I Wish It Was Just a Dream
In the dream, the convenience store's fluorescent lights were blindingly white, even in sleep. At eleven at night, the store was quiet, few customers around. While organizing stock behind the counter, I looked up and saw a stranger standing by the entrance. A new part-timer. She was short, shoulders hunched up tight, bangs half-covering her eyes. The boss gave a quick introduction.
"Han Gyeowol, this is Yoo Sea-ah. She's starting today. Take care of her."
Yoo Sea-ah gave a tiny nod and a soft greeting. She met my eyes for a second before looking away. That was our first meeting.
For the first couple weeks, she barely spoke. Even on overlapping shifts, it was just the bare minimum—asking about stock locations or shift changes. I wasn't much of a talker myself, so I didn't mind.
But one night, her silence started to bug me. In the dead of night with no customers, she was huddled in the corner of the counter, staring blankly at the floor. I asked if she'd eaten.
She looked up, her face like she'd heard something unexpected.
"...Yeah."
"No, you haven't."
I handed her a triangle kimbap marked for disposal due to nearing expiration. She held it for a long time before quietly eating it. That was the start.
Little things piled up. Short chats during lulls in the late hours. Sharing expired drinks. Walking home together once we realized we lived the same way.
Yoo Sea-ah had no friends at school. I could tell without her saying. Her steps home were too slow, like someone dreading where they were headed. I didn't offer comfort or anything. I just walked with her. Sometimes handing over soon-to-expire bread from the store. That was it.
But she started talking more. Even smiling—a shy, small smile, but it looked good on her.
Then one day, she didn't show up. No contact. Texts unread, phone off. Two days passed with no word. I got her address from the boss and took two buses to a rundown villa on the third floor. No answer at the door. The handle turned—it wasn't locked.
When I opened it, I froze in place.
The bathroom door was open. Yoo Sea-ah was standing on the edge of the tub, something gripped in her hand.
"Hey."
My voice came out lower than I expected. She startled and looked at me. Her eyes were red and swollen, cheeks streaked with tears.
"...Why'd you come."
"Why aren't you answering?"
"Just go."
"No."
I stepped slowly into the bathroom. She shrank back. I stood in front of her and held out my hand.
"Get down."
She stared at me for a long time. Set down what she was holding. Took my hand. As she stepped off the tub, her legs buckled. I caught her on reflex. She cried—silently, shoulders shaking. Even without a word from me, she kept at it for ages. I patted her back. Nothing much to say. Glad you're alive felt too light for the moment. I just held her. That was all.
After that, I stuck by her whenever I could. Not much to offer with my empty pockets. A pot of stew from discounted ingredients. Low-res movies watched together. Time spent just sitting side by side, doing nothing.
She recovered faster than I thought. Got into college. Made new friends. Brightened up. I was happy. For real.
But I had to enlist.
The night before leaving, we sat in silence for hours. She spoke first.
"Come back safe."
"Yeah."
"I'll wait."
I believed her.
Her messages came often at first in the army. Then they tapered off. At some point, the tone changed—apologetic, but distant.
Three months before discharge, she called. She struggled before saying it.
"...Let's break up."
I couldn't reply right away.
"Why."
"Just... I think I've changed a lot. I'm sorry to you, Gyeowol, but I don't know how to explain."
I didn't ask what had changed. I could guess. I said shortly,
"Got it."
That was the end.
I got out, went home. Empty room. Bought a bottle of soju from the convenience store. Drank alone. Thought it was good she'd gotten better. Meant it. But didn't know why it left such a bitter taste.
Emptied the bottle and lay down. Closed my eyes.
And.
When I opened them, the ceiling was still stained. Semi-basement room. I stared blankly at it for a while.
A dream. Or a memory.
Right. That's why I was drinking.
I forced myself up. Sitting made my head throb. This body was tired just from dreaming.
Rain pattered beyond the window. I pulled back the curtain. In the alley visible through the half-basement gap, rainwater streamed in rivulets. First day at the part-time job.
I washed my face, got dressed. A gloomy mood clung to me, but I couldn't skip. Min Chae-ah's deadline was less than two days away.
Grabbed some random umbrella from the entryway. Pressed the handle button. Click. Nothing. Pressed again. Nope. Forced it open—bent ribs, clearly broken.
"..."
I tossed the busted umbrella in the corner and headed out.
Cold rain hit my head. Too lazy to pull up the hood. Just walked through it. My mood was soaked anyway.
On the main street, even early morning had people around. Women with umbrellas strode briskly through the downpour. I stuck out, the lone guy getting drenched.
"Oh my, look at that kid. Walking in the rain."
"So pretty, why's he out like that."
"He'll catch a cold, seriously."
Whispers behind me. Ignored them.
After a block, an umbrella suddenly popped up beside me.
"Hey, hold on."
I turned to the voice—a woman in her early twenties, tilting the umbrella my way, matching my pace.
"Share it. Where you headed?"
"I'm good."
I stepped aside and kept walking. She hesitated, flustered.
"Wait, why walk in the rain..."
I tuned her out. Just wanted to walk. Hear only the rain. Think nothing.
Yoo Sea-ah's dream lingered. Memories of her messages slowing. That voice on the call. I'd truly been glad she'd improved. But there was no after. No place for me in her new world. That was the bitterness.
The Hongbok Banjeom sign came into view. I wiped rain from my face roughly. Hair plastered to my forehead. Clothes soaked to the back.
Pushed the door open.
"I'm here."
Wang Hong poked her head from the kitchen. Saw me and widened her eyes.
"What happened to you? No umbrella?"
"Broke."
"Why'd you walk in it? Wait."
She ducked back in, emerged with a worn towel. Plopped it on my head and patted.
"Dry off. Clothes are done for."
"Thanks."
"Whatever. Thought about what you'll do today?"
"Yeah."
She looked me over.
"Eaten?"
I hesitated.
"...Not yet."
"Eat first, then work."
She vanished into the kitchen. I sat in the corner by the counter, toweling my hair while waiting. Soon, a bowl appeared before me. Ullmyeon. Steaming white broth topped with golden-fried meat and veggies. Steam rising gently.
"Eat."
Short command, then back to the kitchen. I picked up chopsticks. Scooped noodles, put them in my mouth. Hot. The warmth slid down my throat, pooling somewhere in my chest.
Reached for the next bite, hand froze. Tears came. Sudden, no reason I could pin down. The dream? The rain? Or this warm broth?
From that night after discharge, drinking alone, until now—no one had looked after me like this. Especially not in this world. It hit deeper than expected.
I bowed my head and ate quietly. A few tears splashed into the bowl.
Kitchen sounds: meat sizzling, spatula scraping the wok. Wang Hong said nothing.
Much later, she came out to wipe the counter, glanced my way. Not pretending not to see, not saying anything. Just wiped and tossed out,
"Ullmyeon's kinda spicy. Tears are normal."
It wasn't spicy at all.
"...Yeah."
"Finish and start."
"Okay."
She went back in. I cupped the bowl with both hands. Warmth spread to my palms. Rain drummed steadily outside.
I sipped the thick broth slowly. It was Hot and salty, and strangely... I feel a little better.