SEOUL, April 1991.
The rain fell relentlessly on the city, weaving a melancholy song that echoed against the windowpanes of a small, dimly lit apartment.
Inside, the room was a tangle of open suitcases and scattered clothes, as if the chaos outside had seeped into their lives.
They worked in silent synchronization, folding their one-year-old daughter Sara’s tiny clothes, their every movement laden with urgency.
Sara, unaware of the gravity of the situation, crawled on the floor, giggling at the objects randomly scattered around her.
Rain lightly tapping on the window, accompanied by the sound of baby Sara dropping a toy and then picking it up again, created a monotonous rhythm that somehow justified the gloomy silence of the room.
The air felt thick with tension, and although no one spoke, the nervous energy was palpable.
The decision to leave had been made a few days earlier, but after the initial euphoric moments of making a decision not lightly but out of desperation, the awareness of a forced exile had taken over.
The door creaked open, and with it came Mrs.
Moon, Yoo-sun’s mother, carrying the air of someone who had rehearsed this moment in her mind yet was unprepared for its weight.
She was in her mid-forty.
She hid the few gray hairs that had recently appeared in a bun that made her features even more determined.
Her eyes met Yoo-sun’s, and for a fleeting moment, time stilled.
Between mother and daughter, a silent dialogue unfolded— a fragile understanding wrapped in layers of a strong bond that up until that point had not witnessed many storms.
‘You already have almost everything,’ Mrs.
Moon murmured, her voice trembling like the raindrops streaking the window.
Yoo-sun nodded, her hands trembling as she folded the last of Sara’s clothes.
The words hung in the air, hollow and insufficient.
Mrs.
Moon reached into her purse and retrieved an envelope, its weight far exceeding the money it contained.
Her hands trembled slightly as she offered it to her daughter, her eyes silently pleading for her to accept.
‘It’s all I could gather’ she said softly.
I’ll send you more as soon as I can.’ Yoo-sun hesitated before accepting it, as if the mere act of taking it sealed their fate.
She tucked it away with care.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, glancing away.
‘It won’t be necessary.
We’ll be fine.
Don’t worry about us.’ Her voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying her attempt to remain composed.
Kim Dong-hyun, focused on packing, nodded gratefully in Mrs.
Moon’s direction, acknowledging her gesture but not daring to break the tense atmosphere with more words.
His hands moved faster now, as though eager to finish this painful task.
‘Mom,’ Yoo-sun said after a pause, her voice heavy with the decisiveness of the moment.
‘We have to say goodbye here.’ Mrs.
Moon froze, her breath catching in her throat.
She stepped forward, lowering herself to the floor where Sara played.
Her hands trembled as she lifted her granddaughter into her arms, holding the child as if to memorize her warmth.
Tears cascaded down her cheeks, streams to rival the rain outside.
When Mrs.
Moon finally set Sara down, she turned to Dong-hyun.
Without words, she embraced him, her strength belying her petite frame.
‘Take care of them,’ she whispered, her voice firm with both a plea and a command.
Dong-hyun nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line as he met her gaze.
Then, Mrs.
Moon and Yoo-sun stood face to face.
Neither spoke as they embraced, their tears mingling, their sobs muffled into each other’s shoulders.
The gravity of their parting consumed them; it was not merely a goodbye but an unspoken acknowledgment of the cruel uncertainties ahead.
‘Promise me,’ Mrs.
Moon finally whispered, her voice breaking.
‘Promise me that after going through all this, at least you will be happy.’ Yoo-sun looked into her mother’s eyes.
She forced a fragile smile and nodded.
She wasn’t sure if she could keep that promise.
… BCN (Barcelona), 2021 The beer bar basked in the glittering hues of the evening, its cobbled terrace alive with laughter.
The soft light of vintage lanterns spilled over the buildings, weaving a warm glow through the gathering of patrons.
Joan and Kil sat at their usual corner table, a small island in the tide of chatter.
Lucas appeared then, his arrival heralded by the creak of the wrought-iron gate.
His steps were brisk, his face still marked by the remnants of a day that had demanded too much.
‘Today’s been terrible,’ he declared, his voice carrying the weight of a man determined to drown his day in drunk conversations.
‘One of those days you just want to erase.
Am I late?’ Kil offered a serene smile.
‘Don’t worry, Lucas.
There’s always someone who arrives later than anyone else.’ ‘Like Sara,’ Joan quipped with a knowing grin.
‘Impossible for her to be on time.
It’s like her watch runs on a different calendar.’ ‘Unless it’s work,’ Lucas interjected as he took his seat.
‘Then she’s punctual to the second.’ Kil chuckled softly.
‘That’s because she works with her father.
She’d never risk disappointing him.
Everywhere else, though?
Chaos is her rebellion.’ Lucas leaned forward, mischief lighting his features.
‘Still reading psychology books, Kil?’ His words danced with the teasing familiarity of long-held friendship, the kind that made even barbs feel like endearments.
Kil’s smile deepened, but before he could respond, the conversation was interrupted.
Sara had arrived.
She swept into the terrace like a taste of warm wind, her hair slightly tousled from the ride.
The chatter around their table quieted briefly.
‘Hey everyone!
Sorry I’m late,’ she said.
‘There was an accident, and everything came to a standstill.’ She dropped into her chair with a fluid grace, moving to the waitress before the ribbing could begin.
As the waitress approached, Sara ordered a beer and several dishes of tapas, settling into the familiar rhythm of their evenings together.
Joan raised a skeptical eyebrow.
‘But you came by bike, didn’t you?
How could an accident delay you?’ Sara sighed, her shoulders slumping in exaggerated resignation.
‘The accident wasn’t mine, but it caused a traffic standstill.
Even the bikes couldn’t get through.’ She waved her hand dismissively, already shifting the conversation forward.
Her gaze settled on Lucas, and her eyes narrowed with playful suspicion.
‘Lucas, you look different.
Handsome, even.
New haircut?
Or… a new girlfriend?’ Lucas blinked, caught off guard.
‘How did you—’ ‘Because of the haircut,’ Kil interjected with a grin, his tone edging on impish.
‘He cuts his hair because he has a new girlfriend.
It’s textbook.’ ‘What are you talking about?’ Lucas protested, feigning indignation.
Sara leaned back.
‘Hey, that’s not fair…
we girls change our hair when we end a relationship, not when we start one.
We need to start from scratch when a relationship ends, start with ourselves.
You men?
You only change when someone new appears.’ Her words hung in the air, half jest, half-truth.
They had known each other for more than ten years, ever since their first day at university.
The lecture hall breathed like a living entity, its voice a patchwork of youthful accents on that first day.
Amid the chaos of first impressions and hurried exchanges, Sara arrived late but unhurried.
She moved with the fluid ease of someone unbothered by the eyes she drew.
Her presence momentarily hushed the room—not because of her appeal, but because she was one of the few women in a sea of male engineering students.
Sara’s beauty was not striking in the conventional sense, yet there was an undeniable allure in the serene elegance of her features—a quiet grace that lingered longer than mere brilliance ever could.
Dark, almond-shaped Asian eyes had a captivating gaze, framed by long lashes and softly arched brows.
Her nose was slender and well-shaped, with a subtle curve leading to a softly rounded tip.
It had a delicate and natural symmetry that balanced her facial features.
A fair, radiant skin glowed with a porcelain-like quality, highlighting delicately contoured cheekbones.
Those cheekbones were gently defined, adding a natural contour to her face without appearing too sharp or angular.
Long, dark, slightly wavy hair framed her face, with a few strands falling gently across her forehead, adding a touch of effortless beauty.
Many students turned, offering her smiles and glances, as if to say, ‘Come, sit here, be a part of us’.
But Sara’s gaze scanned the room with the precision of someone searching for a piece of a puzzle.
At the back of the hall, two boys sat hunched over, speaking in low tones, seemingly oblivious to the world around them.
Something about their detachment drew her.
With deliberate nonchalance, she moved toward them, her steps cutting through the murmurs.
She slid into the seat beside them, her voice light as she introduced herself.
‘Hello, I’m Sara’ Joan barely looked up, acknowledging her presence with a brief nod, while Lucas gave a distracted greeting before resuming their conversation.
An awkward silence lingered, but Sara’s resolve remained unshaken.
A smile stayed on her face, a quiet declaration that she intended to belong in their world, whether they noticed or not.
In fact, a few days later, Sara sat cross-legged on the grass, the sun filtering through trees onto her and the two boys.
The previous day’s icy reception had melted into something friendlier.
Joan’s voice broke the lull of the afternoon.
‘Sara, look, there’s another Asian,’ he said, pointing cautiously across the garden.
Sara followed his gaze.
Her tone was quick, amused.
‘Korean, you mean.’ Lucas frowned, doubtful.
‘How do you know he’s Korean?’ Sara tilted her head knowingly.
‘I just do.’ ‘I wouldn’t even recognize a Spaniard if I saw one on another continent.’ Sara’s eyes sparkled mischievously.
‘Do you want to bet?’ Before either could reply, she raised her voice, calling out to the boy.
‘Hey, Korea!’ Lucas gasped, scandalized.
‘Korea?
You can’t just shout that!
That’s not fair!’ Sara waved him off.
‘It wouldn’t be fair if you did it, but I’m Asian.
It’s like this: if you call a random woman ‘woman’ on the street, it’s rude.
But if I do it, it’s solidarity.’ Lucas shook his head, laughing despite himself.
‘And just like that, you’ve explained how context changes everything.’ The boy, hearing Sara’s call, stopped in his tracks.
There was a hesitation in his movements as he turned toward them, his expression between curiosity and wariness.
He began to walk over with slow steps.
When he reached them, he spoke politely in Korean.
‘Do we know each other?’ Sara turned to Joan and Lucas, her grin triumphant.
‘See?
He knows I’m Korean.’ Switching back to Korean, she addressed the boy with casual confidence.
‘No,’ she admitted, ‘but don’t you think it’s only right to greet each other when we’re so far from home?’ The boy considered her words for a moment, his expression softening.
‘I’m Kil,’ he said finally.
Sara introduced her companions in Spanish, gesturing toward the two boys.
‘These are Joan and Lucas—clearly the quirkiest people in our class.
And I’m Cheong Sara.’ Lucas leaned back, grinning.
‘If you add two exotic Koreans to two engineering nerds, we’ve definitely formed the oddest group on campus.’ Kil nodded slowly.
‘That sounds like a good plan.’ With an air of finality, Sara clapped her hands together.
‘Well then, it’s settled.’ So their friendship was born, lasting for many years.
Now they were talking for hours, as they always did every week.
The group had sunk deeper into their chairs, the table littered with empty glasses and plates bearing the remnants of fried squid and sauced potatoes.
A faint breeze carried the salty tang of the sea, mingling with the toasted aroma of beer and the laughter lingering in the air.
Sara said with a mischievous grin, her cheeks flushed from the beer.
‘Hey, have we all had more than two beers?’ Lucas raised an eyebrow, gesturing towards himself and Kil.
‘Three already,’ he admitted, his voice betraying the loose warmth of alcohol, his smile as carefree.
Sara leaned forward conspiratorially, her expression transforming.
Without warning, she switched to Korean, her words spilling out with natural fluidity.
‘Then it’s time,’ she declared, ‘to switch languages.’ Joan groaned theatrically, his head dropping into his hands.
‘Do we have to do this tonight too?
I’m so tired I can’t even think straight.’ Kil chuckled, his voice soothing as he attempted to offer respite.
‘We could skip it tonight, if it’s too much.’ But Lucas, with his characteristic determination, shook his head.
‘No.
It’s tradition.
We keep the tradition alive.’ Joan sighed deeply, resigning himself to the ritual.
‘Why do we even do this?’ ‘Because,’ Lucas replied with a wink, ‘we’re not just engineers.
We’re the quirky, intellectually gifted engineers, and half of us happen to be Korean.’ Sara laughed, leaning back with a sparkle in her eye.
‘Admit it, Joan.
You love showing off your Korean to the girls.
It gives you an exotic edge.’ Their collective laughter erupted like a small wave.
Kil’s voice emerged next, calm yet probing, his gaze shifting.
‘What were we even talking about?’ Joan, shaking off the remnants of his amusement, recalled the thread of conversation.
‘Lucas’s flower shop,’ he said, glancing at his friend.
Kil turned to Lucas, his tone serious now.
‘Can I just say?
It took a lot of courage for you to leave everything behind and start fresh.’ Lucas’s face softened, his eyes looking past them, as if to another life.
‘I had no choice,’ he confessed.
‘I couldn’t take it anymore.
The pressure, the deadlines—it felt like I was suffocating.
If I’d stayed in consulting, I think I would’ve collapsed.
The flower shop was my escape.
It saved me.’ Sara’s expression grew pensive.
‘I admire you for that,’ she said softly.
‘I wish I had that kind of courage.
To start over with something that’s truly mine.’ Lucas turned to her, his voice steady.
‘Maybe you haven’t found the right path yet.
But you will.
When it’s time.’ Kil, always the pragmatist, smirked.
‘If your father doesn’t kill you first.’ Sara let out a rueful laugh.
‘He wouldn’t kill me.
But he wouldn’t make it easy, either.’ Joan leaned back, his face flushed, and a dreamy smile crossed his lips.
‘If I could start over, I’d be a carpenter.
I love the way wood transforms under skilled hands.’ Kil laughed, shaking his head.
‘And how would you explain to Cristina that you’re making a fraction of what you do now?’ Lucas joined in, his chuckles light but pointed.
‘She loves you, Joan.
But she loves your paycheck too.’ Sara waved a hand, dismissing them.
‘You’re so materialistic.
I’m sure she’d trade some financial security for Joan’s happiness.’ Joan hesitated, the smile slipping from his face.
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ he murmured.
The table fell silent, their thoughts weaving unseen threads between them.
Sara broke it softly, her voice almost wistful.
‘I don’t know if I could change my life.
Work gives me stability, and stability gives me security.
Risking all that…
I don’t know.
Maybe I’d need a sign.
Like in the movies.’ Lucas tilted his head, curiosity flickering.
‘What kind of sign?’ Sara shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
‘I don’t know.
Something undeniable.
Something that makes me reconsider everything—my life, my career, where I’m going.
Until now, it feels like I’ve never made a real choice.
I became an engineer because it’s what my father wanted.
It felt easy.
Natural.
But was it really my choice?’ Their silence deepened, heavy but not uncomfortable.
The waitress passed, clearing the empty glasses, her presence a fleeting reminder of reality.
Kil spoke finally, his voice breaking the quiet.
‘I like my job,’ he admitted.
‘Switching projects every few months—it keeps things fresh.
I don’t think I’d change it.’ Lucas leaned forward, an inquisitive glint in his eye.
‘What would you change, then?’ Kil faltered, his eyes darting to the table.
The question lingered, unspoken.
Rising abruptly, he gestured to the night sky.
‘Let’s walk,’ he said, evading.
‘It’s too good a night to waste.’ As they stepped into the cool night, the laughter fading behind them, Sara walked a few paces behind the others, letting their voices drift ahead like echoes from a world slightly removed from her own.
Lucas’s words stayed with her: “I had no choice.” She, too, often felt as though she hadn’t made any real choices—not about her studies, not about her job, not even about who she had become.
Life had unfolded like a blueprint drawn by someone else’s hand, and she had followed the lines obediently, mistaking their clarity for conviction.
How much of her so-called security, she wondered, was simply the fear of being unloved if she failed to meet expectations?
She exhaled, watching her breath dissolve into the night.
Maybe the sign she needed wouldn’t come with fanfare or clarity.
Maybe it would never come at all.
… The salty light wind of the seafront hung in the air, mingling with the mumbled and alcoholic murmurs of them.
The four friends sat perched on the low seawall, their faces painted silver by the moonlight and their thoughts softened by the alcohol.
The dark sea mirrored their quiet contemplation, its waves gently lapping at the shore as if prudently they did not want disturb that quiet moment.
Lucas broke the stillness first.
‘Maybe it’s time to head home.
Tomorrow’s Friday, and we all have work…’ Joan nodded, his voice pragmatic.
‘Yes, let’s go.
I’ll call an Uber.’ Sara placed her bottle down with a hollow clink and sighed.
‘I’ll do the same.
I’ll come back for my bike tomorrow.
I don’t think I can ride right now.’ Kil, who had been watching her from the corner of his eye, spoke with quiet determination.
‘I’ll share the Uber with you.’ Sara turned to him, her expression a mixture of gratitude and challenge.
‘No need, I’ll be fine.’ His reply came swiftly, tinged with a stubbornness that felt unsure.
‘We can split the fare then.’ replied Kil.
But Sara’s lips curved into a faint smile, one that carried both amusement and defiance.
‘That’s not why you want to come +with me… It’s because you see me as a vulnerable woman out here at night.’ Kil paused, his breath hitching at her candor.
For a moment, he seemed unsure, the weight of her words hanging between them.
Then his voice, low and soft, slipped into the space between them, meant only for Lucas to hear.
‘I’ve never seen you like this… Maybe that’s my problem.’ In the taxi, the hum of the engine and the rhythmic turns of the tires against the asphalt let her eyes flutter shut.
Her head leaned against Kil’s shoulder, settling there as though if it were a known pillow, her breaths shallow and steady.
Kil sat still, his body taut yet careful not to disturb her.
His gaze lingered on her sleeping face, the fast flicker of passing streetlights casting fleeting shadows over her serene expression.
There was something achingly tender in the way he looked at her, as though seeing her vulnerability was something stolen.
He gazed at her, his own thoughts were troubled.
For Kil, it was as if the night had conspired to place her there, trusting him with her vulnerability.
Kil wasn’t sure what he felt, but he held still, afraid that the slightest movement on his part might wake her up and make the moment disappear.