DMC didn't sleep.
It only changed flavors.
Steam rose from food carts lined like constellations along the wide pavement—each stall glowing, sizzling, calling out to passersby. Neon signs reflected off the glass buildings, turning the street into a moving painting.
Ruhi's eyes sparkled.
"Okay, but why does everything smell illegal?"
Minji laughed.
"Because street food here doesn't ask permission."
They walked past stall after stall:
Hotteok—golden pancakes bursting with brown sugar and nuts.
Eomuk—fish cakes floating in warm broth.
Corn dogs—half potato, half cheese, all chaos.
Gyeran-bbang—soft egg bread, steaming inside paper cups.
Dakkochi—grilled chicken skewers glazed in sweet-spicy sauce.
Bungeoppang—fish-shaped pastry with red bean hidden inside.
Zoya stopped at the gyeran-bbang stall.
"This looks… safe."
Sophia nodded quickly.
"Yes. Bread and egg. No surprises."
They each took one.
Zoya bit into it and visibly relaxed.
"Okay. My tongue understands this language."
Hana grinned.
"Progress."
---
A few steps away, Teahun and Minjo were wandering too—pretending to argue over corn dogs.
They reached the same stall where Zoya had ordered.
Suddenly, Teahun and Minji noticed her.
Minjo whispered,
"Why does she look so relieved eating egg bread?"
Teahun shrugged.
"She survived tteokbokki and her tongue is still confused. Let her heal."
They laughed...
---
A little further down, soft music thumped from a stall glowing brighter than the rest.
A drink stall.
Rows of bottles, jars, and taps stood in layers like a chemistry lab—amber, ruby, neon green, cloudy gold.
A handwritten board read:
DRINKS AVAILABLE
Some alcohol mixtures
Fruit cocktails
Lemonade (classic & mint)
Sparkling grape
Peach fizz
Plum soda
Apple juice 🍎
Non-alcoholic mixers
Light drinks also
Minji's shoulders relaxed the moment she saw it.
"Ah… finally."
Hana smiled knowingly.
"For us, this is normal. Part of adult life."
They stepped closer.
Zoya slowed. Sophia did too.
Ruhi tilted her head.
"I'll take something light. Just for a change of taste."
Minji turned back instantly—gentle but clear.
"No pressure, okay? Everyone chooses for themselves."
Zoya nodded.
"I'm good. I don't drink."
Sophia smiled.
"Same."
The vendor leaned forward warmly.
"No problem at all. Fresh apple juice? Just pressed."
Zoya's eyes lit up.
"Yes. That one."
Sophia nodded.
"Two."
The machine whirred softly as apples were crushed into golden foam.
Minji ordered confidently.
"Plum soda."
Hana followed.
"Peach fizz."
Ruhi thought for a moment.
"Mint lemonade. Light."
Five cups were handed over—each different, each accepted.
---
Suddenly, Jeon.J and Jinhun came near the drink stall.
Even with the mask, Minji recognized him instantly. There was no point pretending now—they were standing very close as the orders were being placed.
Jinhun ordered two glasses of red wine.
Without taking Jeon.J's name, Minji addressed him quietly.
"How are you?"
Jeon.J turned, surprised.
"You… here?"
"Yes. I'm here with some friends," Minji said, gesturing toward the girls standing two steps away, each holding their drinks. They had no idea who Minji was talking to.
"Oh. How are you? When I met Uncle in Busan once, I found out you got admission to National University Busan."
"Yes. We arrived this morning. Rested a bit, then came to DMC. I thought I'd start showing my friends Seoul from here."
"That's good."
Jinhun returned with the glasses, handing one to Jeon.J, then looked at Minji.
"Hey, Minji. How are you?"
"I'm fine. You still remember me? I thought you all forgot."
"How could we forget you? You're Jeon.J's friend. He used to tell us you bought the most concert tickets."
Minji passed a painful smile.
She remembered buying those tickets because Jeon.J asked her to—but she never distributed them. She believed Jeon.J and his crew were a failed band, and gathering people for a failed band felt pointless. She had torn the tickets and thrown them away.
"But you disappeared for a while," Jinhun continued.
"And we got busy too. Still, we don't forget our friends."
---
"Minji—" Ruhi came closer to call her.
She stopped mid-word when she saw the two masked men.
First silence.
Then shock.
Then excitement.
She almost screamed.
Minji instantly covered Ruhi's mouth and whispered,
"I know who they are. Stop it. If everyone finds out now, it'll be a problem. Let's move aside."
Minji gestured to Jeon.J.
They took a few steps away from the stall. It was crowded, so they stood near one side. Everyone placed their glasses nearby.
When Jeon.J, Minji, Jinhun, and Ruhi rejoined the group—
Zoya lifted her gaze.
She froze for a second.
Then immediately composed herself.
Hana and Sophia, however, lit up with excitement and instantly reached for their phones.
Jeon.J spoke calmly.
"No selfies right now. Today we want to enjoy time like common people. But I promise—before we leave, we'll take one."
Zoya kept staring at her glass, unsure how to react.
"Let's do cheers," Jinhun said, lifting his glass.
Everyone raised theirs.
"Minji… should I go stand near the pole?" Zoya suddenly asked.
Jeon.J looked at her, confused.
In his mind, she was holding a drink. He didn't know it was apple juice—he assumed it was beer. Going to stand alone instead of enjoying felt strange.
"That's fine. You go. We're right here," Minji replied casually.
"No. You come when you're free, or just call me," Zoya said.
"Okay. Done," Minji agreed.
Zoya started walking away—but she didn't forget to look back.
Her gaze softened.
First at Jeon.J.
Then at the glass in his hand.
Jeon.J stood stunned.
The girl he'd seen sitting in the back seat that morning—it had to be her. Even under the mask, he had noticed one thing then: a small black dot between her eyebrows. A birthmark or something she created herself—he didn't know.
But now he was sure.
What felt strange was this—
People begged for a single selfie with them. They were so famous that the whole world knew TBS.
Yet this girl's behavior made him feel something unsettling.
As if, even after all this success, there was still something left to prove.
As if recognition… was still incomplete.
"Where did you get lost?" Jinhun shook him slightly.
"Nowhere."
"Minji… does your friend not know us? I mean, TBS?" Jeon.J asked quietly.
"She's Zoya. She talks very little. Mostly stays in her own world. As for knowing TBS—I don't know. We've never seen her get excited over the name, so we never asked."
"Oh. I see."
Jeon.J looked toward the pole—where Zoya stood.
---
Zoya took a sip of apple juice.
Cold.
Sweet.
Simple.
She exhaled without realizing she had been holding her breath.
"This," she whispered, resting the glass in her lap, her gaze lowered,
"is perfect."
"Allah…"
Language barrier.
Caste barrier.
Color barrier.
Country barrier.
Traditional barrier.
Cultural barrier.
Lifestyle barrier.
Religion—beyond all.
"Allah, You are the One who knows the state of hearts.
You are the One who heals hearts.
You are Rehman.
Please heal my heart."
---
She felt something near her feet.
Zoya looked down suddenly.
Bamson.
She froze—smiling and crying at the same time.
Bamson sat beside her, tail wagging wildly, expressing pure happiness.
"Bamson… how are you here? Oh—your father is here too."
She noticed his sweater.
"You're wearing the same sweater."
She leaned closer, whispering softly.
"Bamson… where is the letter I put in the sweater pocket?"
Bamson only looked at her and wagged his tail harder.
She didn't understand—but she understood enough.
The letter wasn't here.
Maybe Jeon.J had it.
Or whoever had changed the sweater.
"Hey, Bamson—you tired me out."
Zoya lifted her head at the sound of a voice.
A masked man was crouched, hands on his knees, catching his breath while talking to Bamson.
Then he suddenly sat near the pole.
Zoya carefully shifted aside.
She felt it.
Yomin.
Yomin bent toward Bamson again.
"Why did you come here? We were walking properly. Tell me."
Bamson wagged his tail, glancing toward Zoya.
Yomin followed the look.
Their eyes met.
"Do you know him?" Yomin asked Bamson in Korean.
Zoya didn't understand the words—only their expressions. She tried to guess the meaning.
Yomin turned to her, still in Korean.
"Do you know Bamson?"
Zoya widened her eyes, eyebrows lifting.
Yomin instantly understood—she didn't know Korean.
He switched to English.
"Do you know Bamson? He ran from the other side of the pole to you, like he knows you."
Zoya smiled softly.
"Yes. We met once. Then became friends. And before we could remain friends… we got separated."
"Oh, that's why he ran to you. You were friends at the same time," Yomin laughed.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Zoya. My name is Zoya."
"Joya," Yomin repeated in Korean pronunciation.
Zoya laughed, adjusting her dupatta as it fluttered in the air.
"Yes. Zoya becomes Joya in Korean. You can call me Joya."
"Oh. Nice name. I'm Yomin—from TBS."
She smiled playfully.
"Speak softly. If someone hears TBS, the crowd will gather. Then we won't be able to walk the streets like common people."
Yomin laughed.
Bamson settled again near Zoya's feet, tail still moving.
To be Continue.....
Regards
ZK💌