The Doorbell
Is moving always this exhausting?
April in Yeonnam-dong was marked by the falling of cherry blossoms. Pink petals drifted on the wind, settling atop the moving boxes. I brushed them away with my hand as I stood before Haedam Villa. It was a three-story, small-scale villa made of gray exposed concrete accented with wooden louvers. It looked much better in person than in the photos. Room 201. The words of the real estate agent when he handed over the keys came back to me.
"It hasn't been long since they remodeled, so it's very clean. The kitchen is especially spacious, so it'll be great for living alone."
I signed the contract because of those words. To be honest, I signed it entirely because of the kitchen. As I opened the door, the scent of a new home, like fresh linen, brushed the tip of my nose. The layout offered a direct view of the kitchen from the entryway. A wide sink, a four-burner gas stove, and a still-empty space for a kitchen island. I could place my dining table right there.
Me, Han Siu. Twenty-seven. A freelance illustrator. My professional pen name is Siru. I'm fairly well-known in the industry, but in reality, I'm just an ordinary guy whose back feels like it's about to snap from hauling boxes. I want to kill my past self, who thought he could manage this alone instead of hiring a moving company. There are twenty-three boxes in total.
As I carried the first box up the stairs, a sharp pop echoed from my lower back. Is this a herniated disc? I somehow managed to get the second box up, but by the third, I hit my physical limit. Even though it was only April, sweat was pouring down my back. I set the box down and sat on the stairs to catch my breath when I heard footsteps from above.
"Oh dear, are you moving in?"
I looked up. A woman was looking down from the top of the stairs. Wavy brown hair cascading to her shoulders. Warm brown eyes. Tiny wrinkles that formed under her eyes when she smiled. She wore a loose linen dress, her soft curves subtly tracing beneath the fabric. She looked to be around thirty.
"Yes, into room 201."
"Oh, we're neighbors then. I'm in room 202. I'm Yoon Seojin."
She extended her hand. I wiped my sweaty palm on my pants before shaking it.
"I'm Han Siu."
"Are you moving in all by yourself? If you need any help—"
Just then, a small face peeked out from behind Seojin. Brown hair tied in twin tails. Big eyes that looked just like her mother's. A little girl who looked about five years old was clutching Seojin's dress, staring up at me.
"Mister, who are you?"
A direct hit.
"Yuri, say hello. He's our new neighbor moving in next door."
Yuri stared at me intently for a long moment, then tilted her head.
"Mister, are you tall?"
"Well... just average."
"Are you taller than Mommy?"
"I think so."
Yuri nodded and hid behind her mother again. Seojin smiled, stroking Yuri's hair.
"She's a bit shy around strangers. She'll warm up to you soon."
That smile felt incredibly warm. I didn't know if she was divorced or a single mother, but she definitely had a child. Well, it wasn't any of my business.
"If you have a lot of things, should I help? Once I put Yuri down for a nap..."
"No, thank you. I'm fine," I declined reflexively. I wasn't used to asking others for help.
Seojin looked slightly disappointed but said, "Well, let's say hello properly later then," before leading Yuri back into room 202. Just before the door closed, Yuri peeked out through the crack one last time. A tiny hand gave a little wave. She is pretty cute.
I picked up the boxes again. My lower back screamed, but I ignored it. By the time I carried the twelfth box up, I felt like I was actually going to collapse. I sat on the stairs and drank some water when I heard a sound from below. *Thud, thud.* The sound of someone entering the first-floor entrance, followed by the dragging of something heavy. *Another move?*
I peeked over the railing and saw a woman dragging a black suitcase. Long black hair tied in a ponytail. She wore a sleeveless top and leggings. And—abs. Distinct muscle lines were visible on her midriff beneath her sleeveless top. She was quite tall, looking to be at least 170 centimeters. Her sharp eyes and the slight upward curve of her lips made her default expression look somewhat mocking. Is she an athlete?
As she climbed the stairs, our eyes met. She was standing just below the step where I was sitting.
"Move."
A single word.
"Ah, right."
I automatically stepped aside. As she dragged her suitcase past me, a refreshing scent drifted over—not sweat, but something crisp. Is that sports deodorant? She stopped in front of room 203, pulled out her keys, and turned back to look at me before opening the door.
"Moving?"
"Yes."
"Don't make too much noise."
And with that, she went inside. What is with her? Room 203 was right next to mine. Right next door, opposite Seojin's place. On my left, a warm mother; on my right, a cold girl with abs. What a combination.
Sighing, I carried up the remaining boxes. By the time I pushed the last box into my entryway, the sun was setting. My back was drenched in sweat, and my arms were trembling. But now, the truly important task remained. Setting up the kitchen.
My priorities for moving were clear. The kitchen came before the bed, and before the work desk. I tore open the boxes and pulled out my cooking utensils one by one. A German chef's knife set. A cast-iron skillet. Three stainless steel pots. Two wooden cutting boards. A spice rack. I knew it was excessive for an ordinary guy's kitchen, but I couldn't help it.
I had started cooking three years ago. My girlfriend of four years had cheated on me with my friend. For a long time after that, I forgot to eat. I survived on convenience store rice balls and cup ramen until one dawn, I suddenly craved soybean paste stew—the kind my mother used to make. So I looked up a recipe, made it, and cried as I ate. That was the beginning.
I wanted to make the things I wanted to eat. Not because I hated eating alone, but because I wanted to precisely recreate the flavors I craved. It was similar to drawing. Just as I transferred the images in my head onto paper with my hands, I recreated the flavors in my mind over the fire. That process had saved me.
I had the kitchen island delivered before moving. A solid wood top with steel legs. It was meant for four people, but practically speaking, I would be using it alone. It had always been that way. Once I put away the knives, hung the pots, and organized the spices, the kitchen began to look quite respectable. I'd unpack the rest of my things tomorrow. Tonight, I needed to eat. Something simple with the ingredients I bought.
Three hundred grams of pork neck, an onion, garlic, ginger, soy sauce, and sugar. Pork ginger roast should do.
I tied on my apron and placed the onion on the cutting board. The sound of the knife slicing the onion in half echoed through the empty kitchen. Not the old knife my mother used, but my knife. My cutting board. My kitchen. It wasn't a grand new beginning, but the fact that I could at least prepare a meal for myself was a comfort.
I sliced the onions, minced the garlic, and grated the ginger. I cut the pork neck into bite-sized pieces and patted them dry with a paper towel. I drizzled oil into the cast-iron skillet and turned on the heat. I loved this time spent waiting for the pan to heat up. The most important thing in cooking is waiting. If you're impatient and put the meat in before the pan is hot, the moisture escapes and the meat boils instead of searing.
*Sizzle—*
The moment the pork neck touched the pan, the sound of meat meeting hot oil erupted. A thin wisp of smoke rose. This sound. This smell. My first meal in my new home. Adding the onions released a sweet aroma. When the garlic and ginger joined them, a spicy yet warm fragrance filled the kitchen. Once I poured in the soy sauce, cooking wine, and sugar to let the sauce reduce, the rest was practically automatic. The sauce coated the meat, giving it a glossy sheen, right at the boundary before the caramelized onions began to stick to the bottom. I lowered the heat right there.
I made the rice in a pot. The electric rice cooker was still packed in a box, but I knew pot-cooked rice tasted better anyway. You just had to get the water ratio exactly right. When I lifted the lid, a cloud of steam billowed out, revealing glossy, perfectly cooked white rice. Perfect. I plated the rice, topped it with the pork ginger roast, and added the onions on the side. There was no soup, but that was fine. I could buy groceries tomorrow and make soybean paste stew.
I set the plate on the kitchen island and sat down. Me, all alone at a four-person table. Three empty chairs silently faced me.
"Thank you for the food."
A greeting spoken to an empty house. It was a habit—one born from years of living alone. I picked up a piece of pork and put it in my mouth. The sharp, pungent aroma of ginger spread across my tongue, balanced by the sweet and salty soy sauce, with the sweetness of the onions supporting it from behind. The meat was crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. Not bad. Actually, it's pretty delicious. A spoonful of rice, a piece of meat. More rice. More meat. As I repeated the cycle, the plate was quickly emptying.
Just then—
*Ding-dong.*
The doorbell rang. I set down my chopsticks and looked toward the entryway. The doorbell on my first day? I haven't even ordered any deliveries yet. I got up from my chair and walked over. I hadn't set up the intercom screen yet. I opened the door.
Seojin was standing there. Her vibe was different from earlier. When I saw her this afternoon, she was wearing a loose linen dress, but now she seemed to have changed into casual clothes. A thin knit sweater and jeans. The issue was that the thin knit sweater was exceptionally thin. Beneath the lavender-gray knit, her silhouette was subtly visible. The soft curve running from her shoulder to her chest cast a gentle shadow under the warm entryway light. I raised my gaze. I had to.
Yuri was standing beside Seojin, holding her mother's hand and looking up at me. Her eyes were much less guarded than before.
"Siu, were you having dinner?"
"Yes, well..."
"Um, I'm really sorry to bother you," Seojin said, scratching her head with a slight laugh. "The smell was just so good... Yuri kept saying there was a delicious smell..."
"Mister's food! Yummy stuff!" Yuri piped up, popping out from behind her mother.
"Yuri—"
"The smell reached all the way out there?"
"Yes, the hallway is filled with it," Seojin said, scratching her cheek in embarrassment. "I hope we didn't disturb you... We just dropped by to say hello. And to give you this."
She handed me a small plastic bag. Inside were homemade cookies.
"I run a cafe. I baked these there. Consider it a housewarming gift..."
"Ah, thank you."
Our hands brushed briefly as I took the bag. Seojin's fingertips were warm. That was just a physical fact. It didn't mean anything more than that. Yuri was peeking past me. Since the kitchen was directly visible from the entryway, she could see the plate on the island, and the aroma drifting from the kitchen was wafting right out to the door.
"Mister, what did you make?"
"Pork ginger roast."
"What's pork ginger roast?"
"It's grilled meat."
"Is it yummy?"
"...Yeah."
Yuri's eyes sparkled. Seojin pulled Yuri back with a smile.
"Yuri, the mister is eating. Let's go."
"No! I want meat too!"
"I'll make some for you at home—"
"Mommy's meat tastes bad."
Direct hit number two. Seojin's expression grew complicated, a mix of embarrassment and hurt. I hesitated for a moment before speaking.
"I have some leftovers, if you'd like..."
I didn't know why those words came out of my mouth. It was something the usual me would never say. I hadn't let anyone into my home for over three years. But seeing Yuri's sparkling eyes and Seojin's embarrassed face, the invitation just slipped out.
"Really? I hope we're not imposing..."
"I made a lot. I can't eat it all by myself."
That was a lie. I had made just enough. But I could just cook a bit more rice, and since there was still some meat left, it was doable. Seojin and Yuri stepped inside. Yuri kicked off her shoes and looked around the kitchen.
"Mister's house is big!"
I put on another pot of rice and placed the remaining pork neck in the pan. Along with the sizzling sound, the savory aroma spread once more. Seojin stood by the kitchen island, looking around.
"Your kitchen is... your equipment is professional-grade."
"Cooking is my hobby."
"This knife set... is it German? It looks expensive."
"Yes."
"Wow." Seojin's eyes widened. Since she ran a cafe, she must have an interest in this kind of thing. "I make simple dishes at the cafe too, but I could never dream of having equipment like this."
"Please sit. It'll be ready soon."
Seojin sat down and pulled Yuri onto her lap. It was a normal scene—a mother and daughter sitting at someone else's dining table. I pulled out three plates. Three. It was the first time I had ever set three plates on this table. I scooped the rice, divided the pork ginger roast, and served Yuri's portion separately with less sauce. Children shouldn't eat too much salty food.
"Wow!" Yuri cheered at the sight of her plate. Seojin smiled and handed Yuri a spoon.
"Siu, thank you so much. Dropping in on you so suddenly..."
"It's fine. Food tastes better when shared anyway."
Why did I say that? The usual me would never say something so sentimental. Seojin picked up a piece of pork and put it in her mouth. As she chewed, her eyes slowly widened.
"...It's delicious."
"Is it?" I asked. I didn't usually care about compliments on my cooking, but Seojin's expression was so genuine that I couldn't help but ask.
"It really is. The sauce... I didn't know ginger went so well with pork. And the onions are caramelized perfectly."
Perhaps because she was a cafe owner, her praise was specific. She wasn't just saying "it's good," but explaining exactly what made it delicious. That made me feel a little good.
"Mommy! This is yummy!" Yuri said, mixing the sauce into her rice.
"Yuri, you should thank the mister."
"Thank you!"
"Enjoy."
I smiled. Before I knew it, the corners of my mouth had curled upward. It was strange. This was my first time eating at this table, but with the empty chairs reduced to two, the atmosphere felt completely different. Amidst the warm scent of rice and meat, Seojin's faint soapy fragrance drifted over.
After we finished eating, Seojin offered to do the dishes. I declined, but she was already turning on the tap. Yuri was sitting on the sofa, nodding off.
"Siu."
"Yes?"
"Would it be alright if I brought over some things I make at the cafe sometimes? Like bread or cake. I tend to make a bit extra when I bake things Yuri likes."
"You don't have to—"
"In exchange, I'll come over for a meal occasionally," Seojin said with a laugh, the tiny wrinkles appearing under her eyes. "I'm just kidding."
For a joke, her eyes looked entirely serious.
"It's fine even if you're not kidding."
There I went again. Why do I keep saying things like this?
"I can always just make more rice."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Seojin finished the dishes and scooped Yuri up into her arms. Yuri murmured sleepily, burying her face in Seojin's shoulder. I watched Seojin's back as she headed toward the entryway. The arm holding Yuri. The line of her back visible beneath her knit sweater. The curve from her waist to her hips traced naturally against her jeans. She had a beautiful figure from behind. The only issue was that she was a mother holding her child.
"Thank you for the meal, Siu. Truly."
"Sure. Get home safely."
The door closed. I heard the sound of room 202's door opening and closing. Room 201 fell silent once more. As I wiped down the table, I thought to myself: letting someone into my house on the very first day of moving was completely unexpected. The door I had kept firmly shut for three years had been opened by a five-year-old child's words: "Mister's food! Yummy stuff!"
How foolish. But as I placed the three empty plates in the sink, I had to admit it. It tasted better than eating alone.
"Fuck."
The curse slipped out in the empty kitchen. Why is my heart acting like this? No, it wasn't my heart. It was just moving fatigue. My heart was beating fast because I had been carrying boxes all day. It had absolutely nothing to do with the curves beneath Seojin's knit sweater. Nothing at all.
After finishing up, I went into my workroom. I decided to set up my dual monitors and tablet tomorrow and just checked my work emails on my laptop for tonight. A new request had arrived from President Kim. A fantasy novel cover. Two-week deadline. I could start on it tomorrow.
I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. An unfamiliar ceiling. Unfamiliar walls. An unfamiliar scent. Yet, the faint aroma of pork ginger roast still lingered in the kitchen, and I fancied I could hear Yuri's laughter very faintly through the wall. Haedam Villa, room 201. My new home. The premonition that something was about to change was probably just an illusion born of exhaustion.
I closed my eyes. No sound came from room 202 next door. Yuri and Seojin must have fallen asleep. The quiet dawn where only I was awake—this, too, was familiar. Over the past three years of living alone, staying awake in the early hours had become routine. Watching the shadows on the ceiling move slowly, I reminded myself that I needed to buy groceries tomorrow.
A block of tofu for the soybean paste stew, one potato, half a zucchini, an onion, green onions. And chili powder and minced garlic. I needed to buy good soybean paste. The traditional kind sold by grandmas at the open-air market. Is there a traditional market in Yeonnam-dong? I'd have to look it up tomorrow.
With those idle thoughts, I fell asleep. And so, my first night at Haedam Villa passed.