Page 29 of From Paris to Seoul

And my dad? That bastard didn’t even have to think about us. He got to leave. To disappear.

While I was the one left behind to carry the weight he abandoned.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to focus on the stage, on the glittering performance in front of me. I didn’t want to go down this road tonight. Not now.

So I took another sip of champagne, and let the music wash over me—allowing myself to believe that none of it mattered.

I glanced at Seo-yeon, but instead of watching the scene, I caught her staring at me—intently, as if asking,What’s wrong?

I shook my head with a small smile. No words were needed.

We turned back to the stage, but my mind was already elsewhere. And as the show came to an end, so did the moment we had both anticipated—and maybe even dreaded.

What now? Going back to my place together seemed logical. Or maybe her hotel?

But… wouldn’t that feel a littletoocouple-y?

Then again, hadn’t we already agreed to enjoy whatever time we had left in Paris?

Suddenly, an idea struck me—the perfect, ladylike excuse, tailor-made for Princess Seo-yeon. So demure. So poised.

I leaned in with a grin, my lips brushing against her ear as I murmured, “Want to get some instant noodles at my place?”

Even in the dim light, I caught the flush creeping up her ears. But it worked. After a brief pause, she fidgeted with her hands before mumbling, “Fine. I’m hungry anyway.”

I chuckled. We both knew what this was, but neither of us was willing to say it out loud.

On our way back to my place, we made a detour, stopping at a small artisanal sandwich shop to grab something more substantial. The instant noodle excuse was already long forgotten.

Back at my tiny unit, we ate in front of the TV, watching a local channel on its small screen.

“I have no idea what they’re saying,” Seo-yeon furrowed her brows mid-bite. “I took French lessons for a couple of months, but I think I was a terrible student because none of the words stuck.”

She isn’t wrong—French is tough if you’re not used to it. Even after reading French books and spending hours on YouTube to train my ear, I can still only catch a phrase or two from the broadcast.

I rummaged through my suitcase and pulled out a well-worn copy ofLe Petit Prince.

“This is one of my favorite books,” I said, flipping through the pages. “I wrote Korean translations under each word.”

I smiled, remembering the hours I had spent going through every line, scribbling notes in the margins, working through the language on my own for that audition. Unlike top stars, I didn’t have the luxury of a native tutor correcting my pronunciation—I had to figure it out myself.

Seo-yeon glanced at the pages, then back at me. “You really put in the effort,” she murmured.

I hesitated for half a second—then, before I could think twice, I placed the book back in her hands. “You can have it.”

Maybe it was just a book, but at least when we went back to being almost strangers, she’d have something to remember our time in Paris.

Her fingers traced the worn cover, uncertainty flickering across her face. “Are you sure? It seems important to you. I can’t just take it.”

“It’s okay,” I reassured her. “I can always buy another one—and redoing the translations will be good practice for me anyway.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Why French, though?”

I shrugged. “At first, it was for the audition. But I also like the idea of understanding more of the world. Isn’t it crazy that by learning a new language, you can suddenly connect with millions of people you’d never have been able to talk to otherwise?”

Her lips curled into a small smile as she nodded. “Yeah. I’ve always dreamed of leaving Korea one day. Not just because of everything going on lately, but… you know, for a fresh start. A new beginning.”

The words lingered between us, unspoken thoughts filling the quiet. Then Seo-yeon cleared her throat with a soft cough, breaking the moment.

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