The day was drawing to a close, and the art gallery where Lee Su Min worked was gradually emptying. The spacious hall, once filled with the scent of fresh paint and canvas, now felt unusually quiet. All morning and afternoon, feverish preparations had been underway for an exhibition by a renowned artist—a significant event that had drawn influential guests, the press, and curators alike.
Su Min had stayed longer than the others, assisting with the setup and logistics. She always strived to do more than was expected. As the gallery exhaled the final noise of the day, Su Min was still in motion—adjusting stands, carrying out boxes, checking the list of newly delivered paintings to ensure everything was in its place. She never sought gratitude; she simply didn't know how to work half-heartedly. And perhaps, that was exactly why she was respected.
— Miss Lee, thank you for your help. Sorry you had to stay so late. — A young employee bowed her head slightly.
— I'm just glad I could help, — Su Min replied politely, offering a warm smile. — This is an important day for the gallery.
Returning the bow, she put on her coat, grabbed her bag, and headed for the exit.
Stepping outside, she was instantly greeted by the crisp evening air—fresh, piercingly clean, carrying the faintest trace of blooming trees. Su Min took a deep breath, catching in that scent the first real confirmation: spring had arrived.
The city lived its own life. It shimmered with lights—windows, storefronts, streetlamps painting colored reflections in the puddles. A light breeze tugged at the hem of her coat, making the fabric sway gently, while her heels clicked a steady rhythm on the damp pavement, as if underscoring each step.
Su Min pulled out her phone and glanced at the screen. 10:48 p.m.
— Great… — she muttered, eyes fixed on the time, — Missed the last bus… Guess I'll have to walk.
She tightened her grip on the phone, a flicker of irritation rising in her chest. In such damp, cold weather, the only thing she could dream of was getting home, wrapped in warmth and silence. She had missed that more than anything after such a long and tiring day.
She turned into a familiar alleyway—a shortcut home. The street was nearly empty, save for a small group of girls gathered near a 24-hour store. They were chattering excitedly.
— I'm telling you, it was him! I'm sure of it! — one of them shouted.
Su Min walked past, ignoring the commotion. The girls were loudly discussing something, and she caught only a few words in passing, not enough to make sense of it. Probably talking about some handsome schoolboy—or maybe something else entirely. She thought briefly of those who spent hours obsessing over their idols, like true fans. It wasn't her world—her reality was far removed. And yet, somewhere deep inside, she felt a flicker of sympathy for those who, having become famous, could no longer simply be. Couldn't disappear from sight. Couldn't step into the shadows.
What she didn't know was that just minutes earlier, something entirely different had taken place in that very alley.
***
He had stepped outside, thinking about how stupidly he had lost a bet with the other members. It wasn't a big deal—just buying dinner for everyone—but still, it stung a little. He was the one who had chosen the game, "Ttari," and he'd lost. At least it was a good excuse to get some fresh air and unwind after rehearsal—to disappear into the background and just breathe. He had assumed it would only take a few minutes.
The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled low, as far as it would go. The collar of his coat was turned up. He hoped his appearance would go unnoticed, that he could just slip away—be alone, if only for a moment.
But no.
— It's him! Look, that's him!
He froze. The shock hit him hard. The moment he stepped out, he was spotted—girls, their eyes lighting up in immediate recognition. They identified him without hesitation. He hadn't imagined he'd draw attention so quickly. He'd hoped the casual disguise would be enough—just buy dinner and head home. But reality had other plans. He hadn't anticipated such persistence—or those eyes, burning with breathless excitement.
He picked up the pace, suppressing a swell of frustration. All he wanted was a few minutes of peace. But as always, his private moments were never his own—claimed by those who believed he was part of their reality.
Voices. Footsteps. Too loud. Too eager. He clenched his jaw. Behind him—squeals, laughter, cries, cameras.
— Let's take a picture, please! I'm your biggest fan! I love you! — a high school girl cried, lunging toward him. She grabbed his sleeve, her fingers clutching the fabric desperately.
He yanked his arm free, barely containing his irritation.
"You're all the same. Clinging fingers. Empty declarations. I didn't come out here for this."
He said nothing. Didn't look back. His heart thundered in his chest as he strode away, hands buried in his coat pockets.
The street curved sharply—and he followed it.
The noise faded, but the footsteps behind him quickened. Louder. He'd hit a dead end.
— Damn it, — he cursed under his breath.
He stopped abruptly, eyeing a low fence—he could climb over it, lose them for good. But he miscalculated—his hand slipped. Metal tore at his skin. He landed hard, stumbling, pain flaring in his palm.
— Shit…
Luckily, the girls hadn't followed him around the corner. He could hear them stop at the alley's entrance. One of them spoke.
— Maybe it wasn't him after all…
— No, I swear it was! Let's check over there—I think he turned that way. — She pointed to the next street, and they hurried off in a different direction.
They were gone.
And he was left behind. In this damned alley. He leaned against the brick wall, staring at his bleeding hand.
Blood dripped onto the pavement. His fingers throbbed. His body still buzzed with adrenaline.
"Just a cut. Just fans. Just another night. Same as always."
He closed his eyes. Just stand here. Just wait it out.
***
Barely a few dozen steps later, Su Min slowed her pace. At the edge of the alley, half-shrouded in shadow, someone was standing.
A young man.
He hadn't seen her yet. He stood alone, leaning against the brick wall, staring at his hand. The streetlamp overhead caught glints of crimson—blood trickled down his fingers.
He was injured.
Her heart jumped.
"Maybe I should walk past… You never know who someone is…"
He stood motionless, as if lost. There was no threat in his posture—no aggression, only weariness and something else. Something fragile.
Something made her pause. And step forward.
— Are you… — she hesitated, — are you alright? — her voice trembled, and for a moment she doubted whether she should've spoken at all.
Too late. The words were already out.
She clutched her bag strap tighter, as if it could protect her.
The man lifted his gaze sharply. Pale golden eyes—wary, slightly confused—met hers. He looked as though he hadn't expected anyone to see him.
— I'm fine, — he said hoarsely, a beat too late to sound convincing. — Just… cut myself.
He awkwardly lowered his hand, as if to hide it, but the blood kept dripping.
Su Min didn't move, studying his face—or rather, what little of it she could see beneath the hood and cap.
She still hesitated. This could be dangerous. But if he meant her harm… wouldn't he have done something already?
He looked lost. More hurt than dangerous.
Su Min exhaled and slowly reached into her coat pocket.
A white handkerchief—too clean, too personal. It should've meant nothing. And yet, it was the first thing she gave him. She always carried one. Just in case.
And the case had come.
— Press this. — She stood before him, already offering the white, clean cloth. — At least you won't get more blood everywhere.
He hesitated, then took it, pressing it tightly to the wound.
— Thank you, — he muttered. His voice was rough, as though he hadn't spoken in a long time.
"Who is he?.. Why is he so… strange?" — Su Min frowned, her eyes still fixed on him.
He stood slightly off to the side, deliberately keeping to the shadows. He looked suspicious—dark coat, hood, cap pulled low. His face barely visible—just the hint of a chin, lips. Everything about him seemed… careless. But not carelessness—it was deliberate. As if he didn't want to be remembered.
*"He's not from around here… What is he doing here?
A thug? A spy? Or just a lunatic?.."*
— Do you have anything on you? Like a band-aid, maybe? — she asked, already rummaging through her bag.
After a moment of searching, she pulled one from its wrapper and handed it to him:
— Here. Once the bleeding stops, use this. But really, you should disinfect it. Otherwise, it might get infected.
He nodded silently, taking the band-aid and slipping it into his coat pocket. Her calmness unsettled him.
No questions, no starstruck looks, no attempt at a photo. Just help—quiet, with no strings attached.
She didn't recognize him? Or was she pretending? Was she faking it—trying to get closer?
The thought wouldn't leave him.
— Sorry this turned out… weird, — he murmured, unsure how to finish the sentence. He glanced at her, searching for the right words. — I didn't expect anyone to come over.
— It's alright, — she said gently, her voice calm, almost warm. — Sometimes you help someone. No reason needed.
She smiled softly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, and stepped away, heading toward the alley's exit.
— Wait!… Your handkerchief… — His voice faded as he realized she was already melting into the dark. He looked at the cloth, uncertain, and clenched it in his fist.
She had left behind something invisible—something hard to define. A warm handkerchief. A human kindness. And for some reason, it felt more important than anything that had come before.
He looked at the fabric, still feeling her presence lingering in the air.
"What was that?" — he asked himself, but no answer came.
And yet, it was something he couldn't quite let go.
***
Su Min walked briskly through the cool streets, the weight of fatigue settling heavily on her shoulders. After the long day at the gallery, all she wanted was to get home and bury herself in silence.
But the stranger lingered in her thoughts.
"Who was he? Why was he so surprised I helped him? What was he doing in that alley? How did he hurt himself?"
Without realizing, she reached into her coat pocket. The handkerchief was gone. Like the moment itself—vanished.
She remembered how her grandmother used to say a handkerchief was something meant for another, for someone else. But she hadn't thought about the meaning of the gesture when she handed it to the stranger. She had simply decided to help.
She looked up at the sky. The city lights made it hard to see stars, but through the thick haze, the moon shone through—bright, solitary, like a reminder of something essential.
Peace.
A quiet, simple feeling she'd missed so much lately.
Reaching her door, she pulled out her keys and, as always, paused briefly before carefully sliding them into the lock. The familiar click was comforting, almost soothing. She turned the key and stepped inside.
The apartment greeted her with silence—warm and still, just as always. The darkness filling the rooms felt cozy, as though shielding her from the outside world. Su Min shut the door, letting the sense of solitude envelop her.
Kicking off her shoes at the entrance, she walked in, unbuttoning her coat as she went. Her movements were automatic—she was too tired to think.
Coat—over the back of a chair.Bag—somewhere on the couch.Shirt—missed the armchair.
Leaving behind scattered bits of the day, Su Min walked into the bathroom, pulling her hair free from its clip. Chestnut waves spilled over her shoulders, brushing bare skin in soft cascades.
— What a crazy day… — she sighed, turning on the water.
The bra straps slid lazily down her arms, the fabric falling silently to the floor. Her panties followed with a soft rustle—and nothing now stood between her and the long-awaited calm. She stepped over them and moved toward the bath, where warm water, like liquid silk, slowly filled the tub.
Without waiting for it to fill completely, Su Min slipped in, stretched out her legs, and rested her head on the edge. The warmth wrapped around her, washing away exhaustion, dissolving the heaviness of thought.
Silence.No voices.No rush.No tension.Only the muted sound of water, carrying the day away.
But memory is a capricious thing—rising from the depths came the image of the mysterious young man. His face, hidden in the shadow of a cap, slipped from view, remaining a blurred silhouette in her mind. Only the pale golden eyes had flashed briefly in the dimness—alert, with a flicker of surprise.
The way he had hesitated when accepting the white handkerchief, as though unsure what to do with it.The way his golden eyes clung to her, as if trying to understand something.
She smiled faintly… but then quickly brushed the thought away.
The world is full of chance encounters.
And this one… would likely be forgotten by morning.