Page 33 of From Paris to Seoul

She gave me a look—the kind that made it clear she wasn’t going to budge. I sighed but let it go.

As we stepped into the bustling train station, her eyes lit up. In the middle of the foyer stood a piano, waiting for anyone bold enough to play.

“Want to play a song?” she asked, though she was already settling onto the bench, her fingers hovering over the keys.

Without hesitation, she began to play—a delicate, flowing melody that filled the station. Within seconds, I recognized the piece: Hisaishi’sMerry-Go-Round of Life.

She played beautifully, her touch both confident and expressive.

I couldn’t resist. Smirking, I slid onto the bench beside her and joined in, adding deeper, richer chords to her melody. Soon, we were playing a duet, instinctively matching each other’s rhythm.

A small crowd had gathered—some clapping along, others pulling out their phones to record. But we barely noticed. For those few minutes, it was just the two of us, lost in the music, as if the world outside had faded away.

As the last notes faded, we turned to each other and high-fived.

“You play really well!” she said, a mix of surprise and something else flickering in her eyes.

“So do you,” I replied, stepping away from the piano, suddenly aware of the lingering eyes of strangers. I wasn’t one for too much attention.

Seo-yeon cleared her throat, shifting her gaze toward the line of taxis outside the station. “I think I’ll just take a taxi from here.”

I hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

She shook her head. “No, no. I don’t have any luggage anyway, so I’ll be fine.”

She looked at me for a long moment, as if memorizing my face, committing every detail to memory. Then, without a word, she reached for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I want to say, ‘See you in Seoul,’ but… maybe we won’t.” Her voice was quiet, the sadness in her eyes reflecting my own thoughts.

It was a shame, though. We were really good together.

I forced a small smile. “Then… I guess I’ll see you when I see you?”

She nodded. “Yeah. See you when I see you.”

We stepped into a final embrace, and I whispered into her ear, “Everything is going to be okay,” while gently tapping her back.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching my face for a moment before she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek.Then, with a small wave, she liftedLe Petit Prince—the book I had given her.

“Thanks for the book!” she called over her shoulder.

I watched as she slipped into the taxi, the door clicking shut behind her.

And just like that, she was gone.

A strange, almost foreign feeling settled in my chest—heavy, lingering, and just a little too real.

9

??

Seo-yeon

The journey back to Seoul from Paris was only 12 hours, but it felt like an eternity. I spent the first few crying, and even though flying first class meant I had no one crammed beside me, a flight attendant still stopped by to check on me.

What was I supposed to say to her?

That my career was in ruins and I’d probably already been fired? That I had no idea what to do with my life?

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