The quiet has always been my refuge. After everything I left behind, it’s the only thing I could trust. I was nothing more than what they saw—what they wanted to see. An object. A body. A thing to be touched, judged, and discarded. The world never asked who I was, never cared to listen. So, I left. Came to Korea to start fresh. To escape.

  But, silence... silence doesn’t heal. It only hides. It covers the cracks, but it doesn’t fix them.

  It’s been years now. And the quiet, the stillness—it’s become more than just a shield. It’s a cage. One I built around myself, brick by brick. I thought I could live in it forever. I thought I could forget.

  I sat down, my fingers tracing the edge of the coffee cup, its warmth the only thing that felt real in my hands. The steam curled up like the memories I couldn’t shake. I stared at the Han River, its surface calm, but underneath, I knew there were currents I couldn’t see—just like everything inside me.

  The world moved around me, but I stayed still, caught between the past and a future I feared. I guess this cup of coffee is the only thing that stays by my side, its bitter comfort the only thing familiar in a city that still feels like a stranger. It doesn’t ask anything of me. It doesn’t want anything. It just... is.

  I looked around, my gaze drifting until it nded on a young man standing near the water’s edge. He looked Korean, his posture rexed, almost too calm for someone in a world that rarely slowed down. His dark jacket fluttered lightly in the breeze, and his hair, tousled yet effortlessly in pce, gave him a quiet presence that stood apart from the chaos of the city.

  For a moment, I watched him, noticing how different he seemed from the usual type of men I encountered. Most were loud, eager to impress, trying too hard to be seen. But him? He seemed perfectly at ease in his own skin, as if he didn’t need anyone’s approval. It was rare, almost striking—men didn’t usually carry that sort of calm, and I couldn’t help but appreciate the stillness he carried with him.

  Then, almost as if on cue, his gaze shifted, and he looked back at me for the briefest of moments. It was nothing significant, just a gnce—curious, maybe, but fleeting. I quickly turned away, feeling an unfamiliar flush of discomfort as I fumbled for my earphones, suddenly eager to break the silence.

  ''It was ridiculous" I told myself. There was nothing there, no reason to feel embarrassed. Yet, that quiet moment stayed with me longer than I expected.