Why does life feel so beautiful in novels and dramas?
Yuna had asked herself that question many times, usually when the world felt quieter than it should. In those stories, there was always someone to rely on. Someone who stayed. Someone who listened. Someone with whom words came easily. There was no need to pause or think twice before opening up. Worries softened simply because they were shared.
Real life was not written that way.
Here, people misunderstood. Words were remembered differently than they were meant to be. Silence lingered longer than expected. So Yuna learned to be careful, to think before she spoke, to hold back thoughts that felt too fragile to explain. Being open, she learned, did not always mean being understood.
Sometimes she wondered how easy it must be to live inside a story where everything was already decided.The right words.The right timing.The right ending.
Wouldn't it be easier if someone had written it all already?
But life did not offer scripts. Only choices.
And consequences.
So she stopped believing.
Not loudly.Not angrily.
She simply decided that love belonged where it was safest, on pages, on screens, somewhere she could watch without being asked to participate.
Years later, Seoul rose before her, wide, unfamiliar, and very real.
The air felt sharper here. Louder. The streets were already busy, people moving with a certainty Yuna admired from a distance. She stepped out of the station and paused for a brief second, adjusting the strap of her bag as if grounding herself.
This was it.
Yuna had not grown up doubting the world as much as she doubted herself. From childhood, she had learned to criticize herself before anyone else could. Praise never settled easily with her. It felt misplaced and unreal, as if it belonged to someone who tried harder, did better, and deserved it more.
Still, she remembered it.
Being appreciated was enough for her. It made her feel like someone, somewhere, believed she was capable.
Somewhere along the way, she had built a version of this place in her mind, a place where things felt lighter and she might finally be at ease. She did not call it a dream, but a part of her believed that coming here could make her happy.
Standing there now, she did not feel excited or relieved.
Just steady.
That would have to be enough.
She checked the address on her phone and started walking, following the route she had memorized the night before. Offices passed by. Cafés were opening. Buses slowed and pulled away. Everything moved quickly, and she matched its rhythm.
Her workplace was close. She knew that much.
One turn.Then another.
She slowed.
The street looked similar to the last one. And the one before that.
Yuna stopped near a crossing and checked her phone again. The map shifted slightly, the blue dot repositioning itself in a way she did not like. She glanced up, trying to match buildings to the screen.
It's fine, she told herself. Just keep walking.
She chose a direction and continued, her pace more measured now. The crowd thinned. The noise changed. After a few minutes, the certainty she carried all morning began to fade.
This does not look right.
She stopped again, this time longer.
Asking for help crossed her mind. She pushed it away almost instantly. Depending on someone, even briefly, felt unnecessary.
I'll figure it out, she thought. I always do.
She turned a corner.
Then another.
The street opened into something quieter and unfamiliar.
That was when a voice reached her, calm and unbothered, carrying a faint edge of amusement.
"Let me guess," it said. "You're either lost or pretending you're not."
Yuna stopped.
She turned to see a man standing a few steps behind her, hands in his jacket pockets. He looked relaxed in a way that irritated her immediately, like the situation did not concern him at all. Black hair. Steady gaze. The kind of expression that suggested he noticed more than he said.
"I'm not lost," she replied without thinking.
He tilted his head slightly. "That's usually what lost people say."
She did not like the tone. Or the assumption.
"The railway station," she said. "Is it nearby?"
He glanced down the street she had come from, then back at her."It is. Just not in the direction you're headed."
Annoyance flickered through her, followed by something close to relief.
"I followed the map."
"Maps do that sometimes," he said. "They give up halfway."
"I don't have time for this."
"That makes two of us."
He did not move. He did not explain further. He simply waited, as if her decision did not matter either way.
That unsettled her more than persistence would have.
"Show me," she said after a brief pause.
He turned immediately and started walking. "Try to keep up."
They moved side by side, not quite close enough to feel familiar. He did not ask why she was here or where she was going. He occasionally pointed out a turn or a sign she would have walked past without noticing.
"You're new," he said after a moment.
"Yes."
"First day?"
She nodded.
"That explains it," he said. "Seoul likes to confuse people before it lets them settle."
She glanced at him. "And you?"
"I don't let it do that anymore."
The station appeared ahead sooner than she expected.
Relief settled quietly in her chest.
"Thanks," she said. "I won't forget the way now."
He looked at her for a moment."Most people say that."
She almost smiled.
Almost.
She turned toward the entrance without looking back. Some things felt safer when they were not acknowledged.
Behind her, Haru watched her disappear into the crowd.
He had not planned to speak. He had not planned to help. He did not like waiting, and he did not see the point of getting involved.
Still, he stood there a moment longer than necessary.
There was something about the way she kept moving, even when uncertain.
Belief is pointless, he thought.
The thought did not land the way it usually did.
And that annoyed him.