Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.
-Oscar Wilde
It was like being at the top of the world.
The city stretched out before her, so brightly lit that it drowned out the darkness, swallowing up the night sky. She could see winding roads and towering skyscrapers, but from this height they were no more than miniature models, tiny pieces she could pick up with her hand. Here, it was so easy to pretend that she was for once, in control.
The view was breathtaking, but she had already made up her mind. She had given the world a chance, had tried to find a reason to stay, but Fate had snatched it away from her as soon as it had placed it in her hands.
So she took one more step towards the edge.
1.
Don't.
It was the first word that he had said to her, that night on the rooftop. She had heard it many times before, uttered by her mother in the same shrill, commanding tone. Don't slouch when you walk. Don't stay out past seven. Don't even think about living a life of your own.
But from his lips, it had sounded like a plea, as if he was asking, not ordering her to stay.
Why not? she had yelled, struggling to make herself heard over the howling wind and the cacophony of the traffic, miles below. What's there to live for?
And he had walked slowly towards her, hand outstretched, a lamp in the darkness offering to guide her away from danger, perhaps even towards home. She had looked at him, and back over the ledge, torn between the hope in his eyes and the escape that she had longed for.
As if he sensing her indecision, he closed the distance between them, grasping her hand lightly in his own. Pulling her towards him, he had bent and whispered in her ear.
Let me show you.
2.
His name was Minho, a sophomore soccer star with an easy smile and a love of astronomy. And he had made it his personal mission to convince her to live.
She had played along out of curiosity. Who was this boy, who had cared enough to reach out to her, despite the fact that they were strangers? Did he do it out of pity? The goodness of his heart?
They met the next day on a hilltop, beneath the cool shade of an ash tree. He had patted the grassy spot beside her and they had sat side by side, watching the changing skies in comfortable silence. Clouds rolled lazily past as the vast canvas above them transitioned from blazing fire to diamond-speckled coal.
Beautiful, isn't it?
She had nodded, but had barely registered the wondrous sight before her. Instead they fell upon him, the slight upturn of his mouth, the angled planes of his face, and the bright, inextinguishable glow in his eyes, shining more brightly than all the stars in the sky.
3.
She had been sceptical when he had showed up at her doorstep with nothing but two crumpled bus passes in his hand. But there was something about him, his abundance of energy perhaps, that compelled her to follow.
There was no method to his madness. They went all over town, stopping by theatres and flower shops, bakeries and cafes. It was exciting, she had to admit, inhaling the scents and smells that she had known but taken for granted; the richness of coffee beans, the sweetness of cinnamon, the freshness of roses, all enveloped her in a cocoon of fragrant air.
At the end of the day, she had sat happily in the bus shelter, unaware of the grey skies or the mud clinging to her shoes. Instead, her nose was filled with the smell of rain and earth, and the fresh, piny scent of the boy beside her.
4.
Say 'ahhhh'.
She had felt ridiculous, sitting there in his kitchen, mouth wide open and eyes firmly shut. He had fed her dish after dish, everything from strawberry ice cream to buttered popcorn (and yes, even hot peppers).
You'll never guess this one he had said with a mischievous smile.
And before she could close her eyes, he had leaned forward, pressing his mouth softly against hers.
5.
They had arrived at the beach at the break of dawn. Water stretched on endlessly before them, the pale orange outline of the sun peaking above the horizon.
Together, they had walked beside the gentle waves lapping at their bare feet. Without a word, he had slipped his hand in hers, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Do you feel it? he had said, gesturing to the sky, the sand, the sea. An endless universe in which she was but a tiny flicker of light amongst billions. But for once, she did not feel so alone.
Closing her eyes, she reached out with her senses. She could feel the fine, grainy sand between her toes, the light spray of water on her face, the cool breeze like the brush of chiffon on her bare skin. But most of all, she could the warmth of his hand seeping into her, its heat slowly melting the ice in her soul.
Before she knew it, the words she had kept bottled up were tumbling out of her mouth; she told him of her cold and distant father, her overbearing and demanding mother, and of course the brother who had torn their already broken family apart.
And he had listened, a constant presence by her side, his hand intertwined with hers.
All good things come to an end.
And all ends come too quickly.
She hadn't believed it until she had stood before his casket, seen his too-pale skin, his too-still form lying amongst swathes of satin. An accident, they had said quietly, their whispers barely audible over the screeching of tires and the crunching of steel ringing in her head. She wished she had been there, had held him one last time, told him how much he meant to her before he disappeared.
He had cured her senses, taught her to revel in all the beauty that the world had to offer, but it was him who she had come to love. Even now, she could still remember...
The ringing sound of his laughter.
The bright glow in his eyes.
The fresh scent of his hair.
The sweet taste of his lips.
The reassuring warmth of his hand.
He had become her world, her raison d'être and now that he had left her, she was but a hollow shell. Without him, she was lost and alone, drowning in a sea of darkness with no one to save her.
And with one last thought of his waiting arms, she jumped.