Free This Burns My Heart by Samuel Park Page A

nuptials and listed the four pillars of the groom—his year, month, day, and time of birth—all of which were supposed to indicate his good fortune. Soo-Ja’s mother read those dates out loud, and the others nodded back in approval.
    After that, Soo-Ja’s mother reached for the gifts, revealing them one by one—a pink nightgown, a jade bracelet, and a new hanbok. Soo-Ja’s mother held those items in the air, smiling. It was a smile Soo-Ja saw so rarely on her face, it made her realize this was a triumph to her, having managed to marry off a daughter. She had fulfilled a mother’s duty, at last. Soo-Ja caught herself smiling, too, as everything that day felt contagious—the men’s jubilation, the neighbors’ excitement, her mother’s approval. She would be the sky for a day, emotions passing through her like clouds, her being changing colors in a matter of minutes.

chapter four
    T he large square classroom emptied itself out quickly, its wooden walls growing darker with the waning sun, and its concrete floors feeling cooler to the touch. The young women collected their bags and coats, while Soo-Ja alone remained sitting on her embroidered mat on the floor. She could hear the silence filling up the room as she waited for Yul’s arrival.
    He had sent her a note two days earlier, asking if he could see her. She’d wondered why the sudden communication. He hadn’t been in contact with her for weeks. Yul had no less than saved her life that night outside the city hall, yet he had given her no opportunity to show him her gratitude. She wondered why he had been avoiding her.
    Soo-Ja had hesitated before writing back, knowing it might not be appropriate for her to receive him at her house, now that she was engaged. But he could walk her home from her weekly drawing class at the local arts school, and that’s what she had told him. At that moment, as she waited for him, Soo-Ja tried to ignore the nervousness gliding down her spine. She hoped to concentrate instead on the drawings she’d been working on. They were rice paper paintings of the four gentlemen flowers and plant—orchid, chrysanthemum, plum blossom, and bamboo.
    As a little girl, her father had taught her about the importance of the flowers; how in precolonial times, a
yangban
—aristocratic—boy’sinitiation started by learning how to draw them, and his brushstrokes both revealed and created character. Though those four flowers may seem delicate, they had great force, too—they could teach a gentleman how to absorb a moral value, like inner strength or courage.
    “What a perfect choice of setting,” said Yul, breaking Soo-Ja’s reverie. She watched as he lingered by the steps of the room for a minute, removing his black leather shoes. He placed them on the ground, on the same step as Soo-Ja’s—next to hers, in fact—creating two pairs of perfect lines.
    Soo-Ja rose, and the two of them exchanged bows. Soo-Ja thought about collecting her things, since the original plan was for him to escort her home. But instead, she found herself sitting back on her mat, eager to keep him there—keep him
still.
Yul sat down next to her, on another mat, facing the persimmon-glazed table in front of her.
    “I was surprised to hear from you,” said Soo-Ja.
    “I was surprised to hear about your wedding,” said Yul, a look of concern on his face.
    “Are you here to congratulate me?” asked Soo-Ja, avoiding his gaze, and looking at her half-finished painting instead.
    Yul moved his head to the side. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not sure ‘congratulations’ is the first word that comes to mind. I haven’t spent much time at all with Min, but I can tell you this: he’s the kind of person you date, not the kind you marry.”
    Soo-Ja reached for a blank piece of rice paper and laid it on the table in front of her, buying time as she tried to think of a response. She thought of explaining to Yul her reasons for getting married to Min. Would he