By the second weekend, Daewon had gotten used to waking up early.
He no longer complained when his alarm rang before seven.
He simply got dressed, packed his sketchbook, and left.
The art center had begun to feel familiar.
He knew which vending machine gave him warm drinks.
He knew which window received the best afternoon light.
He knew which students preferred working alone.
He even knew that the instructor, Choi Eunseok, drank his coffee without sugar and complained whenever someone left pencil shavings on the floor.
It was becoming another part of his life.
Aera had her own routine now.
On Saturdays, she went to the gallery.
On Sundays, she photographed different parts of Seoul.
Sometimes she went with Yuna.
Sometimes she went alone.
They still messaged each other.
They still walked home together during the week.
They still ate lunch beneath the same tree.
Nothing had changed.
At least, that's what Daewon thought.
Until one Friday afternoon.
"Are you free tomorrow?"
Aera asked as they walked toward the school gate.
Daewon thought about it.
"After the workshop."
"Right."
She looked at him.
"I forgot."
"You forgot?"
She laughed.
"I keep thinking Saturdays are still ours."
Daewon smiled.
"They used to be."
Aera looked ahead.
"That's what I mean."
There was no sadness in her voice.
But something about the sentence stayed with him.
They reached the gate.
Aera stopped.
"I have to go to the gallery tomorrow."
"I know."
"You have your workshop."
"Yeah."
She nodded.
"Then Sunday?"
Daewon hesitated.
"Portfolio review."
Aera paused.
"Right."
For a moment, they stood there.
Two schedules.
Two commitments.
Neither of them wrong.
Neither willing to give theirs up.
Aera smiled.
"Next week."
"Next week."
She walked away.
Daewon watched her go.
He felt something strange.
Not loneliness.
Not exactly.
He simply missed her already.
Saturday morning passed quickly.
Daewon spent three hours at the art center.
The instructor had arranged a portfolio review.
Each student placed their work on a table.
Then everyone received criticism.
Some of it was difficult to hear.
One student's entire series was called "technically strong but emotionally empty."
Another student was told they relied too heavily on beautiful scenery.
Daewon listened carefully.
When it was his turn, he placed his drawings down.
The instructor studied them.
"You have a weakness."
Daewon's stomach tightened.
"Your work is becoming too comfortable."
He looked up.
"Too comfortable?"
"You've found a way of drawing that people respond to."
The instructor tapped the blue umbrella drawing.
"This is good."
Then the bakery.
"This is good."
The river.
"Also good."
He looked at Daewon.
"But if you keep drawing what you already understand, you'll stop growing."
Daewon was silent.
"What don't you understand?"
"I don't know."
"Good."
The instructor smiled.
"Find out."
Across the city, Aera received her own criticism.
She had printed six photographs.
The photograph of the two umbrellas.
The old apartment hallway.
The sleeping passenger.
The street musician.
The bridge.
And the photograph of Daewon.
Sora studied them.
"You have a strong eye."
Aera smiled.
"Thank you."
"But you're hiding."
Aera blinked.
"Where?"
"Behind beautiful moments."
Sora pointed toward the photographs.
"You notice quiet things."
"That's good."
"It is."
She looked at Aera.
"But you always photograph from a safe distance."
Aera became quiet.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"Then find out."
The same sentence.
Different room.
Different teacher.
The same question.
What was she afraid of seeing?
By late afternoon, both had finished.
Daewon stepped outside.
He took out his phone.
He checked the time.
Aera had probably finished too.
He typed:
How did it go?
Then stopped.
He deleted it.
She had her own day.
He didn't want to interrupt it.
Across the city, Aera did the same thing.
She opened their chat.
Typed:
How did your review go?
Then deleted it.
She smiled at herself.
They were both doing the same thing.
Trying to respect each other's space.
Perhaps too much.
Sunday arrived.
Daewon went to the art center again.
Aera went to the gallery.
Neither messaged.
By evening, Daewon was walking home.
The sky was dark.
A light rain had started.
He reached into his bag.
No umbrella.
He stopped.
Then laughed.
For a moment, he thought about the first day he had met Aera.
The blue umbrella.
The rain.
The drawing.
The beginning.
He stood beneath the awning of a closed shop.
Then his phone vibrated.
A message.
Aera:
Are you home?
He smiled.
Daewon:
Not yet.
A few seconds passed.
Aera:
Me neither.
He typed:
How was today?
This time he sent it.
Her reply came.
Hard.
He smiled.
Same.
Another message.
I missed you.
Daewon stopped walking.
He read it twice.
Then typed:
I missed you too.
Aera replied:
I thought we were supposed to be independent.
Daewon smiled.
We are.
Then why does it still feel strange?
He looked at the rain.
Because we're learning.
Aera didn't answer immediately.
Then:
Can I call you?
Daewon smiled.
Yes.
They talked for almost an hour.
Neither had anything dramatic to say.
They talked about criticism.
About mistakes.
About the things they were afraid of.
Aera admitted that Sora's comment bothered her.
"She said I photograph from a safe distance."
Daewon thought about it.
"Do you?"
"Maybe."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
He was quiet.
Then he said,
"Maybe you're afraid of getting too close."
"To people?"
"Maybe."
Aera didn't answer.
"What about you?" she asked.
Daewon laughed softly.
"My instructor said I'm too comfortable."
"That's worse."
"I know."
They both laughed.
Then Aera said,
"Maybe we're both being told the same thing."
"What?"
"Go somewhere unfamiliar."
Daewon looked at the ceiling.
"Maybe."
"Do you want to?"
"Tomorrow?"
"No."
She laughed.
"We have school."
"Right."
"After school?"
"Okay."
The next afternoon, they didn't go to the rooftop.
They didn't go to the bakery.
They didn't go to the river.
Instead, they walked through a neighborhood neither had visited before.
No plan.
No project.
No camera assignment.
No sketching challenge.
Just walking.
They found a small stationery shop.
A secondhand bookstore.
A narrow alley covered with old signs.
A tiny restaurant with four tables.
An elderly man repairing umbrellas outside a shop.
Aera stopped.
She looked at the umbrellas hanging above him.
Red.
Yellow.
Green.
Black.
White.
And one faded blue.
Daewon noticed.
He smiled.
"Of course."
Aera laughed.
She raised her camera.
Then lowered it.
She looked at the old man.
"Can I take a picture?"
He looked up.
"Of me?"
"Yes."
He thought about it.
Then smiled.
"Sure."
Aera took the photograph.
But this time, she stepped closer.
She spoke with him.
Asked how long he had repaired umbrellas.
Asked who taught him.
Asked which umbrellas people brought back most often.
Daewon watched.
She wasn't hiding behind the camera.
She was talking to the person in front of it.
When they finally left, Aera looked at her photograph.
"It feels different."
"How?"
"I was closer."
Daewon smiled.
"That's probably the point."
She looked at him.
"Maybe."
They continued walking.
Daewon noticed an old wall covered with children's drawings.
He stopped.
Aera waited.
He took out his sketchbook.
"What are you doing?"
"Finding something I don't understand."
She smiled.
"Good."
He began drawing.
For once, neither of them was trying to preserve the moment.
They were simply experiencing it.
And when they finally walked home together, neither felt like they had lost the weekend.
They had missed a day.
They had spent time apart.
They had discovered things separately.
And then they had come back with stories.
Maybe that was what growing up would look like.
Some days together.
Some days apart.
Some days missed.
And some days found again.
That evening, Aera placed the photograph of the umbrella repairman into her dark blue sketchbook.
Underneath it, she wrote:
Today I stepped closer.
Daewon opened his sketchbook at home.
Beside his drawing of the old wall, he wrote:
Today I stopped trying to draw what I already understood.
Then both closed their books.
Neither knew exactly what tomorrow would bring.
But they no longer needed every day to belong to both of them.
They only needed to know that there would always be another day to share.