Lying in bed, the scent of his cologne lingers in my memory. I run my fingers across my lips, recalling the shivers that spiraled through my body when he kissed me. I close my eyes, drifting into the memory—imagining what might have happened if we hadn't been interrupted.
I jolt awake from the vivid dream, drenched in sweat. I hurry to the bathroom down the hall, but even under the bright lights, the image of his penetrating eyes follows me. The steamy shower only makes it worse—his heat, his touch, his presence.
Why does he feel so familiar?
He makes me feel warm. Safe. Steady. Like I've known him longer than I should.
Towel drying myself, I take a deep breath, trying to shake the thoughts away. But as I smooth the mixture of jojoba and castor oil over my legs, I pause.
His arms—how easily they wrapped around my waist. The way he pulled me flush against him.The rhythm of his heartbeat, matching mine. His eyes met mine, and in that moment… everything felt understood without a single word. A connection I can't explain.
I hug myself, shivering at the memory. After dressing, I join my parents at the dining table for lunch.
"What's wrong?" my father asks in Korean, noticing the flush on my cheeks.
I cover my face. "Oh—the shower was hot," I say.
"Were you able to sleep last night at your friend's place?" my mother asks in Chinese.
Right.
"Yes." I nod. It helps that I've stayed over at friends' places before.
"You're not a child anymore. You shouldn't have sleepovers. Come home at night. Your father worries."
He worries, or you?
"You know my friends. Too many birthdays," I say lightly. "I think I just have too many friends."
"Let her live her life," my dad says. "Stop nagging her."
"I'm full. Thanks for the food. I have homework."
I retreat to my room. I move through my routine on autopilot, unable to focus. I open my C++ textbook, but the same question keeps repeating.
Have we met before? We must have. This doesn't feel like imagination. It feels like… missing someone. Like I've missed him for a long time. These feelings—they feel like before. Roberto.
It's been six years, but the ache hits just as sharply. Tears fall onto the page, and I'm grateful my door is closed. I crawl back into bed and cry myself to sleep.----------------------
When I wake, I feel clearer.
I need to avoid him. Finish the mission. Simple.
As the thought settles in, my chest tightens.
It doesn't matter, I tell myself.
Jimmy said he doesn't request girls. He was probably drunk. I just happened to be there.
He's probably already forgotten me.
I'll avoid his room.----------------------
My phone dings.
Anat: New case must be urgent if you skipped New Year with us? Where were you?
My fingers move before I think.
Me: I was with someone… in a private room… silently for almost four hours…
Anat: Four hours? Silently? One-night stand?
Me: No. We sat in total silence.
Anat: You found your extreme introvert soulmate. Four hours is insane.
Me: But then…
Anat: Then??
Me: Then…
Anat: I'm coming over to kill you.
Me: We kissed. He almost tore my clothes off—actually, they were off—and his abs… his chest…
Anat: Coming over.
Me: Nothing happened. I stopped.
Anat: WHY?!
Me: I don't know. I really don't.
Anat: What's his name? Where does he live?
Me: Honestly… we didn't talk. I talked. He didn't. He's the type that speaks with his eyes. The only sound he made was a grunt when I wrapped my legs around him…
Anat: A mute?
Me: I don't think so.
Anat: Mr. Silence.
I pause, then smile.
Me: How do you come up with these?
Anat: When will you see him again?
Me: Never, hopefully? I don't know… it was great being with him… but when I'm not…
Anat: Mr. Silence won't stay silent for long.
Me: Huh?
Anat: You have him.
Me: What do you mean?
Anat: He grunted.
Me: Lol
----------------------
It's four a.m. Thursday. I rub my eyes at the club's restroom mirror. I've waited all night to reach Jessica. I need into her room. Is he here tonight? Focus, not him.
The door swings open. A new hostess rushes in, crying—blue eyes, soft blond waves, a heart-shaped face.
"What's wrong?"
"He wouldn't tip because I wouldn't let him touch me… then refused to pay. Jimmy's gonna blame me."
"He won't," I say, guiding her to the sofa. "I'll handle it."
I find Jimmy, get the bill, and slip into the men's room like any other hostess. Two suits are entertaining clients, eager to impress. One client is hers. I pour him a drink, smile.
"Be a gentleman and settle my friend's tab?" I murmur. "She sat with your client. He stiffed her."
A flare of nostrils.
"Let's not make a scene," I add lightly, topping off his water while pushing the bill toward him. "You don't want your client thinking you're cheap."
He signs. Outside, they threw cash at me and leave.
I turn—and walk straight into him.
Mr. Silence.