Page 32 of From Paris to Seoul

I shrugged, trying not to dwell on the fact that she was leaving—that after this, we’d go back to being almost strangers. “Let’s head to your hotel so you can pack first. Then we’ll figure it out from there.”

“Sure,” she said softly, throwing me a wistful smile. I knew she didn’t want to go back to Seoul—to face whatever was waiting for her there.

A part of me wanted to ask her to stay, even just for a little longer.

But that wasn’t part of the deal, was it?

When we arrived at her hotel, it only confirmed what I had already suspected—she was loaded. The place was on a whole different level, luxury dripping from every corner, from the grand lobby to the smallest details in her suite.

I let out a low whistle. “Damn, Seo-yeon, why didn’t you say anything? You stayed in my tiny studio when you had all this?”

She shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t know… I slept well at your tiny studio.”

“Sure, you ‘slept’ well,” I teased, exaggerating air quotes around the word.

She giggled, landing another one of her playful punches on my arm.

I watched as she packed her suitcase with effortless precision, neatly folding each item before methodically checking the bathroom and peeking under the sheets one last time. “There, all done,” she said, zipping up the suitcase with a sense of finality.

She rolled it through the door and left it with the hotel’s conciergerie service to be shipped directly to the airport later—one of those effortless luxuries that people with money didn’t have to think twice about. It was such a stark contrast to my own reality that I couldn’t help but be reminded, again, that we lived in different worlds.

We grabbed a quick lunch at a café near the Seine before deciding, without really saying it, to retrace our steps back to Pont Alexandre III.

Just days ago, we had passed under it by boat, watching the intricate details from below. Now, standing on the bridge itself, the perspective felt completely different—grander, more vivid, yet somehow heavier with the weight of everything that had happened in between.

Seo-yeon leaned against the railing, gazing down at the river, lost in thought. The wind caught strands of her hair, making them dance in the late afternoon light.

She exhaled softly. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How a place can feel different depending on who you are when you see it again.”

I looked away, unsure of how to put my feelings into words. “A few days ago, I was here alone, and it felt like the most beautiful place on earth. When the streetlights flickered on, one by one, it was like something straight out of a film.”

“Then, I was here again—under this bridge, at night—with you. It still felt surreal, almost like a dream.”

“And now, this afternoon, standing here again with you… it feels like a movie.”

Seo-yeon chuckled. “Romantic comedy or horror?”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t take the bait. Instead, I finally voiced the thought that had been lingering in my mind since the moment I met her.

“You’re beautiful, Seo-yeon.”

Our eyes met, and then I kissed her. Her lips were warm, carrying the faint taste of butter and sugar from the pastries we’d shared earlier. It felt easy, inevitable—like the most natural thing in the world.

I’ve never been a hopeless romantic. I’ve been in a few relationships before—none ever felt quite right, but I went along with them anyway.

With Seo-yeon, though, it was different. Everything seemed to fall into place effortlessly. There was no pretense, no games.

Is it Paris casting its spell on me? The golden light of the late-afternoon sun shimmering on the Seine, catching in her hair? Or is it just… being with her?

But all good things come to an end, don’t they? Soon, we’d be back in Seoul, back to our separate realities. Seo-yeon—probably an heiress to some powerful conglomerate. Me—just a struggling actor taking any gig I could to put my sister through university.

This isn’t the kind of story that had a happy ending.

Checking my phone, I realize it’s time to go. We take the metro to the train station, even though Seo-yeon insists I don’t need to follow her all the way to the airport.

“It’s really fine,” she argued. “If you come with me, you’ll have to go back into the city, only to return to the airport again tomorrow morning for your flight. It’s silly.”

“Still, I’d rather—”

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