Thursday evening I was restocking instant noodles at the convenience store when my phone buzzed.
Bok-Jin: Are you working right now?
Me: Until 10. Why?
Bok-Jin: Just wondering if you had plans after.
Me: My plans involve going home, eating whatever food is left in our kitchen, and maybe studying for 30 minutes before passing out. Why?
Bok-Jin: Want to do something spontaneous instead?
Me: Define spontaneous.
Bok-Jin: Meet me when your shift ends. I have an idea.
Me: That's very vague and potentially concerning.
Bok-Jin: Do you trust me?
I looked at the message for a long moment, thinking about the question. Did I trust him? We'd known each other for barely three weeks. We'd been officially dating for three days. Trusting people quickly wasn't something I did—it was a luxury I couldn't afford.
But also... yeah. I did trust him.
Me: Okay. Where should I meet you?
Bok-Jin: I'll pick you up at the store. Dress warm.
Me: Now I'm definitely concerned.
Bok-Jin: Good concerned or bad concerned?
Me: I'll let you know at 10.
The rest of my shift dragged. Every minute felt like five, and I kept checking the clock like it would somehow make time move faster. Manager Kim noticed.
"You seem distracted tonight," he observed.
"Sorry. I'll focus."
"It's fine. We're not busy." He smiled knowingly. "Got plans after work?"
"Maybe. I don't know yet. It's... spontaneous."
"Spontaneous is good. You work too much. You should do spontaneous things more often."
Easy for him to say. Spontaneous required free time and mental space, both of which I was chronically short on. But tonight... maybe I could make an exception.
At 9:55, I started my closing tasks with unusual efficiency. At 9:58, I clocked out. At 9:59, I stepped outside into the cool night air and found Bok-Jin waiting, leaning against the building with his hands in his pockets.
He was wearing a dark jacket and jeans, his glasses catching the streetlight, and when he saw me, his whole face lit up in a way that made my chest feel tight.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi. So what's this mysterious spontaneous plan?"
"How do you feel about heights?"
"Neutral? Why?"
"Come on. I'll show you."
He held out his hand, and I took it without hesitation. We walked through the quiet evening streets, past closed shops and the occasional late-night convenience store, until we reached the edge of campus.
"Where are we going?" I asked as he led me toward the science building.
"You'll see."
We entered through a side door—he had a key card, which shouldn't have surprised me given who he was—and climbed the stairs. Up and up, past classrooms and labs and lecture halls, until we reached the top floor and then one more door marked "Roof Access - Authorized Personnel Only."
"Are we allowed to be here?" I asked.
"Technically? Probably not. But I know the security guard and he owes me a favor." He pushed open the door. "After you."
I stepped out onto the roof and stopped.
The view was stunning. Seoul spread out in every direction, a sea of lights and buildings and life. The night sky above, not quite dark because of the city glow, but still dotted with a few brave stars. The air was cold and clear, and from up here, everything felt both impossibly large and intimately small.
"Oh," I breathed.
"Yeah." Bok-Jin came to stand beside me. "I found this spot freshman year, before military service. When everything felt overwhelming, I'd come up here and just... exist. Remember that the world is bigger than whatever problem was crushing me that day."
"It's beautiful."
"I wanted to show you. I don't know, I thought—" He seemed almost shy. "I thought maybe you'd like it. A place that's just ours."
Something in my chest cracked open. "Just ours," I repeated softly.
"If you want it to be."
"I want it to be."
He smiled, and we stood there for a while in comfortable silence, just taking in the view. The city hummed below us, alive and indifferent to our small moment, but somehow that made it feel more precious.
"Can I ask you something?" Bok-Jin said eventually.
"Always."
"Are you happy? Right now, in this moment. Not thinking about tomorrow or next week or your five-year plan. Just... right now."
I considered the question honestly. Was I happy? Standing on a roof I technically wasn't supposed to be on, with a boy I was definitely falling for too fast, ignoring the seventeen things I should probably be worrying about instead?
"Yeah," I said. "I'm happy."
"Good. Me too."
We sat down on the edge of the roof—not close enough to be dangerous, but close enough to feel like we were on the edge of something. Our shoulders touched, our hands found each other, and the city lights sparkled below like scattered diamonds.
"Tell me something," I said. "Something real. Something you don't tell other people."
He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I'd been born into a normal family. Not rich, not poor, just... average. If I could have chosen my own path without the weight of expectations and legacy and all of it." He glanced at me. "Is that terrible? To wonder about something I can't change?"
"No. It's human."
"What about you? If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?"
I didn't even have to think about it. "The constant worry about money. Not even wanting to be rich—just wanting to not have to calculate every expense, to not have to choose between saving for my future and helping my family, to not have to work two jobs just to barely survive." I paused. "But then I think about how all of that struggle made me who I am. Made me determined and resourceful and unwilling to give up. So I don't know if I'd actually change it, even if I could."
"That's very philosophical."
"I'm a philosophical person. Occasionally."
"Only occasionally?"
"Most of the time I'm just stressed and running on coffee fumes."
He laughed, and the sound was warm in the cold night air. "For what it's worth, I like who you are. Stressed and coffee-fueled and all."
"Even when I'm being impractical by going on spontaneous roof adventures instead of studying?"
"Especially then."
We fell quiet again, and I was suddenly very aware of how close we were sitting. How his thumb was tracing small circles on the back of my hand. How if I turned my head just slightly, our faces would be inches apart.
"Ji-Mang," he said softly.
"Yeah?"
"Can I kiss you?"
My heart stopped. Then started again, twice as fast.
"Yes," I whispered.
He turned toward me, and I turned toward him, and then his hand was cupping my face with such gentle certainty that I felt like I might dissolve. His eyes searched mine for a long moment, giving me one last chance to change my mind, and then he leaned in.
The first touch of his lips against mine was soft, tentative, like he was asking a question. I answered by pressing closer, my free hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing under my palm.
The kiss deepened, still gentle but more sure now, and something in my chest bloomed warm and bright. This was different from anything I'd expected—not desperate or urgent, just sweet and right and perfect.
When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless and probably blushing and completely overwhelmed.
"Wow," I said eloquently.
"Wow," he agreed, his voice slightly rough.
"That was—"
"Yeah."
We stared at each other for a moment, and then both started laughing at our complete inability to form coherent thoughts.
"I've been wanting to do that since the night I walked you home," he admitted.
"The almost-kiss?"
"The almost-kiss. I thought about it for days afterward."
"Me too. I may have complained to my roommates extensively about how you didn't kiss me."
"They must have loved that."
"They were very supportive of my suffering."
He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture achingly tender. "For the record, the wait was worth it."
"Yeah?"
"Definitely worth it."
I leaned my head against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around me, and we sat there on the roof overlooking Seoul, existing in this perfect bubble where complications didn't matter and the future could wait.
"I could stay here forever," I murmured.
"Me too. But you'd eventually get cold and hungry."
"Fair point. I'm very food-motivated."
"I've noticed. Your relationship with triangle kimbap is concerning."
"Don't judge my lifestyle choices."
"I would never."
We stayed for another hour, talking about nothing and everything, stealing a few more kisses because now that we'd started, it was hard to stop. Eventually, reality reasserted itself—I had class in the morning, he had family obligations, we both needed sleep.
"I should get you home," he said reluctantly.
"Probably."
Neither of us moved.
"Okay, seriously this time," he tried again. "It's almost midnight."
"You're right. We should go."
Still didn't move.
Finally, I forced myself to stand, pulling him up with me. We made our way back down the stairs, through the empty building, out into the night that had somehow gotten colder while we were on the roof.
He walked me home again—insisted on it, even though his apartment was in the opposite direction—and we held hands the entire way, neither of us wanting to let go.
At my building, we stopped in our usual spot, and I felt that familiar reluctance to say goodnight.
"Thank you," I said. "For tonight. For the roof. For... everything."
"Thank you for trusting me. For being spontaneous."
"I'm very spontaneous now. It's my new personality trait."
"I like spontaneous Ji-Mang."
"She's very different from regular Ji-Mang. Regular Ji-Mang has a color-coded schedule."
"I like both versions."
He kissed me again, soft and sweet, and I melted into it, into him, into this feeling that was terrifying and wonderful in equal measure.
When we finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine. "I really don't want to leave."
"I really don't want you to leave."
"But you need to sleep."
"Unfortunately."
"Text me when you get upstairs? So I know you made it safely?"
"It's literally one flight of stairs."
"Humor me."
I smiled. "Okay. I'll text you."
One more kiss—we seemed to be incapable of stopping—and then I forced myself to step back, to walk to my building door, to not look back until I was inside.
When I did look back, he was still standing there, watching me with a smile I could see even from a distance.
I climbed the stairs in a daze, let myself into the apartment, and found Yoo-Na still awake, working on her laptop in the living room.
She took one look at me and grinned. "Oh my god."
"What?"
"You're glowing. You're literally glowing."
"I am not."
"You absolutely are. What happened? Where were you?"
I touched my lips, still feeling the ghost of his kisses. "He took me to a roof. We watched the city. We talked. We—"
"You kissed," she finished, delighted. "Oh, Ji-Mang. Your first kiss!"
"It's not my first kiss ever—"
"It's your first kiss with him. That counts." She set aside her laptop. "So? How was it?"
"It was..." I searched for words and came up empty. "Perfect. It was perfect."
"You're in so much trouble."
"I know."
"But the good kind."
"I hope so."
I texted Bok-Jin like I'd promised: Made it upstairs safely. Thank you for tonight. It was perfect.
His response came immediately: It really was. Sleep well. Dream of rooftops and city lights.
Me: Dream of triangle kimbap and spontaneous decisions.
Bok-Jin: The most romantic dreams.
Me: Extremely romantic. Goodnight, Bok-Jin.
Bok-Jin: Goodnight, Ji-Mang.
I got ready for bed in a haze of happiness, and as I lay there in the dark, I let myself feel it fully. The joy, the excitement, the terrifying vulnerability of caring about someone this much.
Tomorrow I'd go back to being practical. Tomorrow I'd worry about LEET and money and family obligations and all the complications that came with dating someone from a completely different world.
But tonight?
Tonight I was just a girl who'd been kissed on a rooftop by a boy who made her laugh and made her feel seen and made her believe, just for a moment, that happy endings were possible.
Tomorrow could wait.