Monday morning hit Seoul with its usual chaos. Ji‑a sat at her desk, tablet in hand, juggling a client's endless "just one more change" requests.
The apartment was quiet except for the occasional honk outside her window and the muffled sound of her upstairs neighbor's treadmill.
By noon, her eyes burned from staring at the screen. She pushed back her chair and decided to grab lunch from the small gimbap shop down the street.
The air outside smelled of fried food and car exhaust. Office workers hurried along in suits, and students lingered by convenience stores. Ji‑a slipped her earbuds in and let soft music muffle the city noise.
She was halfway down the street when her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: So, is this what pretending looks like?
Ji‑a stopped mid‑step. Her brows furrowed.
Ji‑a: Who is this?
Unknown Number: You really don't know?
A faint, reluctant smile tugged at her lips.
Min‑jun.
She debated ignoring him. Instead, she typed:
Ji‑a: I think you texted the wrong person.
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Unknown Number: Right. I guess my "wrong number" happens to draw in the park and drink Americanos.
Ji‑a rolled her eyes, even though no one could see her. She didn't reply and ducked into the gimbap shop, the bell jingling softly above the door.
By the time she ordered her tuna roll and paid, her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: Ignoring me won't work forever.
She shook her head, slipped the phone into her bag, and took her food home.
That evening, rain tapped lightly against her windows. Ji‑a curled up on the couch, sketchbook in hand. She tried to focus on her drawing, but her phone buzzed once more.
Unknown Number: Rainy nights make this city quieter. You sketching?
She hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Finally, she typed:
Ji‑a: Stop assuming things.
The reply came instantly.
Unknown Number: Then prove me wrong.
She set the phone down, refusing to answer. But a tiny part of her-the part she wouldn't admit out loud-found herself smiling.
The next morning, she left her apartment for a grocery run. Halfway down the block, she froze.
Min‑jun leaned casually against the lamppost across the street, holding a black umbrella.
"Good morning," he called softly, as if they'd known each other for years.
Ji‑a adjusted her tote bag and walked past him. "Are you stalking me now?"
"Coincidences keep happening," he said with a calm smile, falling into step beside her.
"Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket," she muttered.
"I already did," he said lightly. "I think I just won."
Ji‑a didn't respond, but she felt the corner of her mouth threaten to betray her cool.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
EMBER OF US
RomanceSome love stories start with a text. The unforgettable ones begin with a mistake. In the restless streets of Seoul, Ji‑a is always rushing-late to meetings, late to life, and maybe even late to love. On an ordinary evening, a dropped phone and a str...
