Page 59 of Heart and Seoul (Seoul 1)

He left the vehicle idling and hiked up the mini-mountain with me. At the gate, we said our goodbyes. I didn’t want to go in and I don’t think he wanted me to leave. His hand came up and tucked my hair behind my ear. I waited for him to kiss me, but he didn’t. I think it’s because he didn’t want to be that guy—the one that everyone has warned me about. The guy who thinks foreign women are easy, and to be honest, if he had made a move, I would’ve proven all those stereotypes true. I was a second away from grabbing him by the shirtfront and taking him down to the asphalt but managed to summon an ounce of dignity and slip through the gate before I did something irreparably humiliating.

The next morning, I wake up to my phone chirping in my ear. My hand shoots out to grab it and I end up knocking the phone off the bed onto the floor. Then I nearly hit my forehead on the edge of the table. In the end, it’s not even a text from Yujun but an update from Boyoung.

BOYOUNG: I have not found anything but I will keep looking. It is taking me some time and I may not have anything until tomorrow. Please don’t wait by the phone. I don’t want you to be disappointed.

I wrinkle my nose at the screen. Too late. There are five messages from my mother, who texted while I was sleeping.

MOM: You haven’t gotten sick, have you?

MOM: How’s the food? What are you eating?

MOM: I miss you. Send me pictures.

MOM: I love you.

MOM: Don’t forget to reply.

I send some photos I took of the locks of love on Namsan and the Seoul skyline. None of them include Yujun, even though I find my camera roll filled with him. I don’t remember taking so many photos of him, and sometimes it’s just parts of him—his long, slender fingers holding a red heart-shaped padlock; his side profile as his tall-tree form bends over a telescope on the observatory platform; his palm curled around the back of his neck when he stretched getting out of the packed elevator. Then there are the full-on pictures of him poking his dimple, holding his fingers in a V against his face. In almost all the pictures, he’s smiling.

I can’t send any of these images to my mother. They would generate too many questions and admonitions that I’ve already heard from so many others. I know what I’m getting into. I do. He was the respectful one. I was the one who wanted to tear our clothes off and enjoy some cross-continental loving.

The weather app says that the day will be hot. I pull on a white cotton button-down with navy stripes and pair it with light-wash denim. It’s too hot for jeans, but I’ve noticed there’s a distinct lack of shorts on the street. Most of the women wear pants or cute dresses—lots and lots of cute dresses. I’m going to shop, and tonight, well, tonight I’m filling my camera roll with more photos because Yujun is taking me to his favorite spot—the river.

* * *

• • •

“GET OFF EARLY?” I ask, raising my voice slightly to be heard over the din of people in the metro station. Yujun had decided not to wait outside, but met me at the turnstiles. It was our compromise because, again, he wanted to pick me up and, again, I refused.

Yujun glances down at his jeans, ripped at the knee. “It’s casual day.”

“Is it Friday?” The days have run together like a watercolor painting in the rain and I’ve lost track.

“It is. Most Koreans don’t have casual day, though. Eomma implemented it a few years ago. We have a lot of Western influences at our office.” He gestures for me to get on the escalator in front of him. Tucked under one arm is a paper bag. I eye it curiously.

“Like what?”

“It’s not hierarchical. Remember the sunbae lesson? That’s how it is in most companies. Age and when you entered the company are strictly observed, but at IF Group, we treat everyone the same.” I can tell he’s very proud of this. “We have an anonymous suggestion box and everyone puts their ideas on how to improve the company in it. Every Friday we meet to discuss the suggestions.”

“If it’s anonymous, don’t you get a lot of people leaving bad comments about their coworkers?”

Yujun’s eyes flare in surprise. “No. Do you have a lot of bad coworkers?”

“Some. I mean, you can’t get along with everyone.”

“That’s true,” he acknowledges, “but even if you have complaints, those should be discussed because the workplace is one where you spend many hours. If there is something I am doing that creates conflict, I would want to know so that I can adjust my behavior.”

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