Chapter 6: A Voice From Somewhere Else
688 Words
The next morning, Eun Ha Neul didn’t ride in the Genesis.
She had texted Kim Seon Ho the night before — a simple message saying she’d take the subway instead.
No reason. Just because.
She wasn’t looking for special privileges.
The apartment keys were more than generous. That was enough.
Besides, the idea of walking to the subway, with hands wrapped around a warm cup of vanilla latte, felt like a quiet luxury of its own — a small slice of normalcy she didn’t want to give up just yet.
The sky was overcast again.
But today she wore soft grey, with a touch of pink in the lining of her jacket — and a new phone charm: a small silver star dangling beside a worn tassel. The plush on her bag was different too — a sleepy yellow bear she’d once found in the clearance bin of a bookstore.
She hadn’t expected to love it.
She stood near the Han River exit of Apgujeongrodeo Station, arms folded loosely, brows drawn in quiet thought.
Lately, everything felt like a blur — her thoughts drifting too lightly to ever leave an imprint.
She tried to focus.
On her lesson plan.
On what to eat for lunch.
On whether she’d left the heater on back home.
But nothing stuck.
It was like her mind kept circling the same quiet ache, never loud enough to name, but always there — just under the surface.
With a deep sigh, she walked towards the familiar quiet streets of Cheongdam-dong.
In Seon Ho’s study, the silence felt longer without her.
He was a man who valued punctuality who didn’t just dislike delays, but regarded them as a form of disrespect.
But when she finally stepped in — just five minutes past eight — he wasn't annoyed.
He was relieved.
“You walked?” He asked, appalled.
He saw it again — the slight tension in her lip before she bit it.
Not to be cute. Not to be manipulative.
But because her thoughts moved faster than her words.
He gestured to the chair.
The lesson was different today.
They read dialogue aloud.
He spoke English with clear diction, but none of the rhythm.
She corrected gently — only when necessary.
At one point, she giggled.
Quiet at first — hand to mouth — then let out a brief, full laugh that surprised even her.
It startled him more than it should have.
But just as Kim Seon Ho picked up speed, her phone buzzed.
Not once. Not twice. Thrice.
Ssi-Bal-Nom.
Bastard.
She hesitated.
Seon Ho caught the shift in her posture — her fingers clenching near her temple, then sliding under her nose, thumb pinching lightly between her brows.
“You can take it.”
She looked up — almost startled.
Then nodded. Slowly.
He stepped out without another word.
Outside the room, he stopped in his track.
He didn’t mean to listen.
But her voice — in another language, soft and raw — carried through the slight gap in the sliding door.
He heard her mumble and then silence.
Then something he hadn’t expected:
“Neo jinjja michyeosseo?!”
Her voice cracked. In anger.
Like someone who had held back too much, for too long — and finally had to speak.
He walked away, knowing she needed the privacy.
When he returned a few minutes later, she was facing the window.
Not crying. Not anymore.
But her shoulders were still tense.
He didn’t speak.
Just placed her notebook gently on the table.
She turned. Bowed slightly.
“Sorry for the delay.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“It was family.”
He said nothing at first. But then,
“The kind that talks or the kind that spits?”
She blinked.
But he saw it — just for a second — her hand press against the pocket where her phone had been, as if holding something in place.
"Neither. It's the kind that calls when it already hurts"
There was an awkward silence.
"Let's call it a day. I have an urgent meeting to get to."
He lied. She knew.
- Writer
