Page 48 of From Paris to Seoul

Ji-a looked up, frowning. “Hey… what’s up? You look weird.”

Her voice barely registered. My hands trembled slightly around my cup.

That voice.

That song.

No way. It couldn’t be… could it?

I shot up from my seat. “Ji-a, what day is it today?”

It was the kind of question only an unemployed person would ask—but at that moment, I was too stunned to make sense of what had just happened.

She blinked. “Uh… Saturday?”

My heart pounded. “I need to go somewhere.”

Ji-a’s frown deepened. “What? Where?”

Grabbing my coat, I barely managed to get the words out. “The jazz café.”

And before she could ask anything else, I bolted out into the night.

***

The all-blue jazz café in Gangnam was small and cozy, tucked away from the busy streets. Inside, a small crowd gathered around a dimly lit stage, all eyes fixed on the performer. Clearly, the live music was the main attraction here.

I stood at the back, stretching my neck to see if he was on stage. He told me he performed here every Saturday, but I had no idea what time.

My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst. After more than a month of not seeing each other… what was I supposed to say? I had rushed here without thinking. Should I be happy? Angry?

Was he really the one who wrote and sang that song?

And if he was—was it really about me?

I finally managed to peek past the crowd, but my excitement dimmed when I saw two women setting up for a duet instead of Baekhyun.

A passing waiter caught my eye, balancing a tray of drinks. I stepped forward quickly. “Excuse me… do you know if Yang Baekhyun is performing tonight?”

He nodded, glancing his watch. “Yeah, he’s scheduled to go on in about two hours.”

Two hours.

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag as my pulse quickened. I hadn’t really thought this through. What was I even going to say to him?

The waiter adjusted his tray and gestured toward the bar. “If you want to order something, you’ll have to do it over there.”

I murmured a thanks and found a quiet corner, ordering a Long Island to settle my nerves.

As the evening went on, the performances blurred together. The music faded into background noise, my mind elsewhere. Every time someone stepped onto the stage, I held my breath.

And then—finally—I saw him.

Baekhyun.

The moment he appeared, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations faded into murmurs, heads turned. He moved with quiet ease, adjusting the mic stand.

“Hello,” he said, his voice low and steady—never one for small talk, never saying more than necessary. “I’m Baekhyun, and this is a new song.”

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