Two

"You and I are the only thing that's real."

His words echo in my head.

What does this mean now that you're gone?

Sometimes I wake up to the smell of him. As if Daniel has been lying next to me all night. If I reached out my hand, I would feel the warmth of his skin as we lace our fingers together. Then my alarm goes off, forcing my eyes open again. I feel around the sheets, searching for my phone. It's eight thirty in the morning. I'm usually not up this early, especially since I'm not in school at the moment. But I'm growing tired of spending my days in bed, looking through old photos of us on my phone.

It's been nearly a year since Daniel died. I'm still not used to a world without him in it. Sometimes I catch myself checking my phone, expecting a text from him. He was always the first person I heard from when I woke up. Sometimes I pretend he's not actually dead. I imagine he moved away to a remote island, somewhere without signal, making it impossible to stay in touch. It makes things a little easier, pretending he's alive somewhere else, even if we're not together.

Another alarm goes off, reminding me to start the day. I sent out dozens of job applications a few months ago and finally got an interview. So I have to get there on time and make a good impression. Daniel and I often talked about the future, so I know he would want this for me. He wouldn't want me wasting the day, thinking about him. I take a shower and change into something professional (a dress shirt with a tie from Dad's closet). Mom left breakfast for me this morning. I think she worries I haven't been eating enough lately. I take a few bites for her, along with some coffee to wake me up a little. Then I head back to my room in search of something. There's a white paper bag on my desk. It's been sitting there for the last few days, untouched. I stare at it for a moment, wondering if I should take it with me. I grab it along with my phone as I leave the house.

The trains are crowded this morning. The interview is at Tribune Tower, a thirty-six-floor high-rise that looms over the Chicago River. I head through the revolving glass doors, adjusting my tie. It's a sea of gray suits bustling through a marble- floored lobby, chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. I read over the email, wondering where I'm supposed to go. The interview is for an assistantship with CHI-23 Entertainment, an indie production company based here in Chicago. I saw one of their films at a festival a few years ago. The cinematography inspired the way I think about light and color. I thought it was a long shot, but I sent in an application anyway. It would be a dream to work in the film industry, even if I'm sorting through mail all day and answering phone calls.

I press the elevator button and step inside. As it begins to rise, I imagine the scene—assistants running back and forth carrying trays of coffee; executives sitting around long tables, pitching ideas behind glass walls. Then the doors open to a small reception room with nobody there. A few boxes are stacked against a plain white wall. I look around, wondering if this is the wrong floor. I expected things to be exciting like the movies. I wander around the office, hoping to find a Stanley Tucci–like character to take kindly to me, offering some words of wisdom. A few turns later, I find a woman with short black hair sitting behind a desk. I walk up and give her my name.

"You're a little early," she says.

"Sorry."

The woman smiles. "Don't be silly. Leon, who's interviewing you, isn't back from lunch. Why don't you sit in his office while you wait." She rises from her chair and motions for me to follow. There is a series of white doors down a narrow hallway. She unlocks the second one on the right, allowing me inside.

"Leon will be here shortly," she says. "My name is Sonny. Can I take your bag?"

I glance at the white bag in my hand. "No, that's okay."

Sonny nods before disappearing down the hallway. I take a seat in the black chair and glance around the office. The walls are lined with movie posters, a few with titles in different languages. There's a bronze name plate on the edge of the desk. Leon Nguyen. So he's Vietnamese, too. Then footsteps echo down the hallway. I straighten up as a man in a T-shirt and jeans walks through the door. He's younger than I expected, maybe in his late twenties. He drops his keys in a glass bowl as he steps to the other side of the desk.

"So you're Eric," he says.

I rise to shake his hand. "Yeah, that's me."

"Great to meet you."

"Thank you for seeing me."

I hand him my resume as we sit down. Leon blinks at it and sets it on his desk. He takes a good look at me. "You're quite dressed up for this interview," he says, swiveling his chair a little. "Things are more casual around here, if you haven't noticed. Hope you didn't put on that tie just for us."

I look down at my clothes and back at him. "Oh, not at all," I tell him. "I'm actually going to a wedding after this."

Leon chuckles. "I assume you're joking."

"No, actually, I'm the wedding singer," I add.

"Well, that wasn't in your cover letter," he says, pretending to be impressed, making us both smile. He laces his fingers together on the table. "Anyway, how did you hear about the internship?"

"I found it online," I say, straightening up again. "But I knew of CHI-23 before. I wrote about one of your films for a class assignment."

"Oh, what class?"

"Digital filmmaking. I took it last year."

Leon takes out a pen, jotting something down. "Is that where you worked on your short film?"

"My film?"

"The one about the Star Festival," he says. "In the link you included in the application. I shared it around the office. Everyone here loved it."

" Really? " I lean back in my chair, surprised to hear this. The online application said it was optional. But I sent a link anyway, thinking no one would actually watch it. "Thank you, that really means a lot," I say.

"I know this is essentially a mail room position, but we look for skills beyond delivering coffee," he says, leaning toward me. "This isn't the standard assistantship where you'll be sifting through mail all day. We also look for talent. So tell me more about the film and the idea behind it."

My mind flashes to last summer—paper wishes fluttering in the trees, men in robes playing wooden flutes, fireworks lighting up the Sumida River. I ended up stitching shots together for my senior project as I narrated the story of Princess Orihime and Hikoboshi over it, wishing for their star-crossed reunion. It takes me a second to gather my words. "I was visiting Japan last summer," I answer. "I got lost one day and stumbled into this festival. I didn't know what it was at the time. But someone I met that day told me the story." I pause for a second, thinking about Haru. "The festival is about these two people who were separated by time and space, and somehow found their way back together. I guess I never really stopped thinking about it. A few months later, when I looked back at everything I had filmed, that was the story I wanted to tell. So it was kind of an accident."

I remember watching the videos over and over again, hoping to see him somewhere in the background, a glimpse of his face. I touch the red bracelet around my wrist. I wish I had more than a memory of that day. It's beginning to feel like a dream or something. Of course, I don't mention any of this.

"Some of the best ideas happen by accident," Leon says, nodding. "Sometimes it's just the process . So don't sell yourself short." He glances at his computer and back at me. "What else have you been working on?"

I stare at my hands. "Nothing at the moment. I took a little break."

"Are you at least taking film classes?"

I shake my head. "I'm actually not in school right now."

He furrows his brow. "You're not in school?"

"I hope that's not an issue."

Leon frowns as he leans back, tapping his pen on the desk. "I'm sorry to tell you this, Eric," he says, "but this is a college internship. You have to be a student to apply."

I blink in confusion. "Are you sure? I don't remember seeing that online." There has to be some misunderstanding.

"Unfortunately, yes," he sighs. "The university typically funds the program. So there isn't really a way around it. Why aren't you in school anyway?"

I stare at my hands again. Daniel and I were supposed to go together. "I just needed time to figure things out," I say vaguely.

"Did something happen?"

"It's nothing," I assure him. "I'm reapplying this year. I've already started on a few applications."

Leon stares at me from across the desk. Then he reaches for something behind him. "Well, if you're planning on going to school, why don't you apply for this," he says, handing me a folded sheet of paper. "It's a film scholarship. I know several aspiring filmmakers who have won over the years. And I think your stuff is strong enough. Something you can work toward. Until then, why don't you reach out again next year, once you have things figured out." He slides my resume back to me.

I stare at the desk and back at him. The interview has barely started. It can't be over just like that. "But…" My voice stutters a little. "Maybe there's something else I can apply for. Is there a different position here?"

"Not at the moment."

"Are you sure?"

Leon scratches his chin, thinking about it. "Well, we might have an opening for an assistant role. But, quite frankly, I don't think you have the experience for that."

"What would count as experience?"

"The internship would be a good start," he says with a straight face. There's a silence as I sit there, unsure what else to say. "I'm sorry about this, Eric," Leon continues. "There isn't really anything I can do. I hope you understand."

At this point, it's clear it's over. I didn't even have a chance to begin with. All because I'm not in school right now. I take the piece of paper and rise from my seat. "Thanks for your time," I say. Then I grab the bag from the floor and head out.

"Good luck," Leon says from behind me.

As I step into the hallway, I stop short. I'm not sure where the burst of bravery comes from, but I have nothing to lose at this point, right? I take a deep breath as I turn back inside, facing Leon again.

I look him right in the eyes and say, "Okay, you're right. I don't have the experience. And I'm not a student in some fancy school that will pay for the internship. But I'm smart, I learn fast, and I will work very hard if you give me a—"

" Did you forget something? " a woman's voice interrupts me, pulling me out of my daydream. I blink and find myself still standing in the hallway, staring back at the office door. I turn around. Sonny is waiting for a response.

"Sorry… I was just heading out."

I leave through the elevator, hoping Leon realizes he's made a mistake by the time the doors open again. I think of the scene in The Devil Wears Prada, the one where the assistant chases Andy into the lobby after Miranda changes her mind at the end of the interview. But nobody follows me down to offer a second chance. I wish this was one of my films I was directing so I could control the storyline. But nothing works out like it does in the movies.

I'm sitting in the garden of the Art Institute, watching leaves fall into the fountain. I didn't really know where else to go. I stare at the blank screen of my phone for a long time. It's one of those moments when I wish I could text Daniel, tell him about the interview. He would know what to say to make things better. But the thought of no one answering makes my chest hurt again. I close my eyes and try to push him out of my mind. I shouldn't let that stupid interview get to me. I knew it was a long shot, anyway.

The paper bag sits on my lap. I'm still not sure why I brought it with me. I'm thinking about opening it when my phone vibrates. Jasmine is calling me. It's feels like a long time since we last spoke. She's been really busy with school these days, double majoring in biology and music. I pick up right away.

"Hey. What are you doing?" Her voice instantly soothes me, like an old song I haven't heard in a while.

"Just sitting around. Why?"

"I just got in," she says.

"Wait, you're in Chicago? Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?"

"It was last minute," she explains. "I got a ride with a friend. And we're only here for a few hours. But I want to see you before I head back. Are you home now?"

"No, I'm in the Loop," I say.

"Perfect. I'm not far. We can get lunch. If you're not busy, I mean."

"Of course I'm not. Where do you want to go?"

Jasmine doesn't visit home much these days. So it's a nice surprise when she drops in unexpectedly. Especially when I'm feeling down. Sometimes I think she has a sixth sense about things. After we decide on the best place to meet, I head for the train and make my way over.

The door chimes as I enter Uncle Wong's Palace. It's our favorite Chinese restaurant in the city. We used to order takeout from here all the time. Red lanterns hang from the ceiling, giving enough light to make out the embroidered dragons along the walls. I walk past the counter and find her sitting by the window, wearing the plaid jacket she borrowed from me. She looks up from her phone as I slide into the other side of the booth.

"Was just about to text you," she says, folding her arms on the table. "I literally just sat down." She stares at my clothes. "Look at you all dressed up."

I let out a breath. "I just came from an interview."

"Was that today? How did it go?"

"I don't really want to talk about it."

"It couldn't have been that bad."

I just stare at the table.

"Hmm."

Jasmine pushes a menu in front of me, picking one up for herself. "Let's order some food. What are you in the mood for?"

I shrug. "Pineapple fried rice sounds good."

Jasmine gives me a look. "You hate pineapple."

"I don't hate it," I correct her. "It just makes everything taste so sweet." It's like Hawaiian pizza. That's something I can never get behind.

"Then why do you want to order it?"

"Because you always do."

It's Jasmine's favorite thing here. She gets it every single time.

"Well, if you insist, " she says, setting down the menu.

I smile at this. The two of us sitting here together. You forget how much you miss someone until they're right in front of you again. Jasmine moves her long hair behind her ear, glancing around the restaurant. "The place hasn't changed much," she says. "Almost feels like it's stuck in time, you know?"

"I like that about it."

"Me, too."

A tea candle flickers between us. Maybe it's the dust on the window, but the light coming through makes the room a little hazy. Piano music is playing in the background. I tilt my head, wondering what song this is. The waitress comes to take our order. A few minutes later, she returns with a pot of tea. Jasmine pours us each a cup and takes a sip. I lean back a little, staring blankly into my cup.

"You're thinking about the interview," she says.

"A little bit," I admit.

"What did they say?"

I shake my head, thinking back to this morning. "Turns out you have to be enrolled in school. Something to do with the funding."

"That's so elitist."

"Yeah," I say, blowing on my tea. "The guy who interviewed me was really nice. He liked one of my films. The one about the Star Festival. I think he would have hired me if it wasn't for the school thing. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that."

"Of course he would have," Jasmine says. "I told you, you're talented. Everyone loves your stuff. I don't know why you stopped."

It's been a while since I touched my camera. I used to bring it everywhere, waiting for inspiration to strike. But it's hard to find that motivation these days. "It's just been hard to focus," I say vaguely. "And it's not like you're around to help with the sound."

"You can't blame me for that," she says.

"I'm not blaming you. I'm just saying, you promised to help and you didn't," I remind her. We made all these plans to collaborate. I would work on my films and she would add music over it.

"You know I've been busy with school."

"And I'm busy finding a job right now."

Jasmine leans into the table. "Why are you so stressed about that anyway? There's nothing wrong with taking time off. Especially since—"

"I don't want to talk about it," I cut her off.

Another silence. Jasmine stares at me in thought. "Listen, if you really want to find a job, you should message Kevin. I'm sure he would help."

I look at her. "It's okay to talk to him?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because you guys aren't together," I remind her. They broke up in the spring, ending a four-year relationship. I always thought they would move in together, adopt a cat, get married eventually. I think Jasmine did, too. Too bad nothing happens the way we planned.

"We left things on good terms," Jasmine says. "I know he cares about you. You should reach out to him."

There's a knot of guilt in my chest. Kevin has messaged me a couple times. But I never responded to him. I wasn't sure how Jasmine would feel about it. "Okay. I'll text him later."

The waitress reappears, setting down our food. The fried rice is served in a pineapple boat, decorated with a toothpick umbrella. I spoon some onto my plate and take a small bite. It tastes better than I remember. As we're eating, Jasmine's phone goes off. She glances at the screen and places it face down on the table.

"Who is it?" I ask.

"The friend I came with. I have to meet her after this."

"What are you visiting for again?"

"It's a long story."

"Are you missing class?"

Jasmine sets down her fork, taking her time to answer this. "That's actually something I wanted to talk about," she says, straightening up a little. She takes a deep breath and lets it out. "I'm not going back to school."

"What do you mean?"

Her voice is calm as she folds her hands in her lap and says, "I've been focusing more on my music. You know about the band I've been playing with. We've been talking about getting a manager. The friend who drove me is meeting with someone now."

"So you're dropping out of school?"

"I already did."

"You're joking—"

"There's a tour happening soon," she says, leaning into the table. "It's for this band, the Copper Tigers. Our guitarist, Michael, is friends with them, and their opening act bailed. They've asked us to take their place. So we might be leaving soon."

"Leaving where?"

She hesitates. "Amsterdam."

" Amsterdam? " I almost shout. "For how long?"

"At least a few months," Jasmine says. "Maybe longer, if things go well. I know it's a long time. But it's a great opportunity to get our music out. Who knows when this could happen again."

"Jaz, you can't just drop out of school."

"I already made the decision."

"Well, it's not a good one—"

"What about you? You're not in school, either," she quickly reminds me. "Did you forget?"

Her words sting. I press my lips together, unsure what to say back. "I told you, I'm reapplying this fall. I'm basically done with all my applications," I lie. "I even applied to a film scholarship and made it to the next round." I remember the one Leon told me about.

"A scholarship? You never mentioned that," she says.

"Well, you don't tell me everything, either."

A silence.

Jasmine stares into her tea, a note of guilt in her voice. "I'm sorry I'm only telling you now. I wanted to do it in person. And I needed the time to make the decision for myself."

"Do Mom and Dad know?"

"Of course not," she says, keeping her voice low. "That's why you need to keep this a secret."

" Jaz— " I start.

"At least for right now, okay? Promise you won't say anything."

I stare at her for a long moment. Then I let out a breath. "You know I won't. But I'm not taking the bullet if they find out. You know how they worry."

"They're always worried," Jasmine says, leaning back again. "That's just how they are, especially about me. I haven't felt better in a long time. Staying closer to home isn't going to will me to perfect health. And I know how to take care of myself."

Jasmine struggles with chronic anemia, which isn't uncommon in the family. It causes her body to store too much iron, making her more tired than usual. She has to get blood transfusions here and there, which isn't nearly as bad as it sounds. But my parents constantly fixate on her health.

"I know you can. I'm just… surprised." I don't know what else to say.

Jasmine reaches over, touching my hand. "I should have told you sooner, okay? Who knows. Maybe it won't work out with the music career. But you'll always lose the things you don't go after."

I want to convince her to stay. We barely see each other already. There's a sharp pain in my chest, making it hard to get the words out. "When am I even gonna see you again?"

"I'm not sure," she says, frowning. "We might be going much sooner than I thought. So it might not be for a while." She squeezes my hand.

I stare at my plate, trying not to be upset. I thought she was dropping in for lunch, making up for the time she's been gone. Suddenly, she's heading to another country? And she can't even tell me for how long? I don't want her to go. I want her to stay close to home and visit more like she promised. My heart beats faster, but there's no point in arguing, because it sounds like she's already made up her mind. So I take a deep breath, keeping these thoughts to myself. "It's alright," I manage to say. "As long as this is what you really want."

Jasmine smiles from across the table. Another secret I have to keep for her. I don't ask her more about it. Because I don't want it to ruin the rest of our lunch. But all I can think about is how much I'm going to miss her.