JI-HOON
I submitted the blueprint for my project in the Seoul Architecture Festival this morning. Finally. It felt good to cross it off my list, though the results wouldn't be out for another month or so. Now I have the rest of the day to handle – a group project meeting, errands, and later tonight, the art exhibition Min-Seok insisted I attend.
I wasn't thrilled about the idea of spending my evening at an exhibition, but Min-Seok won't let me say no.
For now, I was heading to the café for the group project meeting. There are five of us – three guys and two girls. I wasn't looking forward to it, but with midterms coming up, it had to be done.
The café was bustling when I arrived. Students hunched over laptops, coffee cups steaming beside them. Spotting my group in a corner, I made my way over.
"Sorry I'm late," I said, sliding into a chair.
They waved it off, and after a few minutes of casual chatter, we got to work. The meeting started smoothly enough, but midway through, one of the girls – So-hee – turned to me with a curious glint in her eyes.
"Senior Ji-Hoon, I heard you're participating in the Seoul Architecture Festival. Is that true?"
Her voice cut through the focus of the group. The others stopped what they were doing and looked at me.
I sighed internally, irritation curling in my chest. I hated moments like these, where the spotlight felt too bright. "Yes," I said simply, hoping she'd leave it at that.
But, of course, she didn't. "That's incredible! You are amazing, Senior Ji-Hoon," she said, her tone overly enthusiastic.
Her words grated on me, but I forced a polite smile. "Thanks. Let's get back to work – I've got somewhere to be later."
Thankfully, the conversation shifted back to the project, and we managed to finish within the hour. As we packed, Jun-ho, one of the guys in the group, called out to me.
"Senior Ji-Hoon, there's a get-together at 'Nexus'. Since you work there, think you could hook us up with a discount on drinks?"
I smirked. "Too bad for you – I'm not working tonight"
"Where will you be, then?"
I turned my head to find So-hee staring at me again, her expression curious. She must have realised how intrusive her question sounded because her hand flew to her mouth.
"Not that it's any of your business," I said lightly, "but as I said earlier, I have a place to be tonight."
Without waiting for a response, I stood and left the café, relieved to be out there.
On my way home, I stopped at the mall to pick up some stools for my sketches. Convenience stores never carry the brand I use, and I didn't want to risk running out mid-project.
By the time I got home, it was already dark. I took a quick shower and stood in my closet wondering what to wear. What do you even wear at an art exhibition?
My wardrobe was shades of black and white. Eventually, I settled on an all-black outfit – sharp yet understated. It fit me perfectly and was warm enough for the chilly evening.
…
When I arrived at the gallery, I called Min-Seok. "I'm here. Where are you?"
"Just head inside and go left – I'll find you."
The gallery was packed, much busier than I'd anticipated. Conversations hummed in the air, blending with the soft strains of classical music playing in the background. I scanned the room, my gaze landing on the artwork displayed along the walls.
As I wandered deeper into the gallery, something about the pieces unsettled me. They stirred an emotion I couldn't name, a strange familiarity that clung to me like a shadow.
I stopped in front of one painting, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. The details were mesmerizing, the emotions palpable.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder, breaking my trance. Turning, I found Min-Seok glaring at me.
"You're late. If you wanted to admire the paintings, you should've come earlier," he scolded, dragging me toward the corner where he'd set up his equipment.
"Who's the artist?" I asked, my gaze flickering back to the artwork.
Min-Seok shrugged. "Check your ticket – it's written there."
I pulled the ticket from my pocket and read the name, 'My Inner Light.'
"That's a pen name. what's her real name?"
"How should I know?" Min-Seok said, rummaging through his bag.
"Aren't you supposed to interview her later?" I hissed, glaring at him.
"Oh, right. Hold on, I wrote it down somewhere…"
As he searched, I ran a hand through my hair, feeling oddly restless. That's when I caught sight of a painting hanging at the centre of the gallery.
I moved toward it, my feet carrying me before I even realised what was happening.
The piece was breath-taking. It commanded attention from whoever stands before it.
At its centre, is a lone figure – a man sitting beneath a sprawling tree, his posture slightly hunched as though the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. His face is obscured, yet the tension in his body speaks volumes. The leaves of the tree are rendered in muted tones, each leaf appearing fragile, as though on the brink of falling.
Behind the man, the sky is awash with a chaotic blend of stormy grays and faint streaks of sunlight breaking through. This interplay of light and shadow creates a feeling of conflict – of hope struggling to emerge from despair.
To the right of the figure, a second presence is hinted at a woman's hand, barely visible, reaching toward him but stopping just short of contact. This hand, painted in softer, warmer hues, radiates a gentle glow, suggesting solace and understanding. The gesture neither forceful nor insistent; it is simply there, offering comfort without expectation.
The ground beneath them is uneven, fragmented into jagged shapes, as though the earth itself is fragile. Yet, where the faint glow of the hand touches the cracks, the ground begins to smooth, flowers blooming tentatively in its wake.
The pie captures an almost an almost ethereal sense of longing and healing. The tree's branches stretch upwards, one side barren and skeletal, while the other begins to show signs of renewal, its blossoms reflecting the first hints of spring. It's a testament to the possibility of alleviation, even in the face of overwhelming burdens.
The colours are masterfully layered, with the artist signature brushstrokes blending raw emotion with delicate intricacy.
My chest tightened.
I thought, 'I knew who drew this.' But I needed to make sure it's really her.
Turning abruptly, I was about to ask Min-Seok if he'd found the artist's name when I saw her.
Sana.
Standing there, her eyes were fixed on me, wide with a mix of disbelief and something else I couldn't quite name. Her lips parted slightly, as though she was about to say something but couldn't find the words.
The faint flush on her cheeks betrayed her surprise, and for a moment, she looked like she was caught in a dream she wasn't sure was real. Her gaze searched my face, lingering as if trying to confirm that it was truly me standing there. I felt my heart skip at the sight – she looked as stunned as I was, and that small detail, that vulnerability in her expression, made my chest tighten even more.
As I stood frozen in front of her, Min-Seok suddenly appeared, his voice loud enough to break the tension.
"Oh, here it is – her name – Yoon Sana. Huh, her name sounds familiar. Hey, Ji-Hoon-"
He finally stopped talking, as he took in the scene in front of him. His gaze darting between me and her. His expression full of doubt, as if he knew, but also didn't know what was happening.
"That's…her?" he said, pointing at her like a child discovering a secret.
I shot him a glare - sharp enough to slice through him, but he ignored it.
"Really – 'Park Girl'?" he exclaimed dramatically, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face.
Sana, still standing in front of me, didn't flinch. But I could see a subtle tension in her posture, like she was still figuring out what was happening too.
Min-Seok, eyes gleaming with too much curiosity, leaned toward me. "Wait, you two-? This is…a reunion, isn't it?"
I wanted to tell him to stop, but his goofy grin only seemed to widen as he put the pieces together.