“I arranged her first kiss”
We were in the car. I drove; Yujin gnawed at a fingernail in the passenger seat. In the back, Seoryeon—the new woman I’d brought—sat stiff with nerves.
At the third red light I braked hard. Their shoulders knocked; Seoryeon flushed and murmured an apology.
Yujin laughed it off. “It’s fine—anyway, I’m going to kiss you later.”
The rear-view mirror became a looking-glass
This is how my desire has always worked. The instant I tether one soul to another, I turn into the wraith between them. When Seoryeon asked for Yujin’s number, I handed over my phone first. When they wondered where to go after last call, I booked the room.
Why?
I had to know the shape of their first kiss, the order in which garments fell, the pitch of every gasp.
The night she disappeared
Yujin texted: I’m staying with Seoryeon tonight—okay?
I answered: Of course.
For three hours I refreshed Seoryeon’s Kakao profile. The photo had changed: the two of them cheek-to-cheek against rumpled sheets, both of them laughing.
At 4:27 a.m., sleepless, I left the house. I walked to Yujin’s studio and pressed my ear to the door. Laughter leaked through, and then Seoryeon’s voice, pitched low through Yujin’s throat:
“God… that feels so good.”
The gaze that stayed
After that night I remained their intermediary. When they quarreled, I mediated; when Seoryeon hunted for an anniversary gift, I advised. I even chose the bar for their one-month celebration.
They raised glasses to me. “To the midwife of our romance—cheers!”
I smiled, but something scalded the back of my throat.
Why did I hunger to watch their arms lock around each other as though I could slip inside the embrace?
Second experiment
That summer I introduced another pair—Hyeji from my office, and Yujin’s friend Minseo. We drove to the coast. I rode alone up front; they shared the back seat.
When the sound of waves seeped through the windows, Hyeji cautiously laced her fingers through Minseo’s. I didn’t look back. Instead I watched, in the side mirror, their glances catch and hold.
That night I took the single room. From next door drifted laughter, then the soft thud of bodies colliding. I pulled the blanket over my head, but the breath that slipped through my fingers sounded exactly like theirs.
Why do we crave the coupling of others?
Psychologists call it voyeurism, but the word is too thin. When their skins met I felt the hallucination of standing in the very spot where I was absent—as though I had become a single creature maneuvering both bodies at once.
The bridge I built was meant for two, yet I kept pressing my palms against the glass wall, trying to feel the heat on the other side.
Last conversation with Yujin
Once she told me, “Remember the night we kissed? I was so nervous.”
I blushed, but it was a lie. We never kissed. I merely introduced the woman who became her first kiss. She had wanted to invent a shared origin.
I laughed and said, “Me too.”
Inside I thought: That first kiss will always be one I never saw.
Do you dare to introduce anyone?
Have you ever brought two people together? While they peeled each other’s clothes off, where were you and what were you doing?
Do you still strain to hear the sounds they make, trying to fill the hollow space you left behind? Or did you truly want only to connect them—nothing more?
Or perhaps…
perhaps you wanted to burn into your mind, in the sharpest resolution, the moment they found each other without you.