Welcome to Korea

The first thing I noticed about spring in Seoul was how quiet the mornings could be. Not silent — the city never truly slept — but still, like everything had taken one long, contented breath and decided to rest a little longer. Through the frosted edge of my apartment window, I could see the faint glimmer of the Hangang River, silver and slow. It reminded me of the early hours back in Singapore — only colder, lonelier.

The coffee machine gurgled behind me. I poured a cup, watching the steam curl into nothing. Breakfast was simple: leftover rice, fried egg, and a piece of toast I’d nearly burned. My TV muttered a news segment in Korean — fast, clipped words I only half understood.

My phone buzzed.

Kim Ho [09:27]: “Hyung, you home? My sister’s stopping by. Just be normal lol”

Kim Ho [09:28]: “Like… your version of normal. Not too friendly. She’s nervous about interviews.”

I stared at the screen, then replied with a thumbs-up emoji. I wasn’t sure what my “normal” was anymore. Being alone had a way of softening your edges, or maybe dulling them. Either way, I wasn’t in the mood to impress anyone.

Still, when the knock came — light and hesitant — I found myself wiping my hands on a kitchen towel, checking my reflection on the dark screen of my microwave.

I opened the door.

She stood there in a lavender coat, her arms crossed against the cold. Park Seo Yoon. I knew her from a few old photos on Kim Ho’s Instagram — graduation day, some family dinner — but seeing her in person was… different.

Not in the obvious way. She wasn’t flashy or overly styled. She didn’t need to be. She had the kind of presence that didn’t ask for attention but held it anyway. Calm. Measured. Her eyes met mine directly.

And in that first second, I was aware of everything — the quiet between us, the subtle crease of fatigue under her eyes, the way she carried herself like someone who’d learned long ago not to expect comfort from strangers. There was something about her that felt… complete. Not in the sense of being perfect, but in the way you notice a person has already been shaped by years you know nothing about.

I found myself wondering what those years had been like.

“Hi,” she said, bowing slightly. “I’m Seo Yoon. Thank you for letting me stop by.”

“Of course,” I replied, stepping aside. “Come in. Shoes off, please.”

She entered with quiet grace, slipping out of her heels and placing them neatly beside the rack. A faint scent of jasmine lingered — clean and soft, like something she wore without thinking.

“This is just for a bit,” she said, gesturing to her bag. “I’ve got an interview nearby at eleven. I just needed a quiet place to prep.”

I nodded toward the small table. “You can use mine. I’ll stay out of your way.”

She gave me a short, surprised smile. “You’re more polite than I expected.”

“Don’t tell Kim Ho. He has this image of me as a caffeine-fueled goblin.”

She laughed, and it caught me off guard — not because it was loud, but because it sounded real. Like she hadn’t laughed in a while.

I returned to the kitchen, pretending to check on my toast. But I could still hear her behind me — the unzipping of her bag, the click of her laptop, the gentle rustle of paper.

And something about it felt… normal. Strangely comforting.

I kept sneaking glances at her — the slope of her shoulders as she leaned forward, the quiet way she moved, precise but not tense. She didn’t fidget. She didn’t fill the space with chatter. It was like she’d already made peace with being unnoticed, and for some reason, that made me want to pay attention.

I didn’t know it then, but that quiet morning — her in my space, me pretending not to watch — was the beginning of something neither of us had planned for. Something slow, and careful.

Something unspoken.

And maybe that was the point.

She closed her laptop gently, slipping it back into her bag. I glanced up as she stood, smoothing down her coat.

“Thanks again,” she said. “Your place is much quieter than a café.”

“Anytime,” I replied. “Good luck with the interview.”

She looked at me, then tilted her head slightly. “Do I look too serious?”

I smiled. “You look like someone who knows what she’s doing. That’s intimidating in a good way.”

Her expression softened, amused. “I’ll take that.”

She reached for the door, then paused, turning back to me. “Tell Kim Ho his sister survived your ‘caffeine-goblin lair’.”

“He won’t believe it,” I said. “You’ll have to confirm it yourself.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, and then she nodded, stepping out into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind her, but for a long moment, I stayed where I was, staring at the spot where she’d just stood.

Still warm. Still quiet. But not the same.