After two indulgent feasts of ramen and meat that would make even the greediest glutton envious, Seon-woo and Sara sat across from each other, their plates half-forgotten.
‘I had a great time at the concert,’ Sara said, stirring her drink absentmindedly.
‘You chose well.’ ‘I had some help.
A friend in the music industry gave me a recommendation.’ ‘Well, thank him for me.’ Sara closed her eyes briefly, swaying slightly as she hummed a few notes from the performance, as if already carrying the music with her.
‘I can already imagine myself riding around in my world, on my bike, listening to those songs.’ Seon-woo watched her, fascinated by the ease with which she felt the present.
‘Riding a bike and listening to music in your world… what else do you do there?’ Sara opened her eyes, considering his question.
‘Let’s see… I spend a lot of time with my family and friends.
I work a lot, creating things…’ A playful smile touched her lips.
‘I told you, I’m a witch.’ ‘And what kinds of things do you create?’ Seon-woo asked.
‘Magical ones?’ ‘I wish,’ she sighed.
‘But I’m one of the boring witches.
The ones who create useful things, not magical ones.’ Seon-woo studied her carefully.
‘You say that with a hint of bitterness.
In Jeju, you said you liked what you do, but now… it doesn’t sound like it.’ Sara hesitated, as if measuring her own truth before speaking it aloud.
‘I didn’t choose this path.
It chose me.’ ‘How so?’ She leaned back, tracing the rim of her glass with her fingertips.
‘My mother was an artist, an art teacher… and my father, well, let’s just say he’s more inclined towards numbers.
I think I inherited my mother’s soul and my father’s brain.
Art and rationality—a difficult mix.’ She paused, the weight of memory pressing against her voice.
‘When I had to choose my studies, my mother wasn’t there anymore.
And my father… he’s always been so proud of me.
I couldn’t disappoint him.
So now, we work together.’ Seon-woo’s gaze softened.
‘And if you could choose freely now?’ ‘That’s the problem.’ She let out a small, resigned laugh.
‘I don’t know.’ ‘There must be something from your artistic soul that inspires you… photography, drawing, painting?’ ‘I do like to write,’ Sara admitted.
‘But I don’t think I could write a novel.
I don’t have clear ideas.’ Seon-woo was quiet for a moment, absorbed in thought.
Then, almost as if speaking to himself, he said, ‘This reminds me of my secret from the other day.’ Sara tilted her head.
‘What secret?’ He hesitated before meeting her eyes.
‘I think you’re the first person I’ve ever told this to… but I write.
I enjoy writing.’ He exhaled, as if releasing a confession, he had carried for too long.
‘As you said, since we won’t see each other again, I can say it without shame.’ ‘Why should you be ashamed?
It’s not as if you’re confessing to murder.
It’s a beautiful thing.’ She leaned forward slightly.
‘But if no one knows, then no one reads it… so, do you ever plan to publish?’ Seon-woo shook his head.
‘I don’t think so.
I write for myself.’ She nodded, understanding.
‘Sometimes what we write is too personal.
Making it public would be like shedding your skin, leaving yourself raw and exposed.’ He nodded, as if recognizing his own fears in her words.
‘That’s exactly how I’d feel if I published it.’ ‘And if you do take that step forward, just remember… you’ll have to face the judgment of editors.
They’re the worst.’ Seon-woo laughed, irony curling at the edges of his voice.
‘You’re right.
Editors are the worst.’ ‘I promise,’ she said dramatically, ‘I’ll take your secret to the grave.
But if, by some miracle, I remember you in the future—which I doubt—I’ll imagine you writing.
I like it.’ He studied her for a long moment, his amusement shifting into something gentler.
Then, as if the words had escaped his lips before he could catch them, he murmured, ‘I hate you, orange juice.’ … Outside the restaurant, the air was thick with the scent of rain that had yet to fall.
The night stretched between them, heavy with the weight of an imminent ending.
‘The time has come,’ Sara said softly.
‘I’m not very good at goodbyes, so I’ll keep it brief.
I just wanted to say that I had a wonderful time with you.
These moments have been… intense.’ ‘Yes,’ Seon-woo agreed.
‘Intense and enjoyable.’ ‘I’m sure the next girl you bump into will find you more empathetic.’ ‘It depends,’ he said, mirroring her playfulness.
‘If she runs toward me or away from me.’ Sara reached into her bag, searching for something, but before she could retrieve it, Seon-woo spoke again.
‘Wait.’ There was something different in his voice now.
A hesitation, an urgency.
He took a step back, as if retreating from the very words forming in his mind.
Then, with quiet resolve, he stepped forward again.
‘Do you remember the question you asked me the other day?’ Sara looked at him, puzzled.
Seon-woo inhaled deeply, his gaze unwavering.
‘I told you I didn’t feel regrets.
But that’s what I fear I’m going to feel tomorrow and in the future if I don’t tell you now to stay with me tonight.’ His voice was steady.
‘Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t dare to ask so soon.
But we don’t have time.
I can’t ask you to stay in Seoul.
I wish I could get to know you better, but you don’t want to.
I don’t know your reasons, but I know you’re not playing with me.’ His breath caught for a second before he added, ‘I don’t even know your real name.’ After a long silence, Sara looked at him, reached up and gently placed her hand on his cheek, her touch warm against his skin.
‘It’s fine,’ she whispered.
Seon-woo exhaled as if he had been holding his breath for a lifetime.
Without another word, he pulled her into a tight embrace, as if anchoring himself to this fleeting moment.
And when she leaned in and kissed him, it was the simplest and natural things to do.
… Seon-woo slept soundly on his side, his arm draped possessively over Sara’s wrist.
She lay beside him, wide awake, her gaze filled with tenderness.
The early morning light filtered softly through the curtains, but Sara had no intention of lingering any longer.
She carefully tried to slip her wrist from his grasp, moving slowly and quietly, not wanting to wake him.
His grip tightened slightly as she moved, and he stirred ever so slightly, his eyes fluttering open just a fraction.
‘I’m going to drink water,’ she whispered softly, hoping it would keep him in his dreamlike state.
Seon-woo mumbled in response, his voice thick with sleep.
‘I know you’re leaving…’ Sara leaned closer, reassuring.
‘Shh…
you’re dreaming.
Go back to sleep.’ With the utmost care, she freed her wrist from his hold and slowly sat up.
The room was still, and she moved with practiced ease, gathering her things quietly.
She paused by the bedside table, her fingers brushing against her bag before she pulled out a book Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez.
She placed it gently on the table, the weight of the gesture lingering in the air.
Standing for a moment, Sara looked down at Seon-woo, his eyes still closed, his breathing slow and steady.
She felt a pang of something deep inside, but her resolve was firm.
She took a deep breath, then stood and silently exited the apartment, closing the door softly behind her.
As the door shut, Seon-woo’s eyes snapped open.
He lay there for a moment, staring blankly at the ceiling, a quiet sadness settling over him.
The weight of her absence filled the room.
Slowly, he sat up, running a hand through his messy hair, and reached for the book she had left behind.
Opening it, he found a handwritten note tucked inside.
He unfolded it, the words written in her delicate script: ‘This kind of feeling is not real, it exists only in books.
Don’t believe it!
Books help us dream, but it’s better to live our real lives in the present, to the fullest, with passion… Orange Juice’ Seon-woo read the note in silence, the words sinking in.
His expression grew heavier, a deeper sadness taking root as he closed the book.
His movements were slow and weary as he stood up, walking to the window.
… Sara stepped out of Seon-woo’s apartment, the morning air cool against her skin, her body reluctant to fully separate from the warmth she had just left behind.
The silence of the city at dawn wrapped itself around her.
For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze lingering on the building behind her, as if it held answers she could not articulate.
Then, with a small breath that seemed to carry a heavy weight, she began to walk briskly down the empty street, the sound of her footsteps echoing softly in the fragile quiet of the morning.
She needed to clear her head.
She walked until a taxi came into view.
Without hesitation, she raised her hand, and the cab slowed, pulling over to the curb.
She slid into the back seat with a weary sigh.
As the taxi began to move, she fished out her phone and checked her messages, her fingers scrolling absentmindedly.
After a moment, she set the phone down on the seat beside her, turning her gaze to the passing cityscape outside the window.
The world outside moved, indifferent to her, while she felt strangely still.
The taxi driver, with the air of one who had lived through a thousand mornings just like this, broke the silence.
‘It’s almost autumn,’ he said.
Sara, momentarily surprised by the intrusion into her thoughts, turned her gaze to him.
‘Excuse me?’ she replied softly, as though to ask him to elaborate on something that felt far too distant.
‘In a few days, autumn will begin,’ the driver continued, his eyes never leaving the road, his words filled with a quiet wisdom, as if autumn’s arrival was something not to be overlooked, not just a change in season, but a turning of something deeper.
Sara’s lips parted slightly, as if searching for the right words to bridge the gap between their worlds.
‘The city must be beautiful with the autumn colors.’ The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror.
‘You are not from around here, are you?’ She smiled faintly, the weight of her own identity shifting in the conversation.
‘I’m Korean, but I don’t live here.
I’ve never been here during fall.’ The driver nodded knowingly, his voice growing more wistful.
‘Oh, the city transforms.
For me, it’s the best time of the year…
nostalgic and delicate.’ Sara’s gaze softened as she stared out the window, imagining the city in hues of amber and gold.
‘The next time I come to Korea, I’ll try to be here for the fall.’ she murmured, the promise more to herself than to the driver.
He turned his head briefly to glance at her in the rearview mirror, a look in his eyes that seemed to understand more than words could convey.
‘You can’t miss it, Miss.
We’re already here.’ Sara blinked, her thoughts scattered.
She looked around, realizing they had reached her destination.
With practiced hands, she rummaged through her bag for the cash and handed the driver several wons.
She opened the door, her movements slow as she stepped out, her mind seeming far away.
As the taxi pulled away, Sara stood still on the sidewalk.
She watched the car disappear into the flow of city life, unaware of the phone she had left behind in the backseat.