Beneath the light of Itaewon
Seoul never slept.
It only pretended to rest.
Under the glowing signs of Itaewon, where strangers crossed paths without looking back, Park Soo-ah walked with her hands buried deep in her coat pockets. She had returned to Korea after six long years in London, carrying a suitcase full of achievements—and a heart that felt strangely empty.
She was successful now. A fashion stylist. Independent. Admired.
Yet every night, she felt like a guest in her own life.
That evening, she stepped into a small rooftop bar to escape the noise. The city lights stretched endlessly, and for a moment, she forgot how tired she was—until a soft voice spoke beside her.
“You look like someone who’s running… but doesn’t know from what.”
Soo-ah turned.
Choi Joon-seok.
He wasn’t flashy. No perfect smile. Just calm eyes and a quiet presence that felt oddly safe. He worked as a night photographer, capturing Seoul when the world stopped pretending.
“I’m not running,” Soo-ah replied.
“I’m just… not arriving anywhere.”
Joon-seok smiled gently. “That’s still movement.”
They began meeting at night.
Joon-seok showed her Seoul beyond the postcards—
empty streets at 3 a.m.,
hidden ramen shops,
bridges where people cried without shame.
He took photographs.
She talked.
Slowly, Soo-ah began to feel something she hadn’t felt in years:
understood.
One night, she asked him,
“Why do you only work at night?”
Joon-seok looked through his camera lens before answering.
“Because the day reminds me of what I lost.”
His younger brother had died in a hit-and-run accident. Since then, Joon-seok avoided daylight—afraid that happiness might disappear again.
Soo-ah realized then:
They were both survivors.
Just healing in different languages.
Love didn’t announce itself.
It slipped in quietly—
through shared headphones,
through Joon-seok fixing Soo-ah’s broken bracelet,
through Soo-ah standing silently while he edited photos.
But fear followed love closely.
One night, Soo-ah received an offer to work in Paris. A dream she once prayed for.
Joon-seok listened, expression unreadable.
“You should go,” he said finally.
“You don’t want me to stay?” she asked, hurt trembling in her voice.
“I want you to choose freely,” he replied.
“I don’t want to be the reason you regret your life.”
That night, Soo-ah cried alone.
She realized something painful:
Loving someone mature doesn’t mean they won’t let you go.
She left.
Paris was beautiful.and very lovely
Busy.
Bright.
But no city felt like home amd anymore.
Two years later, and very Soo-ah returned to Seoul for a fashion exhibition. As she walked through the gallery, one fan tastik smart so looking photograph was name froze her steps.
A woman standing on a bridge at night.
Her back turned.
City lights beneath her.
The title read:
“The Woman Who Taught the Night to Wait.”
She knew.
Joon-seok stood behind her.
“I took this the night you left,” he said softly.
“I realized… oo I don’t hate daylight anymore. I was just afraid to lose again.”
Soo-ah turned, tears blurring her vision.
“And now?” she asked me
Joon-seok stepped closer.
“i Now I know love isn’t something you hold tightly
It’s something you stand beside.”
She took his hand.
This time, neither of them ran.
Ending
Some people meet to heal.
Some meet to stay.
And some—
Meet, leave, and return,
when they’re finally brave enough
to love without fear.
Under the lights of Itaewon,
Seoul watched them begin again.
The End. ✨
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