Page 57 of Heart and Seoul (Seoul 1)

“I can barely hear the highway,” I say.

“It’s nice here,” Yujun admits. “I like the Seoul Forest, too. The nice thing about Seoul is that there’s always a place to hide out if you need it. Here, the Bukhan Mountain. Spots along the Han River. There’s an island called Seonyudo in the middle of the river. It used to be a water-purifying facility but it’s been turned into a park. And . . .” He trails off, slightly bemused by his torrent of words. “Sorry,” he says. In the darkening twilight it’s hard to tell if he’s blushing, but I think he’s slightly abashed. He loves his city and I find that utterly endearing. “It might seem overwhelming, but it’s not all concrete and glass and dust,” he finishes and tucks his hands inside his trouser pockets.

“I love it,” I tell him. “What little of it I’ve seen, I love. Even the concrete, glass, and dust.” As well as the mass of people, the humid heat, and the language, because all of that is part of this place that felt like home the minute I stepped off the plane and saw the sea of black hair.

“That’s good, then.” The hint of self-consciousness has disappeared.

“Tell me about the mountain. The one we’re on right now.” I want to hear him talk.

“It’s the south mountain. San means mountain. Add nam to it and you have south mountain. This is part of the old fortress road that follows the ridges of the four main mountains in Seoul. Back in the Joseon dynasty, we used a series of fire beacons, a bongsu, to spread messages. The one here’s called Mokmyeoksan.” He points to his left, where a flight of stone stairs appears. “It’s up that way—a bit of a trek, so we’ll have to do it another day.”

I like that—the way he always talks as if his tomorrow includes me. “All right.”

Yujun flashes his perfect toothpaste-commercial teeth. As we climb, he continues to add a few tidbits about the mountain, Seoul, the trail.

“How do you remember all of this?” I ask. If he worked in my office, he would be able to answer the question about when the Korean War ended.

He shrugs and my eyes catch on the roll of his shoulders and the muscles that move smoothly under the still-crisp cotton shirt. “I like history. I read books about it.”

I have a dozen questions. What’s on his nightstand? What did he major in during college? What color are his sheets? What was the name of his last girlfriend and why did they break up? Does it bother him that I’m adopted? I manage to ask the appropriate one. “Did you major in history?”

“No. I studied business. Maybe, in my next life, I’ll be a professor, but my mother and father have a business and I want to be part of it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a logistics company. We move things—cargo, freight, concert equipment, animals, even people. But it’s not so much about what we do as who we do it with. You can have the best-paying job in the world, but if you don’t like who you are working with, it’s terrible.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

“When I first got out of college, I joined a company that was very big, very prestigious, but . . . it wasn’t for me.” He moves his shoulders again as if shrugging off the bad memory. “What about you, Hara? Did you study copyediting?”

“No. That’s not really a thing. I was an English major. It’s an okay job. I want to move into actual editing someday, but I feel like that’s a long way off. My coworkers are decent.”

“And your family?”

“My mother is a real estate agent. My father passed away.”

Yujun stops. “I’m sorry to hear that. Was it recent?”

How could he tell? Did it show on my face? Was it something in my voice? “It happened a few months before I came here.”

Things are clicking in his head and I’m not sure I like that. He’s drawing conclusions about my dad’s death, my unplanned vacation here. Those are areas I don’t want to get into. Not with Yujun. I want to keep him in this separate compartment that’s completely clean and drama free, so I change the subject, quickly. “I read that Namsan Tower is famous in a lot of Korean dramas. Which ones?” I gaze up at the needle-pointed observation tower. It looks like other observation towers—circular with antennas at the top reaching toward the sky.

“Boys Over Flowers? Geum Jandi and Gu Junpyo get stuck in the cable car and have to spend the night there. She has a cold. Or maybe it’s him who has the cold.” Yujun frowns. “I can’t remember. I watched that drama back in high school.”

“I’ve never seen it. I’ve watched two K-dramas and both were ones that Boyoung recommended. Kingdom and Signal.”

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