Page 45 of From Paris to Seoul

“You should look into private lessons too—parents in Gangnam pay crazy money for a good teacher.”

I let out a small laugh. “That does sound tempting.”

Yae-rin smiled. “You were always happiest when you played. It doesn’t have to be a big deal—just something for yourself.”

I hesitated, but since we were already on the topic, I asked anyway. “Eonni, why do you work so much? Don’t you ever just want to hire a manager, sit back, relax, and travel the world?”

She gave me a look—not even blinking, like I’d just said the dumbest thing imaginable. After a solid minute, she finally answered.

“Because… that’s just how it is,” she said with a shrug. “And besides, a little stress is good for you. Keeps you sharp.”

I hummed, letting her words sink in.

Then she checked the clock, grabbed her bag, and stood up. “Anyway, I have a meeting in five.” With a quick wave and a wink, she disappeared back into her world of deadlines and conference rooms.

I stayed there for a while, staring at my coffee, her words lingering in my mind.

Just something for yourself.

Maybe that’s what I needed—teaching piano.

I had played since I was a child, spent hours practicing scales, perfecting my touch. I didn’t have any teaching experience, but if I could go back to my younger years, I would’ve loved a teacher who made music feel less like a rigid routine and more like a language—something expressive, something alive. Or maybe like a dance—fluid, exciting, and fun.

For the first time in a while, I felt like this could lead to something.

But even as I tried to move forward, there were still pieces of my past that refused to let go.

At home, over dinner, my mother watched me carefully between bites of rice and banchan. I knew what was coming before she even said it.

“You still haven’t called him, have you?”

“Mom.” My tone carried a warning.

She sighed, setting down her chopsticks before carefully placing a piece of vegetable onto her plate. “I’m just saying. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

I felt like an old cow being auctioned off for marriage. But I didn’t say it—I just shook my head.

“You’re making things more difficult for yourself,” she continued, her voice laced with quiet frustration. “You had everything set. A stable future. Do you really think you’ll find something better?”

I took a deep breath. “Mom, please, just let it go.”

She pursed her lips. “Or just tell me if you’re done with him. I can arrange a blind date—I have a lot of connections, and some of them have single sons.”

“Thanks, but I’m okay.” My voice was curt. I knew I couldn’t win against my mom in a conversation like this. “Anyway, I’m full. Thank you for dinner.”

I set down my chopsticks, and before she could say another word, I disappeared into the piano studio.

There, I pulled out my phone and started searching—how to become a piano teacher for kids, whether there was still demand for it (considering anyone could learn anything on YouTube these days), and if I needed any training.

I got lost in my research for the rest of the day.

***

A few days later, suffocated and restless from being cooped up at home with my mom, I escaped for some window shopping with Ji-a.

“Hi, girly!” Ji-a pulled me into a hug before leaning back to study my face. “Oh… you look… um, how do I put this… haggard?Gwenchani?”

What a nice way to say I looked terrible. I scoffed—leave it to Ji-a to say whatever was on her mind without a filter.

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