Quite opposite really, Jennie grew up with a family that was much more in an upper middle class. Jennie had always lived her life without a single worry about money.
Throughout her life, she had travelled to so many places, be it the exotic Tuvalu or the snowy cold Greenland. In South Korea, she had her family house in Seoul, a holiday villa in Jeju, and even her own penthouse that was given to her when she turned sixteen. Her family had their own group of maids and a private chef. Truly, financial struggles had never been a problem, despite global economic crashes and whatnot.
However, her parents always taught her to respect everyone despite the differences between classes, so she grew up always respectful and full of kindness.
Her family was pretty small, considering she was the only child her parents had. Her mother was a diplomatic representative of South Korea, so in her early childhood, she lived in Auckland, New Zealand, for some while before moving back to Seoul when her mom retired. Her father was a chain fast food restaurant owner that had spread all across South Korea, and even some other East Asian countries. Their family started as a small happy one, but as they grew, their directions grew apart.
Jennie had always been an artistic girl. While she was really smart academically, and even thrived, she never really had much interest in science. However, her father sort of insisted-like every other Asian parent-she got into medical school. Meanwhile, her mother wanted Jennie to follow her steps and fill in her shoes to become a diplomat.
There were so many expectations to reach, though frankly she couldn't care less.
If there was a problem Jennie faced since she was young, it was not a huge one. Even when Jennie felt that it was in fact a big problem. But she tried to think about it as little as possible, even though it constantly bothered her.
Jennie felt a little... empty. As if she was a meaningless plastic bottle drifting all alone off the shore. As if she was a hollow shell in the midst of the sand on the beach. As if she was a small fish running around the undecorated fishbowl.
She was happy, sure. Jennie had everything she could ever have and she was very grateful for it, especially when not every kid was as lucky as she was. Financially, she was stable. Her family, though sometimes distant and cold, had almost no problems. She was smart, pretty, kind, and well loved by society. She received care and attention and nothing less nor more. She had friends who adored her and lived a very normal life. But, she struggled to find meaning in what she was doing.
So, she sheltered herself by looking tough, confident, fashionable, and cool.
Jennie did art. She expressed herself through paintings and drawings. She did pottery. She wrote and composed songs. She danced. She wrote poems and stories. But it didn't feel enough while at the same time feeling too much.
So, she often wondered if that was what being alive meant - to feel too much and nothing all at once. And it hurt. It was exhausting.
But the people around her could not understand her. "What are you tired for? You're not even doing anything," said her mom. "You're always entitled to rest, when you did barely any work," said her dad. "You're privileged. I don't think you truly need that much rest," said her friends.
So, she filled her schedule with volunteering gigs, weekend art markets, mentoring underprivileged youth, and learning French just because she thought maybe being bilingual in a romantic language would make her life feel... less dull. She tried to make herself useful, or at least deserving for a rest from life. But all of it felt like coloring the edges of a picture she couldn't bring herself to finish.
She didn't know when it had started - that emptiness curling beneath her ribs like a slow frost. But she knew exactly when she'd started to feel warm again.
That one time she was driving her car around the town to get her usual lonely lunch in her favorite Japanese restaurant, just to pass by a girl who caught her eyes, crying herself in front of an abandoned house. And that time she drove her car at the very same day's evening to take herself out to dinner, but she passed the very same girl, still bawling herself out in front of the exact same abandoned house. It drew her out of her zone, as her curiosity was stronger than her will to feel in comfort. There was something so strangely magnetic about that girl that pulled her utmost empathy, more than she ever did, that made her truly wanted to give her comfort, even when she didn't really know how to.
Jisoo managed to get her out of her car that day.
It wasn't even dramatic, really. It wasn't like Jennie saw her and the world exploded into color. It was quieter than that. Softer. Like turning on a lamp in a dark room and suddenly remembering there were paintings on the walls you once bought and made to be cherished because you love them.
There was something about Jisoo's quiet grief. Her quiet hope. The way she held herself like she was both fragile and indestructible. It made Jennie ache.
And ache wasn't something Jennie was used to anymore. Not like this.
She didn't want to scare her off. Didn't want to rush the bloom of something that had barely taken root. She didn't want Jisoo to feel even worse about having to maintain a relationship with her when all she probably was just a little thankful to her. But that night, after the run-in with Jisoo's ex-boyfriend and the yearning goodbye at the bus stop, Jennie couldn't sleep.
The silence of her bedroom felt suffocating.
So, Jennie sat down. She looked across her bed, her own reflection at the mirror on her dresser. There was something she never really saw before. The look of agony and sentiment... for someone else. She often overlooked it, as she indeed felt empathy to the people that she helped but chose to not care about it as much as she didn't want to appear weak in front of them, but ignoring it pushed her to a certain point where she never saw that look of empathy on her own face whenever she was reflecting.
She sighed and decided to move to her couch and open her curtains, revealing her whole glass window as one of the sides of her bedroom.
It was late. The kind of late where the streets outside had gone quiet, and even the city lights seemed to hum softer. For a sleepless city like Seoul, the bare silence seemed a little odd.
Jennie sat cross-legged on her couch, hair still damp from washing her hair because of the earlier rain, a towel forgotten across her lap. Her sketchbook was open beside her, but her pencil had stilled before she decided to sleep but didn't have the sleepiness to lead her into slumberland anyways. Her thoughts had drifted again.
In Jennie's mind, those city lights shifted into someone instead. To a girl with tired eyes and a smile that felt like a sunrise. To a voice she hadn't heard in hours but still echoed in her mind like a favorite song.
She sighed.
Hope was such a slippery thing she couldn't possibly hold on to. It made her stomach felt like sinking, even when her gastritis didn't try to bother her.
Her phone was face-down on the table. She hadn't checked it since she got back. Maybe she was afraid of wanting too much. Maybe she didn't want to look eager. But then, it rang.
The vibration buzzed through the table like a pulse - sudden, unexpected. It was an unknown number calling. But there was this breeze that gave her chills all over her skin. She was made to believe it was someone she was waiting for. She hoped it was her, but she prayed for her so not to call out of an obligation.
Jennie blinked. Sat up. Although she hesitated for a little, she picked it up.
"Hello?" Her voice was quieter than usual, like the hour demanded gentleness.
Her mind wandered a little. She thought what if it was someone else? Or what if it was Jisoo just wanting to tell her that she didn't want to meet her anymore?
There was a pause. A breath. The sound of someone hesitating.
Then Jisoo's voice came through - small, shaky, but real.
"I didn't think you'd pick up that fast."
Jennie exhaled in relief. It was someone she initially had wished for. Even though her second question wasn't answered yet, at least it was a little bit better and it was almost enough.
"Oh, thank goodness it's you."
There was a light chuckle from across the phone. "How do you know it's me?"
"Jisoo, you have one of the most easily remembered voice I've ever heard."
There, I said it again.
"Why did you tell Hyuksoo that I was pretty much unrecognizable from the distance though?"
"I don't like him." Jennie's words spewed out of her lips so easily, like it was slipping. "I'm sorry."
Jisoo chuckled. It eased Jennie. "No worries. I don't like him either. It's not like I haven't moved on and realized my worth."
"Good."
Jennie softened immediately, leaning back against the couch, curling the towel into her lap like an anchor. "Hmm... Why did you call?"
God, please don't be just because I gave her my number.
Another pause. Jisoo's breath caught at the other end, like she was trying not to let it tremble. "I just... didn't want to feel alone tonight."
"Well, now, you're not." She was glad Jisoo felt safe enough to let her invade her space, even when she felt a little punch in her guts from hearing Jisoo's breaking voice.
Silence stretched between them again, but this time it wasn't heavy. It was full of breath. Of presence. Of something unnamed and still forming.
"Jennie," Jisoo said, and her voice broke just a little on the second syllable. "Why are you being so kind to me?"
Jennie looked up at her ceiling like it might have answers.
"I think..." she started, then stopped. "You deserve it." Jennie stared at the wall for a little, not disassociating, but rather thinking. "Life was unkind at you the first time I met you, but maybe life was kind enough to let me be a little kind to you that day... and so on."
Jisoo didn't respond right away.
Then, finally - softly, honestly - "That's not fair."
Jennie's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"You can't just say things like that and then hang up like it didn't ruin me a little."
"I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable." Jennie bit her lips. My feelings have ruined her feelings.
"No, you made me feel comfort. I'm not used to comfort. It makes me feel like I'm suppressed from growth."
Jennie turned her head around, back to watching the lights the towers emit that lighted up the dark hazy sky again. "But isn't growth more prominent during rests? Kids grow taller during sleep. Plants breathe during the night. Why are you not allowing yourself to feel comfort when it's one of the most prominent things of... growing as you wanted?"
Jennie thought to herself of how Jisoo thought about herself. For Jennie, it was unbelievable for someone to think in such a way, even when logically and empathetically, she knew some people would think that way. But truly it was bizarre.
"Maybe you're right." Jisoo paused. "But please don't hang up the call... unless you're really sleepy and whatnot," she begged.
Jennie grinned then chuckled a little, and it was the kind that sounded like relief. "I'm not planning to hang up."
"Good," Jisoo whispered. "Because I think I want to stay on the line... just a bit longer."
So they did.
They stayed on the call - not saying much, not needing to - as the night stretched deeper. Jisoo curled in bed with the covers up to her nose. Jennie traced invisible patterns into the cushion of her couch. Neither of them ready to say goodnight.
Not yet.
Maybe not for a while.