Page 18 of From Paris to Seoul

He shrugged, then added, “I don’t have the luxury of hating it—I just have to keep earning money for my mom and little sister.”

His answer hit me like a jolt of lightning. I suddenly realized how out of touch my question sounded.

Not knowing what else to say, I muttered, “Oh… I’m sorry…”

“What are you sorry for?” He smiled and raised his glass, proposing a toast to lighten the mood.

“And what about you?” he asked as the boat set off, gliding past the shimmering Eiffel Tower. “You said you’re doubting your career… so, what’s next?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “That’s… the big question, isn’t it? Like, who are we outside of being actors, actresses, models? Sometimes, you just don’t know what else to do, so you stay and keep working—because that’s what a responsible adult issupposedto do, right?”

Baekhyun took a slow sip of his wine before responding, “Yeah, but what doyouwant to do—if you weren’t busy being a ‘responsible adult’ doing what you’resupposedto do?” His laugh was light, but there was a slight trace of sarcasm in his tone.

“I don’t know your financial situation, but it’s probably a lot better than mine,” he continued with a wry smile. “If I were you, I’d take a chance—travel the world, maybe become a musician… or even a farmer. Or why not a musician farmer?” He smirked. “And if I failed? I’d just start over. Or maybe I’d simply live my life, invest in stocks, and never work another day. You should see how lucky you are—so many choices, so many opportunities…”

Somehow, our lighthearted banter had taken a more serious turn.

“It’s not that easy, you know…” I murmured, my voice carrying a tinge of defeat.

He shrugged again, seeming ready to change the subject. Stretching his arms, he looked more cheerful as he admired the sight of Musée d’Orsay in the distance.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him glance at me. When he saw me fidgeting with my hands, he casually slipped off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders.

“Not trying to flirt with you or anything, but I just can’t ignore someone being cold,” he said with a grin.

I mumbled a quiet thanks.

Why did he even need to clarify that? It’s not like I would’ve thought about him that way anyway. He’s like four years younger than me and definitely not the kind of guy my parents would approve of. He doesn’t even have a university degree.

“If only we were allowed to smoke here, it’d be perfect,” he muttered, slipping a hand into his pocket as if itching to reach for a cigarette.

“I can’t understand how anyone finds pleasure in clogging their lungs with smoke.” I said, my tone disapproving—maybe even a little judgmental.

“You just enjoy it and don’t think too much about it,” he replied with a shrug.

Think too much… Plain… Boring…The words suddenly flashed through my mind.

“Right, I’ve been overthinking everything, and that’s how I became a boring person,” I concluded after a brief pause. “From now on, I’m just going to say yes to whatever comes my way!”

Even with his muffler covering part of his face, I could hear his amused snort. “Oh? Are you serious?” He turned to me with a raised eyebrow, as if challenging me—giving me one last chance to take it back.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I locked eyes with him, my gaze steady and determined.

He chuckled again, low and knowing. “This is going to be fun,” he murmured, his voice laced with something that sent an unexpected thrill down my spine.

***

I spent the next couple of days still exploring Paris and its surroundings with Baekhyun. We visited the Basilica of St. Denis, admiring its stunning stained-glass windows, spent anentire day wandering through the Louvre, and explored the Panthéon.

It felt like we were completely swept up in the magic of Paris, indulging in endless wine and cheese, momentarily forgetting about our lives—and our problems—back in Korea.

But as our departure date crept closer, an anxious knot formed in my stomach. I couldn’t stop worrying about what I would say to my agent (if I wasn’t fired already) and how I would face my family.

I had brief phone calls with my sister and Ji-a, but every time my mom called, I let it go to voicemail. I simply didn’t have the mental energy to deal with her wrath just yet.

Ji-a told me yesterday that she did her best to convince the agency I had to leave for an urgent ‘medical visit’ abroad—without giving them any real details.

The thought of facing them when I got back had kept me awake all night.

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