Chap 39.0 : True Heart
The bus was an experience.
Human Sera sat beside me—or rather, she hovered beside me, her form hovered into the seat like she was trying to remember what it felt like to have weight. She narrated the entire journey, pointing out buildings and streets and landmarks that the human Sera had known by heart.
"That's where I bought my first phone. It was a flip phone. I was twelve. I thought I was so cool."
"That's the convenience store where Mina and I used to buy snacks after school. She always got the honey butter chips. I always got the banana milk."
"That's the park where Mum used to take us when we were little. There was a swing set. I fell off once and scraped my knee. Mum cried more than I did."
I listened. For the first time that morning, I actually listened. Not because the information was useful. Not because it would help me pass economics or navigate the strange waters of mortal existence. But because it was hers. These memories, these places, these fragments of a life that had been lived and lost and was now being shared with me like a gift.
"The restaurant is in Mapo-gu," she said as the bus turned onto a street lined with shops and cafes. "It's called Jeong-dam. Which means—"
"True Heart," I said, and the words came out before I could stop them.
Human Sera turned to look at me. "How did you know that?"
I didn't know. The word had simply been there, in my mouth, like the human Sera's memories sometimes were. "I don't know. I just—knew."
She stared at me for a moment. Then she smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, you did."
The bus stopped. I got off. Human Sera floated beside me, her form flickering in the morning light, her eyes fixed on the building across the street.
It was small. That was my first thought. Smaller than I had expected. A narrow storefront wedged between a cafe and a convenience store, its sign written in simple white lettering against a dark wooden background. True Heart, it said.
The windows were steamed over. The door was propped open, letting out the sounds of clattering dishes and the smell of something savory and warm.
"That's it," Human Sera said. Her voice was strange. Thick. "That's their restaurant. They opened it when I was two. Mum used to carry me on her back while she cooked. Dad built the tables himself. They painted the walls three times because Mum didn't like the color. It's not fancy. It's not big. But it's theirs."
I walked toward the door. I could hear Mum's voice inside, sharp and efficient, calling out orders. I could hear Dad's laugh, warm and familiar. I could hear the clatter of pans and the hiss of something frying and the steady, comforting noise of a place that was alive.
I stepped inside.
The restaurant was small. Maybe ten tables, each one covered in simple checked cloth. A counter ran along the back wall, with a view into the kitchen where Mum was moving between the stove and the prep station with the kind of practiced efficiency that came from decades of doing the same thing, every day, without complaint. Dad was at the front, wiping down a table, his back to me, humming something I didn't recognize.
"Sera?"
Mum's voice. She had looked up from the stove, her hands frozen mid-reach for a pot, her face a mixture of surprise and something that looked almost like fear.
"Sera, what are you doing here? How did you even get here? You're supposed to be resting. Doctor Kim said—"
"I wanted to see it," I said.
Mum stared at me. Dad turned around, a cloth in his hand, his eyebrows rising. "See what, sweetheart?"
"Your restaurant." I looked around at the tiny space—the checkered tablecloths, the walls that had been painted three times (each colour a quiet cry for help), the counter, which Human Sera kept telling me on the way here that Dad had built with his own two hands and probably his own supply of muttered curses. "I've never seen it. Not that I remember. I wanted to see where you work. Where you've been working. For me. For us. And I took a bus. Tangled—I mean Mina—taught me to use the Google Maps."
Which was a complete lie. Tangled Menace gave up after I asked why the pin looked like a red circular blood splatter of doom, and then it turned green and she just walked away without another word. And of course, I had to hide the tiny little detail that their very deceased daughter was currently floating beside me, belting out some background music like she was headlining a ghost singing session.
The silence that followed was profound.
Mum's hands dropped to her sides. Dad's cloth hung limp in his grip. Human Sera, floating by the door, had her hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes bright, her form flickering like a candle in a storm.
"Sera," Mum said, and her voice cracked. "Sweetheart—"
"Let me help," I said.
The words came out before I could stop them. I didn't know why I said them. I didn't know what had possessed me to offer. I had never helped in a restaurant. I had never helped with anything, not really, not in the way that humans helped each other, with their hands and their time and their willingness to be useful.
But the words were out, and I could not take them back.
Mum blinked. "What?"
"Let me help. With the restaurant. Today. You said I'm on rest from school. I can rest here. While I help."
Dad made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been a cough. "Sera, you've never helped in the restaurant. Not once. You always said—"
"I know what I always said." I didn't know, actually. But I could guess. The human Sera, who had climbed out windows and gone to concerts and called being helpful "beneath her dignity." The human Sera, who was floating by the door sobbing away with no tears.
So, it’s true. Ghost cannot cry, how profoundly interesting.
"I know what I said. But I'm saying something different now. Let me help."
Mum looked at Dad. Dad looked at Mum. Something passed between them—something that looked like hope, fragile and new, something that had been battered by the past few weeks but had not, could not, quite die.
"Okay," Mum said. Her voice was steady, but her hands were trembling. "Okay, Sera. Okay."
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