The Neighborhood

The sun hung low over the small but vibrant neighborhood of Ssangmun-dong, casting a warm golden light on the modest row houses that lined the narrow streets. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone else's business, and the smell of dinner simmered from every window. Children played outside, their laughter echoing down the alleys, and adults gathered on stoops, exchanging gossip and casual stories. The year was 1988, and life here felt like a slower, simpler time.

In the midst of it all, a group of childhood friends lingered on the corner near the convenience store. Among them was Deok-sun, a seventeen-year-old girl with a sunny disposition and a tendency to get caught up in her own daydreams. She was the kind of person who spoke before thinking, her emotions laid bare for anyone who cared to listen. Her face, a mix of youthful innocence and emerging maturity, was often the subject of both endearing affection and playful teasing from her friends.

Today, though, there was a subtle shift in the air—a tinge of excitement mixed with anxiety. Her thoughts swirled around the looming reality of her future. It was an ordinary day, but for Deok-sun, there was a quiet undercurrent of something new. College applications were coming up, and for the first time, she had begun to think about what her life might look like beyond these familiar streets.

The neighborhood itself was full of characters. Across the street was Sun-woo, the ever-responsible and somewhat serious boy, who was often seen helping his single mother at their shop. Beside him was Choi Taek, a genius baduk (Go) player with a shy smile and an enigmatic presence. His quiet demeanor often made him the subject of the group's teasing, but they all knew his talent in ways that went far beyond their own. And then there was Dong-ryong, a perpetually anxious boy whose overbearing, well-meaning mother never failed to make her presence known.

Deok-sun was most comfortable with them all, and yet, a feeling of being out of place sometimes lingered. As they gathered around on the corner, chatting idly about the upcoming school year, she found herself lost in thought again.

It was when Jung-hwan, the stoic, good-looking boy who always seemed to hold a piece of her heart without trying, spoke that she snapped back to reality. "Deok-sun," he said with his usual nonchalant tone, "you're not even listening, are you?"

Her cheeks flushed, her mind racing to gather the words to cover up her embarrassment. "Of course I am," she said, but it came out too quickly. She knew he saw right through her. Everyone did.

Jung-hwan wasn't just another face in the crowd—he was a constant in her life. They had grown up together, their families intertwined in ways that made the tension between them even more complicated. To Deok-sun, Jung-hwan was both a puzzle and a comfort. But deep down, she knew something about him made her feel exposed. Maybe it was his ease, the way he didn't need to try, or maybe it was his own unspoken feelings—something she couldn't quite figure out but felt whenever their eyes met.

The sound of an approaching bicycle broke her thoughts. Ryu Dong-ryong, always the jokester, rode up and began mock-chasing her with a plastic bag filled with snacks. "Hey, you daydreamer! You're going to miss all the good stuff if you keep staring into space like that!"

Deok-sun laughed, playfully swatting at him, grateful for the interruption. She needed it, because her heart, though young, was filled with all the confusion of unspoken words and half-formed feelings.

"Come on, we're going to the field for a while. You coming?" Sun-woo asked, his eyes filled with that familiar warmth.

She hesitated, then nodded. It was nice to escape the pressure of her own thoughts, if only for a while.