I step through the revolving doors of the skyscraper, its glass facade reflecting the early morning sun. My heart hammers in my chest, a mixture of nerves and adrenaline. It's my first day back at work since… well, since I can't remember.
The lobby is sleek, modern, buzzing with activity. People rush by with purposeful strides, and I'm swept up in the current. There's a strange sense of familiarity in the chaos. I let it guide me to the elevators, my feet knowing the path.
I reach the thirty-seventh floor. Saebom Naturals is listed on the button panel. Apparently I hold a pretty good position here, can't imagine how that happened. The doors slide open, and I'm greeted by a large, open-plan office with views over Seoul that steal my breath away. My gaze lingers on the skyline for just a moment before I turn to face my colleagues.
"Yena! Welcome back!" A woman approaches me with open arms. She's impeccably dressed, her smile warm and genuine. "We've missed you around here."
"Thank you," I manage to say, her name escaping me. But she doesn't seem to notice, or if she does, she's kind enough not to mention it.
She guides me to my desk—a minimalist setup with a high-end computer and an ergonomic chair. It's all so foreign yet oddly comforting. As I take a seat, muscle memory kicks in; my fingers find their way across the keyboard instinctively.
The woman—her name tag says Soo-yeon—hands me a file. "Here's everything you need for the new propolis toner project," she says with an encouraging nod.
I open the file and scan the contents. Marketing strategies, product designs… It should all be gibberish to me, but it's not. The information flows through me, sparking connections in my brain that I didn't know still existed.
Soo-yeon watches me for a moment before she speaks again. "You sure you're up for this? If you need more time…"
"No," I interrupt, surprising myself with the confidence in my voice. "I've got this."
And as I delve into the work before me—analyzing data, crafting pitches—it's clear that some part of me remembers this world intimately. The tasks feel less like challenges and more like puzzles I'm piecing back together.
I catch myself smiling as I navigate through presentations and reports, each click and command falling into place like a well-rehearsed dance. This part of me wasn't erased; it was merely dormant, waiting to be awakened.
And as Soo-yeon returns to her own desk across the room, giving me an approving nod, I realize that maybe this is what they meant by starting fresh—finding comfort in what once was as I forge ahead into what will be.
I stand outside Yul's apartment, my finger hovering over the doorbell. I have the code, but using it feels invasive, like I'm barging into a stranger's life. The past days have been a whirlwind of relearning my own existence, and Yul… he's still an enigma and an open question.
I press the button and hear the familiar chime echo behind the door. Moments later, Yul opens it, his face a mixture of surprise and guarded curiosity.
"Yena? What are you doing here? You didn't say you were coming." He steps aside to let me in, his movements stiff.
I cross the threshold into the distinctly male space. "I know. I just… I felt like I needed to come."
Yul closes the door behind me and watches as I take in the small studio that seems even more cramped than before now that I'm more familiar with Inha's apartment. "You could've just let yourself in, you know? You have the code."
I turn to face him, my hands fidgeting with the strap of my bag. "It doesn't feel right, just walking in. This place doesn't really feel like mine." My voice is softer than I intend it to be.
Yul's eyes soften slightly. He nods, understanding or maybe accepting this piece of my renewed self.
Yul shoves his hand into his pockets, a gesture I've already concluded he does when he's uncomfortable or trying to be distant.
"What brings you by?" He wonders, trying to sound casual but failing with that ever-present glimmer of wariness in his eyes. He has fantastic eyes, more angular than Inha's. His features are a little more fine-boned, it matches the long hair and tattoos.
I look at Yul, the lines of his face etched with that cautious hesitation. "I came here because I want to start from zero," I say, my voice firmer than I feel. "Everyone's been telling me to begin anew with you, and I think that's what I need."
Yul runs a hand through his hair, another nervous gesture. "Start from zero," he echoes, as if tasting the words, weighing their implications. "And how do you think we should do that?"
I take a deep breath, feeling ridiculously shy in front of a man I'm already married to. "Maybe we can start the way regular couples do," I suggest, locking eyes with him. "Go on a date?"
He raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the idea. But there's curiosity there too, a little peek at a younger more open man hidden behind the anxiety pouring off of him.
"A date?" he repeats, and I nod.
"Yeah, something casual. Like going for coffee." I offer him a tentative smile. "You seem like the laid-back type."
Yul's lips twitch into a half-smile, and for a moment, another glimpse of a less high-strung, overcautious young man. "Coffee," he says, almost to himself. "That's… yeah, we can do that."
Yul nods me toward the door and I watch him grab his jacket and keys and trail behind as I put my shoes back on and wait for him in the hall. He stays two feet apart from me in the elevator down and walks with his hands in his pockets as he takes me to his car. I walk right up to the Genesis this time, wait till he unlocks it, and get in.
Yul presses the button to start the ignition, and the car hums to life. "There's a place not far from here," he says, glancing at me before pulling out into the street. "They do a decent Americano."
I nod, my gaze drifting to the window. Seoul zips by in a blur of colors and motion, but my attention catches on the sleek lines of cars we pass. Around here they're mostly older models, cheaper Kias and Hyundais and basic utility vehicles, I find myself contrasting them with the more luxurious leather and polished look of Yul's car seats.
He catches my frown in the rearview mirror. "What's on your mind?" he asks, eyes flitting between the road and me.
I hesitate, unsure if I should voice my thoughts. But something about Yul makes me want to be honest with him, maybe it's his directness or perhaps it's just his expectant look. I take a breath. "It's just… your car."
"My car?" He glances around the interior as if seeing it for the first time.
"Yeah," I continue, picking at the upholstery. "It doesn't seem to fit with… well, with you."
Yul raises an eyebrow but keeps his focus on driving. "How so?"
I chew on my lip for a moment before answering. "Your apartment, your lifestyle—they seem simple but intentional. This car feels…" I cringe inwardly at my own words; they sound more critical than I intended.
"You mean it seems like it's out of my price range," Yul supplies, shooting me a sideways look.
My cheeks heat, I shouldn't have pointed it out, but Yul doesn't look offended.
"It's too… flashy for you," I finally say, my voice trailing off.
Yul lets out a chuckle, a genuine sound that fills the car. "Flashy, huh?" He glances at me with a spark of humor in his eyes. "Yeah, I guess it is a bit much for my taste."
I frown slightly, not sure what to make of his reaction. "Then why—"
"It was a gift," Yul cuts in, his tone light but his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "From Inha."
The name hits me like a physical blow, and I blink rapidly, taken aback. "Inha gave this to you?"
He nods, eyes on the road now. There's a shift in the air as the laughter fades from his voice. "Yeah. We weren't always at each other's throats."
His words hang between us, and I sense there's a story there—a history that's as complex as the city we navigate through. I want to know more, to understand what led to the tension I've felt since waking up in this new life.
But Yul doesn't elaborate, and there's a part of me that isn't ready to push him for answers just yet. Instead, I sit with the information he's given me, turning it over in my mind.
The car moves smoothly through traffic, and Yul seems lost in thought as well. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but it's heavy with a lot unsaid.
I glance at Yul again, taking in his profile—the set of his jaw, the way his hair falls just so—and wonder about the man who once accepted this car as a gift from someone he now can barely stand to be around.
The coffee shop is a cozy nook nestled between a bookstore and a boutique, its warm light spilling out onto the sidewalk. A sign that reads "Angel With Us Coffee" hangs over the door. We enter, and the scent of roasted beans wraps around us. Yul leads the way to the counter, greets the barista with a nod.
I'm about to ask for a menu when Yul speaks up. "A white chocolate mocha with almond milk and one pump of peppermint syrup, please." His eyes dart to mine briefly. "And I'll have a dark roast."
My mouth hangs open slightly, caught off gaurd. "How did you know?" I ask, my voice a mix of wonder and curiosity.
Yul shrugs, a casual tilt of his shoulders as he reaches for his wallet. "It's not technically our first date," he says, handing over cash to the barista. "I remember what you like."
I'm touched by his recollection of such a specific detail, one that I don't even remember myself. Actually, Peppermint mocha was going to be my pick, that order must've been something I developed a taste for with age. Adult me seems to be quite specific.
"Thank you," I say, still processing this small yet intimate piece of knowledge he holds. "That's very thoughtful of you."
He waves off my thanks as we take our number stand and find a table near the window. The warmth from his gesture lingers, though, and I feel a touch of affection for him.
As we sit down, Yul's dark roast is placed before him, the heavy scent filling the space between us. He wraps his hands around the cup, the tattoos on his arms momentarily distracting me.
My drink arrives shortly after, and I wrap my hands around the warm cup, inhaling the familiar scent. The first sip is comforting in its sweetness and richness—a favorite I didn't know I had.
Yul watches me over his cup of coffee, like he's taking in more than just my reaction to the drink. It feels like he's searching for something in me that should be there but likely isn't.
Yul's quietness stretches between us like a vast chasm. I break the silence, curiosity tugging at me. "Do you have any siblings?"
He shakes his head, eyes fixed on the swirl of steam rising from his cup. "No, it's just me."
My gaze wanders to the window, watching the passersby for a moment before another question forms. "That guitar in your apartment—do you play?"
Yul stills for a second, he keeps his eyes down when he answers. "No, that's not mine. It belongs to a friend who left it there. I never got around to learning."
I nod, taking another sip of my mocha. The sweetness lingers on my tongue as I consider what to ask next. He's a mystery, this man I'm married to, and every little fact feels that much more important.
I lean forward, elbows on the table, searching his face for something familiar. "Can you tell me a story about our early days?" My voice is hopeful, laced with a longing that's a bit uncharacteristic of me but, well, there it is.
Yul hesitates, his expression shifting through several emotions before settling on resignation. He takes a deep breath and begins.
"There was this one time," he starts, and I lean in closer, eager for the connection to our shared past. "We went hiking up Bukhansan. You insisted on it even though you were clearly out of practice."
I startle. Me, hiking? That doesn't sound like me at all. He laughs lightly, too short, as he recalls the memory, I smile anyway, glad to see something other than wariness from him.
"You complained the entire way up," he continues, "but when we reached the peak, you were so overwhelmed by the view that you started crying."
I blink in surprise, trying to picture myself in that scenario. Trying to picture myself bothering to climb a damn mountain, to be honest.
Yul's voice softens as he speaks, "You said it was worth every step and every complaint." He pauses, the look he gives me makes my heart stutter in my chest.
Something passes over Yul's face, and he sets his coffee down, folding his hands on the table. "You know, you were always the ones making the plans." He pauses, gathering his thoughts. "You were more... proactive."
My brows furrow in curiosity. Me, proactive? I've always thought of myself as someone who lets life happen, not one to chase it down.
"You reached out to me first," Yul continues, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "After we were matched, you suggested we meet up before making any decisions. You kind of brought me out of my shell."
I lean back in my chair, surprised. The me he describes sounds so confident, so sure of herself.
"I'm an introvert by nature," Yul admits. "I'm content with my own company and quiet nights in. But you... you'd never leave it alone. You and Inha dragged me to dinners, parties—whatever social event was happening."
He smiles wryly, a small twist of his lips. "You were insistent on making me a part of everything you did. Said it was important that I was always included."
I try to match that image of me to the woman who was pushed to the point of wanting it all gone.
"It sounds like I was kind of annoying," I say, half-joking but also half in awe of this woman he describes.
"No." Yul shakes his head, his eyes meeting mine with earnestness. "Honestly? You made those days... Life, really, better. A lot better."
I wasn't expecting the sincerity in his voice. This past version of me seems to have had such an impact on him.
As Yul speaks of those early days, his usual guardedness falls away piece by piece, showing me a little of the person I must've seen in him then. And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, I feel connected to that past—to him—in a way.
His voice dips into a softer register. "Actually," he starts, hesitating just a moment as if considering, "we weren't supposed to get married until seven months after the engagement."
I lean in, my curiosity piqued. The fact that we expedited anything feels out of character for the me I know—or at least, the me I remember. Younger me was a planner, I liked structure and schedule. Spontaneity wasn't something I ever remember having.
"But you," Yul continues, "you were adamant about pushing the wedding up. Said there was no point in waiting." He snorts quietly. "So, we ended up getting married at three months in."
I blink in astonishment. The idea of rushing something as significant as a wedding seems really out of character. My head spins with questions, but before I can voice any of them, Yul adds something that stops me cold.
"And if you weren't already pregnant with Yunho at the time—which we didn't know until just before the wedding—you probably would've gotten pregnant anyway."
The mention of intimacy—of our intimacy—hangs between us, and I feel heat pooling in my gut. I've been tiptoeing around the topic, unsure of how to bridge that gap in my memory, but Yul's candidness brings it all to the forefront.
Yul's eyes widen slightly as he realizes what he's just said. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat, looking for all the world like he wishes he could take back his words. It's both endearing and amusing.
"I mean—" He stammers slightly before regaining his composure. "What I meant was—"
He's cute when he's flustered, I think, and laugh softly at his discomfort. It eases some of the tension from the revelation. "It's okay," I assure him with a smile that feels more genuine than any I've offered since waking up in this strange new life.
Yul relaxes slightly but still is awkward in a way that makes him seem almost boyish. His gaze flickers away from mine before settling back with an apologetic tilt of his head.
"It's just... not something we've talked about since you..." He trails off, gesturing vaguely as if to encompass everything that has happened.
"Yeah," I acknowledge, still smiling. "But it's the truth. It happened." My voice is light, trying to keep the mood from turning too serious too quickly.
Yul nods slowly, his lips curving into a tentative smile in response to my own. It feels like we've crossed an invisible line—one that has brought us closer in understanding if nothing else.
The murmur of conversation from a nearby table pulls my attention away from Yul. A group of mothers sit together, their laughter light and carefree, echoing the warmth that suffuses the coffee shop. They lean in towards each other, sipping from mugs adorned with frothy art, sharing stories with animated gestures.
I observe them absently, noting the ease in their posture, the way they hold space for themselves amidst the hum of activity. Their expressions are relaxed, eyes sparkling with the camaraderie that comes from shared experiences and mutual understanding. So different to my own situation—sitting here trying to piece together a life I can't remember.
My gaze shifts to the periphery where fathers are scattered, their looks telling a different story. One dad struggles with a sippy cup, his eyes heavy with fatigue, while another chases after a toddler determined to explore every nook of the coffee shop. Their clothes are mismatched and worn with the telltale signs of parenthood—stains from who-knows-what and wrinkles from long-forgotten laundry. The fathers wear their exhaustion like badges of honor; their vigilant eyes never stray far from their little charges.
One dad catches my eye—a young man with hair that seems to have surrendered to the chaos of his day, standing on end as if he ran through it one too many times in exasperation. He bounces a fussy baby on his hip while trying to negotiate peace between two squabbling preschoolers.
The scene before me paints a vivid picture of this new world I've been thrust into—a world where mothers sit back and revel in leisure while fathers take on the brunt of childcare. It's a complete reversal of what I would have expected growing up, and yet here it is playing out in front of me.
I turn back to Yul, about to comment on the curious tableau when I notice he's watching me watch them. His expression is unreadable but there's a flicker of something—amusement or maybe understanding—in his eyes.
"Something caught your attention?" he wonders.
I think of how to articulate the strangeness of it all. "It's just... the way the fathers are with their children, and the mothers... It's the opposite of what I grew up with. Men and women have completely switched societal roles."
Yul's laughs lightly, a warm sound that makes me feel like I'm in on the joke, even though I'm still grappling with the punchline. "Right," he says, his smile reaching his eyes. "I forgot for a moment that you're still mentally stuck in 2013."
I can't help but smile back, even as I shake my head in disbelief. "It's surreal," I admit. "Everything has flipped."
He nods, sipping his coffee before setting it down with a soft clink against the saucer. "Yeah, it took some getting used to for everyone at first. But honestly, it's not all bad. There's a balance now—or at least an attempt at one."
Yul shrugs, indifferent to what to me is a scene out of some dystopian movie. "That's the norm now, even our nanny is a man."
My jaw drops a little, a mix of shock and curiosity swirling inside me. "We have a nanny?" The concept of having someone else take care of my—our—children, being able to afford such luxuries, seems like something out of a dream.
Yul nods, his amusement growing as he watches my expressions change with each revelation. "Yeah, most nannies are male nowadays. It's a respected profession."
I lean back in my chair, trying to wrap my head around this new piece of information. "All nannies are male?"
He tilts his head slightly, considering my reaction. "Pretty much," he confirms. "It's been that way for a while now."
I can't help but marvel at how the world has changed in ways I would never have imagined. The roles and expectations that seemed so set in stone during my childhood have been completely upended.
Yul's eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, clearly finding my shock endearing. "I didn't think about how weird it would be for you to be tossed into this without living through the actual events. The world I'm sure you're used to doesn't exist anymore." His voice carries a note of empathy amidst the mirth.
I give him a small smile, appreciative of his understanding. "It's... jarring," I admit. What else about this world will seem normal to everyone else but completely new to me?
I study Yul's face. "Did you ever have any difficulties adjusting when women took power?"
He shrugs, nonchalant despite the seriousness of the topic at hand. "I was about sixteen when it all happened. Honestly, it wasn't that difficult for us younger guys to adjust."
His gaze drifts to the window, watching a group of schoolboys chasing each other in a game that seems half-forgotten from my own childhood. "We kind of grew up with it, you know? The new normal." His voice trails off, lost in thought.
I nod, understanding dawning on me. The young are adaptable, malleable to the shifting tides of society in ways that their elders might resist. "So, you just…accepted it? Women taking over, stripping men of their rights? The sudden change of power?"
Yul turns back to me, his eyes meeting mine with clarity. All I see in them is indifferent acceptance. "There was no point in fighting it. At the time, we were too young to make any real difference. The men my age weren't really involved in that whole power struggle, we just watched from the background as the world turned over. We weren't on the frontlines of any real fight. And really, you tell teenage boys that they risk losing access to girls if they don't fall in line? You can get them to do just about anything."
I snort lightly at this then I watch him for a moment longer, pondering the resilience of youth and the ease with which they can embrace change. Yul's lack of any real bitterness about his upended place in the world, after being born in a totally different world where his gender would have made him more powerful, says something about his character—about our generation's capacity to grow and adapt.
I'm struck by the thought that this adaptability is something I have to embrace as well. Here I am, at thirty-two, with a mind as open as any teenager's—unburdened by years of learned behaviors, routines, and habits.
Yul's phone buzzes on the table between us, but he doesn't look away from me as he silences it with a quick tap. His attention remains fixed, present, and unwavering—while I sit reeling in place. Contemplating an entire society that has changed without me.
The vibration of Yul's silenced phone pulls me back from my reverie, a reminder that life outside this coffee shop, outside this conversation, continues to move forward. A world I'm now a part of, that I'm still struggling to keep up with.
"I should probably get going soon," Yul says, glancing at his phone. "But we can talk more if you want—about anything."
I nod, grateful for his offer but knowing there's a lot I need to uncover on my own. "Thanks, Yul. I... there's just so much I need to understand. About the world now. About us."
He smiles, a warm reassurance that eases the tightness in my chest. "It's alright. Don't put too much strain on yourself. Just take things slow and give yourself time to get used to it."
His words are comforting, but as he stands and gathers his things, a realization hits me like a jolt—I'm missing years of history, years of a new normal that has shaped the lives of everyone around me. Including my own.
I watch him walk away before pulling out my phone—the device that seems like a relic from a future I have erased only for me.
What else am I behind on?