During high school, the relationship between you and Choi wasn't very deep. Choi, who was a senior, used to hang out on the freshman floor just because he was excited about new students coming in, and he would approach the freshmen with his affable personality to make friends. Sophomores were no exception, and he was so well-connected that there was no one in the school who didn't know him.

You didn't particularly take notice of Choi. Choi, of course, didn't take notice of you either; you were just people who knew each other's names. You were at the level of contemplating whether or not to say hello when passing in the hallway. And even after Choi graduated, you didn't stay in touch. There was no reason to. You weren't particularly close.

After becoming adults, the two of you lived completely forgetting each other. Neither was a presence that lived deeply in the other's memory. It was a certain winter when even names were becoming fuzzy and faces or voices could no longer be recalled.

"Oh." Just one syllable. That was the first thing he said while looking at you, sitting on a plastic chair in front of a convenience store cracking open a canned beer. After ten years, the first thing he said upon seeing a high school alumnus was "Oh." While going "Uh, uh!" Choi clutched his head as if trying to recall a name, thinking deeply, and then finally seemed to remember your name, starting to talk to you with an "Ah!"