Dear Ji-hye,
I think I’m in love.
No, really this time—not the usual "he smiled at me in the food line" kind of crush. This is different. My stomach does flips when I hear his voice, and every message from him feels like a secret I get to keep tucked inside my chest.
We live in different buildings, across from each other, and at night—when the world quiets down—we send each other Morse code from our windows. Just a flashlight, a bedsheet to block the glow, and a heart full of things too risky to say out loud.
Sometimes it’s silly: .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..-
Sometimes it's just a goodnight or a shared joke. But lately, I’ve started looking forward to those blinks of light more than anything else in my day.
It’s strange, isn’t it? That something so old and clunky—Morse code!—can feel more intimate than anything else. Like we’ve found our own frequency in this city of silence.
You once told me that love is just another kind of story waiting to be told. I think I’ve started writing mine.
Yours,
Tae-hee