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This light novel is inspired by the beautiful landscapes and cultures of Bolivia and South Korea. However, the characters, events, and situations portrayed are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental. This content does not intend to represent or reflect the historical, social, or cultural reality of either country. The author disclaims any legal liability arising from the interpretation of these elements.
Chapter 89 — Sing, Even If You Don't Want To
89.1 A Meaningful Song.
The private karaoke room was bathed in soft lights.
A large screen displayed Korean lyrics, while glasses, beers, and snacks piled up on the table.
The businessmen were laughing; some were singing,
others just watching.
Zayra sat next to Ryu, looking around with curiosity.
The setting felt both familiar and foreign at the same time.
One of the wives elegant,
with an impeccable face and a barely-there smile watched her with calculated attention.
"What a pity you can't sing."
She said in a soft, almost compassionate tone.
Zayra held her gaze.
She had been tolerating similar comments for hours,
and though she had deflected many with humor, she felt her patience thinning.
Besides, the wine wasn't helping.
She knew how to maintain her glamour even with alcohol in her system, but when provoked too far…
honesty tended to slip out more than intended.
She tilted her head, sensing this wasn't an innocent observation, but a test.
She gave a faint smile and asked
"Sorry?"
The woman didn't back down.
"Karaoke is a tradition here.
But of course… not all foreigners can sing in Korean."
Zayra responded with that unpredictable gesture many had come to know.
She looked at her with incredulity and thought.
"Obviously I can't sing in Korean, but in Spanish…"
She leaned her hands on the table, stood up calmly and spoke.
"I can't sing? Let's see if that's true."
Ryu looked up, surprised.
He straightened his back without realizing it, as if his body had reacted before his mind.
"I'm going to sing."
She announced.
"But in my own language."
She walked toward the console.
Ryu knit his brows slightly, thinking.
"This isn't the place."
The musical introduction began to play.
Upon hearing the melody, a part of him wanted to pull her off the stage immediately.
But he couldn't stop her without drawing more attention than necessary.
He knew that song… it was too intimate for this space.
He thought about interrupting her but dismissed it instantly.
"Not now. Not like this," he thought.
Zayra chose the track:
"Adoro" — Mariachi version.
***
As the microphone rested in her hands, a memory exploded in her mind,
vivid as a childhood postcard.
"Mom, I don't want to sing!"
Little Zayra, about nine years old, protested while clinging to her sister Camila.
"Me neither!"
Camila said, her eyes glistening.
Their mother, arms crossed and gaze firm, didn't budge an inch.
"What do you mean you don't want to? Are you full of complexes?"
She said with authority.
"In this house, we sing, we laugh, and we share.
Even if you sing like wet cats, I don't care. Sing!"
"But Mom… I'm embarrassed…"
"Embarrassment doesn't put food on the table."
She replied without hesitation.
"Character. That's what you need. And learning to shine wherever you go. So, sing."
And there they were: two little girls, one on-key and the other squeaky as a kitten,
singing through laughter and tears under their mother's proud gaze.
The warm dirt patio, the glasses of chicha,
and the laughter of cousins completed the scene.
***
Zayra took a deep breath.
The memory dissipated as she raised the mic.
She looked at Ryu with sweetness… and began to sing.
"Adoro… la calle en que nos vimos… la noche cuando nos conocimos…"
Ryu didn't look at her right away.
He looked at the others.
identified forced smiles, genuine surprise, and at least two people recording.
He even memorized every reaction.
That could wait.
The exposure,
however, could not.
After a few minutes,
the room fell silent.
No one understood the words, but the tremble in her voice, the honesty of her expression,
and the strength of the mariachi said more than any translation.
He took a step forward, then stopped.
Any move now would be interpreted as a public correction.
He inhaled deeply, repeating in his mind.
"Later."
89.2 After Adoro
The taxi ride was silent.
Zayra rested her head against the window with her eyes closed, breathing deeply,
as if she were still holding herself together by pure willpower.
She had drunk more than usual,
but she remained serene until they reached the building.
Ryu watched her out of the corner of his eye.
Even exhausted, she was still composed.
"At least until we got here."
He thought.
Once in the apartment, he helped her take off her shoes.
She murmured something unintelligible a soft, almost childish protest before surrendering to the mattress.
Ryu tucked the blanket over her and turned off the main light.
He sighed.
The night wasn't over for him.
He stood there for a few seconds,
watching her sleep, and then everything he had suppressed began to organize itself in his head.
"How many people had recorded? Who smiled out of politeness?
Who out of discomfort? Would they talk tomorrow?"
In Korea, none of that went unnoticed.
Especially when it involved him.
Ryu sat in the chair near the bed, loosening his tie with a slow movement.
He wasn't upset.
That was the worst part.
If he had been angry, it would have been easier.
It was restlessness and anticipation,
mixed with the uncomfortable feeling of being too late to a decision.
Ryu knew Zayra hadn't sung to show off; she had been provoked.
He knew that in her world, singing was about sharing, not exposing oneself.
And yet… this wasn't Bolivia.
This was Korea.
It wasn't the karaoke itself that weighed on him.
It was the context.
The stares.
The exact place where she had decided to be herself.
Ryu closed his eyes for a moment.
He decided not to say anything.
They would return to Bolivia soon, and this would be left behind.
Not for lack of words, but for fear that, in this state, any of them would do more harm than necessary.
Besides, he knew: if something hurt Zayra, she didn't argue.
She left.
He told himself:
"It not worth it now."
And so, he chose to delay and remain silent.
A mistaken decision.
Though he didn't know it yet.
***
He stood up and approached the bed again.
The dim light of the nightstand lamp illuminated the Toborochi flower locket resting on the table.
"Adoro…"
He thought.
The song was still there, insistent, as if it had become trapped between the walls of the apartment.
He didn't need to translate it. He never had.
The words didn't reach him as sentences, but as sensations.
"I adore the street where we met
I adore the way you smile
And the way you sometimes scold me."
Ryu swallowed hard.
He adored her, too.
Of that, he no longer had any doubt.
But he didn't know how to say it.
Not like her with music, nor with open words.
He sat on the edge of the bed, still dressed, hands clasped over his knees.
He remembered, involuntarily, those soap operas his Latin nannies used to watch when he was a child.
Serious men.
Women completely in love.
Words that seemed simple and changed everything.
Back then, he didn't understand why they trembled.
Now he did.
Zayra didn't just love him.
She had chosen him.
And, though he didn't want to admit it yet, a part of him was afraid.
Afraid of saying something wrong, of losing her.
Or even worse that a correction from him today would become a problem tomorrow.
He lay down beside her carefully, without waking her.
He brushed a lock of hair from her face, barely touching her with his fingers.
"I adore you too, Zayra…" he thought.
"I just don't know how to tell you yet.
And… though I don't want to admit it, I'm afraid you'll leave."
He closed his eyes.
The song kept playing in his head.
And the error,
silent and still, had already been made.