Tell me you love me

Chapter 16 The Exhibit Begins

The days following her encounter with Soo-Jin passed in a blur of determination and anxiety. Inspired by their conversation, Eun-Ji immersed herself in planning her photography exhibit. The gravity of her project felt heavier than ever, especially after witnessing the darkness lurking in the corners of her city. Yet, that darkness fueled her desire to capture the stories of those around her.

Eun-Ji began reaching out to classmates and friends, asking them to share their stories and participate in her project. She crafted a simple message, explaining her vision: "I want to document our lives, our dreams, and our fears. Each photo will tell a story, a piece of who we are."

The responses were mixed. Some were excited to be part of her project, eager to share their narratives. Others hesitated, unsure of whether they wanted to open up their lives to scrutiny. It was a delicate balance, and Eun-Ji felt the weight of responsibility pressing on her shoulders.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Ji-Hoon asked one afternoon as they sat in a quiet corner of the school library, surrounded by textbooks and scattered notes. "It sounds intense."

"I have to," Eun-Ji replied, her voice steady. "After everything that's happened, I want to create something meaningful. I need to show the beauty and the pain, the light and the darkness."

Ji-Hoon nodded, understanding the urgency behind her words. "Okay, then let's brainstorm some ideas for the exhibit. What do you want it to be called?"

As they bounced ideas back and forth, Eun-Ji's excitement began to build. "What about 'Reflections of Us'? It captures the essence of who we are and what we experience."

"I love it," Ji-Hoon said, his eyes shining. "And we could create a theme around the contrast between dreams and reality. It fits perfectly with what you want to convey."

With a renewed sense of purpose, Eun-Ji organized her first interviews. Each session was an exploration into the lives of her friends—moments of vulnerability mixed with laughter and tears. She found herself captivated by their stories: Min-Jae, who dreamed of being a musician but felt pressured to pursue a more traditional career; Hye-Rin, who had faced bullying and was now finding her voice as an artist; and Seok-Jun, who struggled with the expectations of his family while harboring a passion for photography just like her.

Eun-Ji captured their expressions, their raw emotions, and the nuances that made them unique. She could feel their stories intertwining with her own, each photograph a testament to their resilience and hope.

Yet, amidst the creative flow, self-doubt began to creep in. What if her work didn't resonate? What if she failed to convey their stories authentically? After a long day of interviews, she sat alone in her room, staring at her camera. The images she had captured felt heavy in her hands, and the fear of inadequacy threatened to drown her enthusiasm.

"Maybe I'm not cut out for this," she whispered to herself, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Just then, her phone buzzed—a message from Ji-Hoon. "Hey! Don't forget to take care of yourself. Want to grab some coffee later?"

Eun-Ji smiled at his persistence. "Sure. I could use a break."

When they met at their favorite café, the warm aroma of coffee enveloped her, easing some of the tension in her chest. Ji-Hoon could sense her unease and leaned in, his expression earnest. "You're doing something incredible, Eun-Ji. You're capturing stories that matter. Don't let self-doubt steal your passion."

"I know, but... what if I mess it up?" she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ji-Hoon shook his head. "You won't. Just remember why you started. This is about more than just photography; it's about connection. You're giving people a voice."

His words lit a spark within her. They spent the rest of the afternoon discussing ideas for the exhibit, jotting down notes and sketching out a layout. The excitement was infectious, and Eun-Ji felt the shadows of doubt begin to dissipate, replaced by a growing sense of purpose.

As the days turned into weeks, the logistics of organizing the exhibit became more complex. She secured a small gallery space downtown and began to plan the layout. Each photo would be accompanied by a brief narrative, allowing viewers to understand the context behind the images.

Eun-Ji faced many challenges—balancing schoolwork, managing time, and coordinating with her friends for their stories. But with Ji-Hoon's unwavering support and encouragement, she pushed through the chaos. They often stayed up late, working together on the details, brainstorming ways to make the exhibit impactful.

Finally, the day of the exhibit arrived. As she stood outside the gallery, Eun-Ji's heart raced with a mix of excitement and dread. The walls were adorned with her photographs, each one a window into the lives of her friends. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.

People began to trickle in, their faces lighting up with curiosity as they explored the space. The atmosphere buzzed with chatter and laughter, but beneath it all was a current of tension—an unspoken awareness of the stories being shared.

Eun-Ji mingled with the guests, her heart pounding. Then she spotted her father at the entrance, his expression unreadable. Fear and hope collided within her as he stepped further inside, scanning the photographs with an intensity that made her stomach twist.

"Appa," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm glad you came."

He nodded, his eyes lingering on a photo of Min-Jae, lost in thought. "You've captured something real," he said slowly, his tone surprisingly neutral.

Eun-Ji's heart raced. "Do you really think so?"

"Yeah," he replied, finally meeting her gaze. "But you know, this isn't exactly what I envisioned for you."

The unease returned, like a shadow creeping back into her moment of joy. "What do you mean?" she asked, her heart sinking. "This is my vision."

"I understand that, but..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "I just worry about the future. Art is unpredictable. The family business—"

"Appa, I'm not trying to replace the family business. I just want to pursue my passion," she interjected, her voice rising slightly. "Can't you see that?"

He sighed, a hint of frustration in his eyes. "I see your passion, but I also see the risks. You're talented, Eun-Ji, but talent doesn't always pay the bills. You need stability."

Eun-Ji felt a wave of disappointment wash over her. "I know what I'm doing, and I can make this work. I want to create something meaningful, something that reflects who I am."

Her father's expression softened, but the hesitation remained. "Just think about it, okay? You have options, paths that lead to security. I don't want to see you struggle."

As he turned to leave, Eun-Ji felt the weight of his reservations settle like a stone in her chest. "Appa!" she called after him, but he was already gone, swallowed by the crowd.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. People admired her work, sharing their thoughts and emotions, but Eun-Ji felt a growing disconnection between her dreams and her father's expectations.

When the night finally came to an end, she stood amidst the remnants of her exhibit—empty cups, discarded napkins, and the quiet echo of voices fading away. Ji-Hoon approached her, concern etched on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"I don't know," Eun-Ji replied, her voice shaky. "I thought he might understand, but he's still so concerned about the family business. It feels like he'll never see my perspective."

Ji-Hoon placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You're creating something powerful, Eun-Ji. Don't let his doubts overshadow your success. You're not alone in this."

As they packed up, Eun-Ji felt a flicker of determination ignite within her. The world was darker than she had imagined, but perhaps it was that very darkness that would fuel her art. She would capture these moments—the beauty and the horror, the light and the shadows.

With her camera firmly in hand, she knew she had to find a way to navigate this new reality, to make sense of it all through her lens. And with that thought, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. The journey ahead would be treacherous, but she was ready to face it, one photograph at a time.