Hey, It’s me.

In this busy world, a middle-class businessman named Kim Junmyeon, working from nine to five and living in an average rented apartment hates his life.

Not really hate, but he isn’t satisfied with what he has got.

Less money, less friends, no girlfriend, too much house rent, uncivil neighborhood and no good food to eat were his daily nagging to a friend he calls at every six p.m.

He dials his number, and waits for him to pick up his call and when does, Junmyeon begins.

“Hey, it’s me.”

His friend on the other line just tunes a “Hm” at each ending of his statement, only to let the speaker know that the hearer is listening.

“-And I scolded Oh Sehun’s son again for peeing in front of my door! Seriously, does his dad not teach him any manners!”

“Hm.”

And the next day.

“-Aish I hate how my co-worker treats me! Like I’m a filthy garbage in our office. Does it hurt him to treat me a littler nicer and with kinder words?!”

“Uh-huh.”

And the day after.

“Gosh why do I have this kind of life…it sucks, really, it hurts and it’s miserable and I wish I was dead already. While other people are living the kind of life I want, why am I living the kind of life people shun away?”

“Hm…”

And so on.

“I’m tired today…I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“Guess who got degraded? Yep me.”

“I wanna fly away to another world and vanish from this one.”

Then one day, when Junmyeon was done talking about his pitiable life, his friend spoke.

“You think that your life is pathetic than others right? Well…I’m sorry to say but your wrong.”

He disconnected with a scoff.

Junmyeon could somehow feel an amused smirk behind the call.

The next day, he arrived at his apartment after having a fight with the mail man for not delivering his office letters to his address, and sat on his usual-worn out chair.

However, as he leaned in forward to grab his telephone, it rang.

Confused that this was the first someone was calling him and not-to mention happy, he apprehensively picked it up and held it a little far from his ear. “Hello?”

“Hello?” A soft voice spoke back, a girl Junmyeon presumed. “Is this Kim Junmyeon?”

A surge of shock ran through his veins, making him jolt up from his seat.

“Yes…who is this?”

“Ah Mr. Junmyeon, I’m sorry to say but your relative Mr. Kim Jongin had died last night of a heart-attack.”

Kim Jongin? Junmyeon never heard of that name, not once, not ever.

Relative? He doesn’t have any, and not any that he recalls having.

“Sorry, I…uh think you called the wrong number miss.”

“But aren’t you Kim Junmyeon?” She asked.

“Yes I am, but I don’t know any Kim Jonglin or whatever.”

“But you are the one who talks to him every day right?”

“Huh? Sorry?”

“Every day at six he used to get a call, isn’t that you? But the last call received was this number then-.”

Junmyeons mind suddenly began filling itself with questions, doubts and a feeling of uneasiness.

“Excuse me miss…Yes, I’m Kim Junmyeon but I don’t know what you are talking about.”

For the fact that Junmyeon calls his friend at six routinely, he couldn’t help but doubt it’s him.

“Um…Since there might be a misunderstanding, to clear things up why don’t you come to the hospital and check it yourself? There’s a chance you might know Kim Jongin.” The nurse said in a pleading tone.

Albeit Junmyeon wasn’t sure of himself of what decision he should take, in the end to clear things up, he asked the nurse where the hospital was located.

Immediately, grabbing his coat and muffler, he headed to the specified place.

Wheezing for breath, Junmyeon slams his hand on the tiny reception desk and looks at the stunned nurse below.

“I’m-.” He breathed, and gulped. “I’m Kim Junmyeon…the one you called.”

“Ah!” At once she got up. “I’m sorry but we already took out the body, it was stinking and the other patients couldn’t look at it.”

“It’s alright…But I seriously don’t know any Kim Jongin.”

“You sure sir? Because in his Journal, all he has written about is you. Kim Junmyeon.”

“What?”

“Please follow me.” She said and walked out of her territory.

Slowly following the delicate-looking nurse to wherever she was taking him, Junmyeon noted on things he saw.

“He was just twenty-two… A baseball player at that…”

Rooms as small as a box, patients as weak as petals, food as tasteless looking as a glass of water and nurses as hardworking as bees.

“But he had this one problem that destroyed his dreams…and the way he was before and now if you had looked at him…people wouldn’t believe how something can change someone.”

They entered a room filled with beds and old people, a malodorous one at that and stopped in front of an empty bed.

“This was his bed.” She said.

Junmyeon noticed that on the wooden side table, were a bouquet of lilies, a framed photo having the sunlight cover somebody’s face and a brown leathered book sitting in a neat place.

“He used to cry every day, but when you would call, he would quiet down a little.”

The nurse grabbed the book and handed it to Junmyeon, who hesitantly took it with a bow.

“I will be right back, take your time and please…keep alive the memory of Kim Jongin.” She said, leaving him in the middle of the room with a dead man’s book of memories.

Gingerly, he opened it and were the first words, “Hey it’s me.”

Each page, entered with dates and words spoken by Junmyeon.

“-And I scolded Oh Sehun’s son again for peeing in front of my door! Seriously, does his dad not teach him any manners!”

Each letter, neatly written in running. Not a word misplaced or unheard.

“-Aish I hate how my co-worker treats me! Like I’m a filthy garbage in our office. Does it hurt him to treat me a littler nicer and with kinder words?!”

Hence, Junmyeons heart began to cringe.

He had a rude awakening when he found out that the one he used to nag t every day, whom he thought was his friend was this guy named Kim Jongin.

Though he wondered, how in the world it reached him when he wanted to talk to his friend, Byun Baekhyun.

But little did he know, that the call would always get transferred to Kim Jongin’s telephone.

Funny, how the latter didn’t once tell him that it was a wrong number.

“Gosh why do I have this kind of life…it sucks, really, it hurts and it’s miserable and I wish I was dead already. While other people are living the kind of life I want, why am I living the kind of life people shun away?”

And then there were a few entries of his,

“I talked to him again…and I felt happy hearing his voice. Living here for a whole damn year with no one to talk to has made me crazy, but then of a sudden, someone called me for the first time ever…I couldn’t tell him who I was but I liked how he would tell about his day, it was funny and pretty interesting.”

 “I’m tired today…I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“I talked to him again and I can’t help but wonder how he looks. I have been meaning to tell him the truth, but I just can’t…For once can’t I act as his friend?”

“Guess who got degraded? Yep me.”

“In a matter of months, I have discovered a lot of Kim Junmyeon than I wanted to…Maybe it’s time I say it’s not me? But, just another day…please…I will tell him tomorrow…”

“I wanna fly away to another world and vanish from this one.”

“He says he want to vanish…but the one vanishing here is me. I’m sorry Kim Junmyeon…I wish I could have been your friend longer.”

“You think that your life is pathetic than others right? Well…I’m sorry to say but your wrong.”

That was the last entry in his Journal.

Sunday May twenty second, two thousand and eleven.

Junmyeon closed the diary, his hands and legs froze in place, his throat went dry and his eyes filled with salty substance, he raised his head to prevent for it to fall, nevertheless they rolled along his pale cheeks.

He urged himself to walk over to the photo-frame, and as the sunlight slowly shifted from the photograph, a tall, dark and handsome looking man stood with a baseball bat in his hand.

His gleeful smile, his sparkling eyes, his sweaty hair, gave life to the photograph, gave life to the dead Kim Jongin.

He used to talk about his melancholic life, but in reality, Jongins was to a greater extent.

Junmyeons life was sepia, however Jongin’s life was monochromatic.

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