The Meaning of Being Alone
People look the most ridiculous when they start attaching meaning to things all by themselves, even when nothing has happened. Kang Chi-yeol knew that better than anyone. And unfortunately, he had realized fairly early that he was slipping into exactly that ridiculous state right now.
When he opened his eyes that morning, the first thing that came to mind wasn’t the long list of tasks he had to do. It was the shutter next door. Delivery schedule checks, readjusting the seasoning ratio, paperwork for delivery app registration, final selection of packaging containers, pre-opening simulations. There was a mountain of work piled up, yet the moment he woke up, his brain had latched onto the utterly useless question: “I wonder what time the shop next door opens today.”
Kang Chi-yeol lay under the blanket with his eyes closed and let out a long sigh.
“Get a grip.”
Even muttering to himself was pointless. It already sounded like the words of a man who was too far gone. He deliberately washed up faster and left the house earlier. He believed that if he kept his body busy, his mind would follow.
He raised the shop shutter, aired the place out, wiped the floor one more time, and double-checked the position of the fryer. He even wiped down the work surface again, though he had no idea how many times he had cleaned it already. He reorganized the seasoning containers he had arranged the day before, stacked the packaging bags by exact size, and hung the tongs according to type. All because he was afraid that the moment he stopped moving, his eyes would drift toward the glass door.
But the human heart doesn’t work that way. No matter how hard he tried to focus on his tasks, his awareness kept slipping sideways. The alley scene reflected in the glass door, the shadows of passing people, and the empty space right in front of the neighboring shutter. Chi-yeol found himself utterly absurd.
Even when he worked at the company, he had never paid this much attention to anyone. No—in fact, he had almost never cared about anyone in this way his entire life. True to his history as a motae solo, he was the type who exhausted himself with wild imaginings and overinterpretation before anything even began. The kind who burned through all his energy on fantasies and meaning-making long before reality had a chance to unfold. He knew better than anyone how exhausting that was. Which only made it more pathetic.
A little after eleven in the morning, the shutter of the shop next door rolled up. Clank, clank. The sound of metal winding upward seemed unusually loud today. Chi-yeol almost lifted his head on reflex but caught himself and turned toward the sink, pretending to put on rubber gloves. Anyone watching would probably think he was filming a spy movie, but openly staring felt even worse.
Still, he ended up looking anyway. People are terrible at not looking at what they want to see.
With the faucet running, Chi-yeol stole a glance toward the glass door. Lee Do-hee was alone again today. She was dressed more casually than yesterday—black slacks, a gray knit sweater, and a thin black jumper on top. It wasn’t a styled look; it was simply the outfit of someone who had come to work. Yet somehow it looked neatly put together. Her hair was tied back cleanly as usual, and her movements were still quick and precise.
As soon as she raised the shutter, she stepped inside, opened the windows, checked the floor, ran her hand along the wall, and immediately pulled out a tape measure.
A tape measure.
Kang Chi-yeol muttered to himself, wondering why such a trivial object looked so convincing. She’s the real deal.
He couldn’t even explain what he meant by “real,” yet the thought kept coming. There was something about the way she worked that put him at ease. Strangely enough.
He turned off the faucet and wrung out the dishcloth, then suddenly found himself ridiculous again.
What exactly am I feeling reassured about right now?
If the tteokbokki shop owner next door is good at her job, shouldn’t I, as her competitor, be getting more nervous?
Yet emotions always moved faster than logic.
A short while later, Do-hee stepped outside and looked down at the ground while holding her phone to her ear.
“Yes. Nothing too flashy for the signboard. Use red, but lower the saturation… Yes. No, it shouldn’t look like a franchise.”
It was a short sentence, but Kang Chi-yeol’s ears perked up at those words. It shouldn’t look like a franchise. For some reason, he liked that. After all, he had said something similar to the sign maker a few days ago.
I’d prefer it not to look too much like a franchise.
Chi-yeol paused with the dishcloth still in his hand. This was the problem. Once a person started attaching meaning to even the smallest common ground, that was when the one-sided romance began.
“Ah, I’m losing my mind.”
He muttered it so quietly it was almost inaudible. What was so special about having something in common? In a world full of people preparing to open their own shops, how many others thought, I don’t want it to look like a franchise? Yet that one sentence lingered in his head for a strangely long time. As if they were headed in the same direction.
Around lunchtime, Jo A-ra showed up again. This time she was holding a café sandwich in one hand.
“Boss, you haven’t eaten, have you?”
“Is it written on my face?”
“Yep. You’ve got the look of a slightly starved chicken.”
“Don’t use chicken metaphors in front of a chicken shop.”
A-ra naturally pressed the sandwich into his hand, then perched herself on the counter. Without saying much, she glanced once toward the neighboring shop. It was the quick scan typical of someone with sharp eyes.
“She’s out again today.”
“She is.”
When Chi-yeol answered too casually, A-ra burst out laughing immediately.
“Your ‘she is’ is way too fast now.”
“What is?”
“The response speed of someone who’s hyper-aware.”
“You really know how to annoy people.”
“But Boss.”
“What?”
“Your eyes look a little dangerous.”
Chi-yeol stopped unwrapping the sandwich and looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“The look of someone building an entire narrative when nothing has even happened yet.”
She was exactly right. So exactly right that it irritated him. Kang Chi-yeol was momentarily speechless before finally replying in a voice laced with annoyance.
“What narrative?”
“So I’m wrong?”
“You are.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Then you didn’t store away a line like ‘Nothing too flashy for the signboard’ in your head?”
Chi-yeol’s hand froze with the sandwich still in it. A-ra saw it and nearly clapped as she laughed.
“Wow, you did store it.”
“How did you even hear that?”
“I have ears too, you know.”
Kang Chi-yeol squeezed his eyes shut. This was the absolute worst. The fact that someone else had witnessed the exact scene he thought only he had noticed.
A-ra giggled for a moment before nodding with a mock-serious expression.
“Still, I kind of get it.”
“Get what?”
“The owner next door does give off a certain vibe.”
“What vibe?”
“She looks like she’d be really good at her job, doesn’t talk much, and seems a bit cold.”
Chi-yeol took an unnecessarily large bite of the sandwich. At least while he was chewing, he didn’t have to speak. A-ra watched him for a while before tossing out casually,
“She’s totally your type, Boss.”
Chi-yeol choked. A piece of bread went down the wrong way.
“Are you crazy?”
“Why? Isn’t she?”
“Don’t talk about types.”
“Then what is it?”
Chi-yeol gulped down some water, caught his breath, and finally said,
“She’s just… a very distinct person.”
“So distinct is your type.”
“No.”
“Then neat and tidy is your type?”
“Hey.”
“Or is it that she seems competent?”
“Stop it.”
A-ra eventually laughed for a long time. Chi-yeol genuinely felt like smacking her, but the more he denied it, the more it sounded like she was right, so he simply kept chewing his sandwich.
The problem was that even as he vehemently denied everything, a quiet part of his mind was admitting that A-ra wasn’t entirely wrong. A distinct person. A neat person. Someone who didn’t cut corners. Someone whose standards came before their words. Kang Chi-yeol had always been weak to that kind of person. Or rather, more accurately, he felt an unfamiliar pull toward them.
Throughout his life, most people around him had been the type to smooth things over, gloss over details, and compromise just enough. It had been the same at the company. People who put politics before work, words before responsibility, who left ambiguous situations vague and waited for someone else to clean up the mess. In those gaps, Chi-yeol had always been the one cleaning up afterward. That was probably why, when he saw someone who stood firmly by their own standards from the beginning, his gaze lingered for an oddly long time.
Of course, the fact that such a person happened to be the owner of a competing shop right next door was an entirely different issue.
After A-ra left in the afternoon, Chi-yeol tried once again to focus on his work. He checked the brining time for the chicken and fine-tuned the seasoning sauce down to the gram. He muttered to himself about what flavor should hit first on the initial bite and how to adjust the seasoning so it wouldn’t feel heavy by the second piece, then jotted down notes.
Working was good. At least chicken didn’t lie. If it was too salty, it was too salty. If it lacked seasoning, it lacked seasoning. It wasn’t as ambiguous as the human heart.
The problem was that Lee Do-hee had walked past the front of his shop twice since lunchtime.
The first time was on her way back from the nearby hardware store. She was carrying cable ties for organizing wires and a small toolbox. On her way back, she naturally passed right in front of Chi-yeol’s shop. At that moment, she glanced inside the glass door and said,
“Your opening preparations are almost done, I see.”
It was a short remark. Yet Kang Chi-yeol found that sentence lingering in his mind for quite a while.
Your opening preparations are almost done, I see.
It could have been nothing more than a greeting, or even an empty observation. But Chi-yeol once again attached meaning to it on his own. She was looking at my shop. She must have been watching more often than I thought. She knows the state of my preparations.
It was nothing, really, but the human heart strangely moved first in these moments. After hearing her words, Chi-yeol unconsciously straightened his shoulders.
“Ah, yes. Almost.”
It was such an ordinary answer that he was actually relieved. He wanted to praise himself just for not blurting out anything weirder. Do-hee gave a small nod and continued on her way. As she passed, she took one more look at the temporary notice posted on the lower part of the glass door.
Preparing to open.
Even that brief glance made Chi-yeol think to himself, She read it. She read it and left.
That afternoon, he reattached the notice twice because he thought it looked crooked.
The second time was even more trivial. Do-hee was returning with coffee and paused briefly in front of the shop. Chi-yeol had been inside the counter writing down menu names for the delivery app when she lightly tapped on the glass door with her finger. He opened the door on reflex.
“Yes?”
Do-hee held out a small cup holder.
“I bought one for you too while I was at the hardware store earlier. Here.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s for holding the door open.”
Only then did Chi-yeol remember how his shop’s glass door would close awkwardly whenever he tried to ventilate. She must have noticed it rattling earlier. In her hand was a magnetic door stopper.
“Ah, this…”
“It’s nothing special. I was buying the same thing anyway.”
Do-hee said it with a face that truly held no particular meaning. Yet at that moment, Kang Chi-yeol felt his heart give a great lurch.
I was buying the same thing anyway.
It really could be just that. While she was at the hardware store, she had picked one up for the shop next door while getting her own. That was all. Yet that small kindness sank into him strangely deep.
He accepted it in a daze.
“Ah, thank you. How much do I owe you…”
“It’s fine. It was only a few thousand won.”
“Still…”
“Buy me a cup of coffee next time.”
Do-hee said it casually and turned away. It was truly without any deeper meaning—just a social pleasantry. Yet Kang Chi-yeol stood frozen in place for several seconds.
Buy me a cup of coffee next time.
The sentence echoed slowly in his head.
Next time. A cup of coffee. Buy me.
He looked down at the door stopper in his hand. He couldn’t understand why it felt so heavy.
“Wow…”
The sound actually slipped out. It was such an obvious sigh of admiration that he felt embarrassed at himself.
Of course, he knew better than anyone that this might mean nothing. No, it almost certainly meant nothing. The bare minimum of courtesy between neighboring shop owners, a light greeting, the kind of line people used in everyday social interactions. When he worked at the company, he had heard such things hundreds of times.
“Let’s grab a meal sometime.”
“How about coffee?”
“Let’s talk comfortably when you have time.”
Most of them weren’t sincere. They were lubricant for keeping human relationships running smoothly. Kang Chi-yeol knew that. He knew it very well.
So why did this one particular sentence sound so different?
For the rest of that afternoon, he attached and reattached the door stopper twice. At first the position seemed awkward, then the angle of the magnet didn’t feel right, and by the third time he simply couldn’t keep his hands still.
When Jo A-ra stopped by again in the evening, she narrowed her eyes the moment she saw the new part attached beneath the shop door.
“What’s this?”
Chi-yeol pretended to be indifferent.
“A door stopper.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“The shop next door.”
“Why?”
“She was buying the same thing anyway…”
His voice trailed off, and A-ra froze for a second before covering her face with both hands.
“Ah, I’m going crazy.”
“What now?”
“Boss, you’re in serious trouble.”
“What?”
“You’ve gone full throttle on attaching meaning all by yourself.”
Chi-yeol’s voice rose in indignation.
“Who’s attaching meaning?”
“Then why did your voice trail off like that?”
“I always talk like this.”
“No you don’t. That was the exact tone of someone who just received a ‘secret kindness that only I know about.’”
“Hey.”
“And she said something like ‘Buy me a cup of coffee next time,’ didn’t she?”
This time Chi-yeol really couldn’t say anything. Seeing his silence, A-ra slapped her knee and laughed.
“Wow. She did. She totally did.”
“It was probably just a polite thing to say.”
“Obviously.”
“I know.”
“But even though you know that, Boss, you’re still feeling good about it.”
She was exactly right. Kang Chi-yeol let out a long sigh.
“I really don’t know why I’m like this.”
“It’s because you’re a motae solo.”
“You say that way too easily.”
“No, I don’t mean it in a bad way. You just don’t have any immunity to this kind of thing. You’re the type whose heart moves first at the smallest kindness.”
Chi-yeol placed his hands on the counter and lowered his head. A-ra had said it jokingly, but it struck a surprisingly deep chord. The type whose heart moves first at the smallest kindness. When he thought about it, she was right.
Kang Chi-yeol had lived his entire life far from grand events or dramatic romances. He had never imagined someone confessing under fireworks, nor had he ever waited for a cinematic coincidence. Instead, he was particularly weak to things like this. The small consideration that took care of his share too, the quiet hand that filled in what he had missed, the trace that showed someone had been watching without him saying anything. It didn’t necessarily mean love. But it was clearly one of the ways a person’s heart could be moved.
A-ra held back her laughter one last time and said,
“Still, though.”
“What?”
“It’s okay for now.”
“What is?”
“Attaching meaning all by yourself. It’s still kind of cute.”
Chi-yeol’s expression turned serious.
“Cute? I’m forty-one years old.”
“That’s what makes it funnier.”
“You really…”
“But don’t get too ahead of yourself. The owner next door looks like the type who draws very clear boundaries.”
Those words pressed exactly on Chi-yeol’s chest. She was right. Lee Do-hee was definitely that kind of person. She could offer small kindnesses, but she would hate it if someone magnified them in their heart. She was someone who could precisely distinguish between boundaries and courtesy. That was exactly why he needed to be more careful.
And strangely, that kind of person made him pay even more attention.
That night, when Kang Chi-yeol returned home, he opened his notebook. While writing his opening preparation checklist, he unconsciously added a tiny note in the corner.
Door stopper magnet — from the shop next door
And below that, after hesitating for a long time, he added one more line.
‘No attaching meaning’
He stared at the sentence for a long time after writing it. He really wanted to forbid it. But he already knew all too well that the human heart doesn’t stop just because you tell it to.
He put down the pen and looked up at the ceiling. When he thought back on the day, it was funny, embarrassing, and somewhere in there, just a little exciting. The feeling was so unfamiliar because it had been so long since he last felt it.
And in the end, Kang Chi-yeol whispered very quietly to himself,
“I guess… I should buy her that coffee.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he burst out laughing at his own absurdity. He was in serious trouble. The shop hadn’t even opened yet, but his heart was already getting crispy and fried.