The Moon Moves 3.8 Centimeters Away from the Earth Each Year

Prologue

The Moon Moves 3.8 Centimeters Away from the Earth Each Year.

Someday, in the distant future, the moon will escape Earth’s gravitational orbit and step toward the vast unknown universe, making its own solitary journey.

As if we had never met in the first place.

As if it were a promise for a new beginning.

As if the long time we had spent together meant nothing.

As if joyful memories were burned away into oblivion.

Just like how things are between her and me right now.

***

1.

Deciding to see her again was a momentary impulse.

For a while, I just stood there, staring at the orphanage where she was said to work.

The sticky tar of the asphalt seemed to melt and cling to the soles of my shoes.

It might seem foolish, but as the long-delayed reunion drew within arm’s reach, reality set in, and my nerves began to fray.

I sighed deeply, leaned against my car, and lit a cigarette.

The early autumn wind carried a slight chill. The roadside trees were slowly losing their color.

This place seemed to lag behind the season’s arrival.

Should I just go back?

That was the first thought that crossed my mind.

Despite the resolve I had mustered to come here, my fragile mind was hoping to abandon everything and retreat to comfort.

I mocked myself, exhaling smoke.

It had been years since my relationship with her had reached a standstill, like a torn photograph shoved aside.

One day, without warning, she pushed me away.

My sudden visit today felt like a petty revenge of sorts.

As if my outdated, vindictive instincts had resurfaced, eager to repay her in kind.

I smoked three more cigarettes at that spot.

As I passed through the main gate, flanked by two rough stone pillars, the orphanage came into view. It looked more like an ordinary elementary school.

“An orphanage in a repurposed school building. My aunt’s pretty well-off,” she had said once. The memory surfaced slowly.

Walking on cracked paving stones, I reached the glass doors leading inside, where a young boy watering a flower bed met my gaze.

He was no older than a preschooler.

His clear eyes stared intently at me, and I awkwardly averted my gaze.

“What brings you here?”

A middle-aged teacher in a sky-blue apron emerged from the glass doors, holding a watering can.

Her eyes widened slightly, surprised by an unexpected visitor.

“Hello,” I greeted her with a slight bow. “I’m looking for someone. Is Sehee here?”

“Sehee?” She tilted her head, confused. “May I ask why you’re looking for her?”

After a moment of hesitation, I managed to answer, “We were high school friends.”

“Oh, you’re a friend of Sehee’s! Nice to meet you.” Her smile quickly gave way to a look of concern. “Oh, but this is unfortunate. Sehee stepped out for a bit.”

The teacher explained that Sehee often disappeared without notice, returning much later. Her guess was that Sehee was taking a walk nearby.

Some things never change, I thought. She often vanished like this. Back then, it had always been my job to wander around and find her.

“You can wait in her office; she should be back soon,” the teacher suggested, directing me to a repurposed faculty office on the first floor.

“Thanks for coming all this way,” she added warmly. “She hasn’t gone out or met anyone in years, staying inside the orphanage every day. We were worried about her.”

I glanced around and said, “Seems like she’s doing well here.”

“Too well, really. The kids here flock to her whenever something happens, calling for her first.”

“…I see.”

“She’s such a wonderful person,” the teacher murmured with a bittersweet smile. “Even after falling ill so young, she remains the brightest presence in this orphanage.”

“………”

Her face from the last time I saw her flashed in my mind.

Her trembling gaze as she tried to meet mine with her blurred vision.

The warmth of her hand when she quietly held mine still lingered.

The office was empty. My tentative knock met with only a chilly silence.

Stepping inside, I scanned the desks and stopped at a name I recognized.

It was her desk. A paper name tag taped to the cubicle divider read “Miss Sehee’s Desk” in wobbly handwriting.

The tag, likely made by the children, was adorned with colorful hearts, stars, and crescent moons drawn in crayon.

It was clear the children adored her.

Yet, the desk itself was empty. Not a single document, book, or typical office supply was in sight.

It felt like someone else’s space. It didn’t resemble her at all.

The warmth that once radiated from even her smallest belongings was absent.

I stood quietly before her desk, staring at the emptiness.

Wandering aimlessly outside, I slowly roamed the orphanage.

Much like I had wandered that day, searching for her.

Like the times I searched for her in the hospital.

Or in the department store.

Or in the library.

Looking back, perhaps I wasn’t searching for her but tracing her steps.

Following the path of her footprints, I might have envied her freedom—how she moved forward wherever her feet took her.

What shape had her life taken since she disappeared from my world in our second year of high school?

The radiant figure who carried her own universe within her—what form did she take now?

The transparent eyes that once reflected the summer night sky we gazed upon together—what did they see now?

Had she found a new star to light her darkened universe?

The moon had drifted 30 centimeters farther since that day.