun said.
His voice came through clear and steady. He looked like someone who had been giving presentations for forty years.
"The person in the photo is my mother. She was working on a magazine shoot at the time, and the photo was taken by her assistant."
Ji-hun's hands were steady. His eyes stayed dry too. The next photo was of his father.
Moon Dong-min had two cameras around his neck. One had a telephoto lens, and the other had a wide-angle lens. He was standing in a huge open area. Behind him were only the blue sky and a wide stretch of yellow land.
"My dad used to travel a lot, back when he was still taking photographs," Ji-hun continued. "He really liked going to places most people couldn't."
More photos followed, some taken in other countries, some on crowded streets, with signs Ji-hun and most of the students could not read. His parents were younger in all of them. They looked busy with work, but happy too, out there somewhere living their lives.
Ji-hun did not say much about each photo. He explained what was necessary, then moved to the next one. His voice gave away very little.
By the time he reached the last slide, the auditorium had gone quiet. His father was sitting on a bench beside the Han River, looking out at the water. His back was turned to the camera, and the bandage around his head stood out more than the river in front of him.
The photo had an endless loneliness to it.
"I wanted to show this one as an example of a photo I took myself," Ji-hun said.
That was when his voice changed.
For a moment, he was not sure he could continue, but he forced himself to speak. This was the last one. Once he finished this, it would be over.
"My dad was listening to the sound of the river. It was a nice afternoon. The light was soft, and you could really only hear the river."
That was all.
Ji-hun did not say that his mother had died, that his father had gone blind, or that he had woken up from a coma. He did not talk about what happened before the hospital or what happened after. He only talked about the light and the shadows.
After a moment, he looked up at the audience and saw Ho-jin in the back row. Ho-jin was already looking at him. Their eyes met, and Ho-jin did not look away.
Ji-hun stopped speaking.
Somehow, the look in Ho-jin's eyes calmed him.
Ji-hun got his breathing under control and found the courage to speak again. He made it through the last minute of the presentation without trouble, and when the screen finally went dark, a hesitant round of applause began somewhere in the auditorium.
Then more people joined in.
A minute later, the whole place was filled with loud applause and whistles.
Ji-hun bowed before stepping down from the podium. A few high school students sitting in the front row stood and bowed back to him as he passed.
He returned to his seat and lowered his head. He was embarrassed and happy at the same time.
At the side of the auditorium, Ho-jin was still watching him.
Unlike everyone else, he could see everything Ji-hun was keeping inside so it would not show on his face.
A little later, another student stepped up to begin her presentation. Ji-hun got to his feet, trying not to draw attention, and slipped out.
The moment he reached the brighter hallway, he started toward the bathroom at a run.
He did not want anyone to see him.
Once inside, Ji-hun shut the door behind him and hurried to the sink. His hands were shaking as he turned on the faucet, but he could not do anything.
He looked at the mirror nervously and saw the tears in his eyes.
"Why did you leave us, Mom?" he whispered.
After whispering that, he knew he could not hold it back anymore.
He tried to stay quiet, but he ended up crouched on the floor, sobbing. Everything he had kept inside during the presentation came out now. He drew his knees up to his chest and buried his face against them.
The bathroom door opened. Ho-jin walked in as though he belonged there. He did not ask what had happened or if Ji-hun was okay; he did not seem to need an explanation. He took Ji-hun's hand, pulled him to his feet, and hugged him.
Ji-hun went still. He was still crying, his arms hanging at his sides, and for a moment he did not know what to do with Ho-jin's arms around him.
After a few seconds, he put his arms around Ho-jin and grabbed the back of his shirt.
"I'm sorry, sunbae," Ji-hun said in a rough voice.
Ho-jin rested his chin on top of his head. "Why are you apologizing, Ji-hun-ah?"
Ji-hun had no answer because he did not know himself.
Ho-jin held him for a little longer, then said, "Come on. You need some air." He took Ji-hun's hand, and they walked out into the hallway together. Ji-hun wiped his eyes with his sleeve and looked up.
Min-ji was standing right in front of them.
He tried to pull his hand away from Ho-jin, but Min-ji had already seen them. She looked at their hands first, then at Ji-hun's wet sleeve, and finally at Ho-jin. Ho-jin did not let go. He held Ji-hun's hand even tighter.
Ji-hun felt sick. He tried again, harder this time, but it was too late. Min-ji was looking only at Ho-jin now, and it looked like fire was burning in her eyes.