Episode 48
10 December 2025, Wednesday. Afternoon. SNU, Building 25, Natural Sciences Library, reading room.
Mi-yeon listened without interrupting.
She didn't rush him, didn't correct him mid-sentence. She simply let his frustration finish unfolding, the way she had learned to let equations fail on the page before rewriting them properly.
When Den finally stopped, silence settled between them.
She kept looking at him for a moment longer than necessary. Not at his books, not at the poems, but at his face—tense, earnest, almost offended by the texts themselves.
Then she spoke quietly.
"Den," she said, "you keep trying to find in each poem some sort of direct author's message."
He frowned.
"Isn't that the whole point of analysis?"
She shifted in her chair, turning slightly toward him, lowering her voice even more. Around them, pages rustled, pens scratched, someone coughed. The library breathed around them—softly, almost cautiously.
"In our literature classes," she continued, "analysis is not about what the author wanted to say. That question is already too… aggressive."
He opened his mouth, but she raised a hand gently, stopping him—not commanding, just asking for a moment.
"Let me show you."
She reached for his notebook and carefully rewrote the first poem, slowly, line by line, translating to English.
눈이 내린다. Snow falls.
사방이 고요하다. It is quiet all around.
사람은 아무도 없다. There is no one here.
나만 여기 있다. I am here.
She didn't embellish. Didn't explain—not yet.
"What do you think about this poem?" Mi-yeon asked.
Den shrugged in light frustration.
"I dunno. Someone missed the last bus and got stuck at the stop until morning."
She smiled—not mocking, just fond, almost apologetic.
"That's the Russian part of you," she said softly. "You're looking for a cause."
She tapped the page with her finger.
"But Korean poems aren't built on cause. They're built on condition. On tone. On an implied theme."
She pointed again.
"The poem isn't hiding a story from you.
It's telling you: this is the world right now. At this moment."
Den blinked.
"So… nothing happened?"
Mi-yeon nodded.
"Yes. But not simply nothing happened. More like—the sensation that nothing is happening."
She wrote four words beside the poem:
Silence. Isolation. Stillness. Emptiness.
"You don't need to explain why," she said. "You need to name what it feels like."
Den leaned back slightly, unconvinced but listening.
"And the second one?" he asked. "Grass Flower?"
Mi-yeon turned the page of Den's notebook and wrote:
자세히 보아야 예쁘다.
오래 보아야 사랑스럽다.
너도 그렇다.
Her voice was soft, almost dissolving into the low hush of the reading room as she read it to him.
She glanced at him and wrote a translation in English.
You have to look closely to see the beauty
You have to look for a long time before you can truly love it.
You are the same.
"What do you think this one is about?" Mi-yeon asked softly and looked at him.
She pushed his notebook back toward him.
Their fingers brushed.
Both of them froze.
Their eyes met—and neither looked away.
Den let out a slow breath. Not relief—something closer to a reaction to the sudden intimacy.
"I am completely lost. A dandelion?
Or maybe…it's about a girl?"
Mi-yeon was lost in time.
No. Not a girl…
You were thinking… of me?
But then, frustrated So-mi, who was sitting next to them, in the next row of tables, turned around and hissed:
"You two are so loud and annoying!
No. It's not about a girl.
Typical. A hungry man only dreams of meat.
The poem shows that beauty can't be grasped in a hurry. It demands time and effort."
She looked at Den's confused face and rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Ugh… Let me explain it in terms any guy would understand.
Why do people kiss? To analyze how much saliva exchange would happen?
Or to experience emotions?"
Den replied with a hint of uncertainty.
"To experience emotions?"
So-mi smiled victoriously. "Glad you know at least this much. Think of poems as kisses. Read to experience emotions, don't get stuck on mechanics."
Den said hesitantly, "Okay."
So-mi added while turning back, "Great. Now shut up, both of you, you are distracting me."
Den helplessly looked at Mi-yeon. She pressed her lips together trying not to laugh.
Finally, Mi-yeon looked back at her matrix problems, but she didn't pick up her pen. She just stared at the numbers, her face still glowing from the lingering laugh—and something else.
Den stayed quiet for a while, thinking through what Mi-yeon and So-mi had said.
He searched for something on his phone, opened a dictionary, skimmed through his notes again.
For a moment, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling, the tip of his pen resting against his lower lip. Then he bent over a clean sheet of paper and began to write carefully in Korean.
He crossed it out.
Thought again.
Wrote once more.
After several iterations, he lightly touched Mi-yeon's elbow, careful not to startle her, and showed her the page.
"Does this count as a poem?" he asked.
별들은 보이지만
달에게는 무심한 얼음빛
해는 온기를 안고
헤매는 길, 달을 향한
달아, 두려워 말거라
검게 타버리는 해가
너 하나만을 비출 때
She read:
The stars may be seen,
yet to the moon they give only a cold, indifferent glow.
The sun carries warmth,
but wanders endlessly, reaching for the moon.
Moon, do not be afraid.
Even if I burn myself into darkness,
I will shine for you alone.
While she was still reading, Den quietly began packing his things. By the time she reached the last line, he was already standing.
When Mi-yeon finally lifted her eyes, still deciding how to respond, he spoke softly, already halfway turned away.
"You don't have to say anything," he said. "But if this is even remotely a poem… then I'm gifting it to you. Thank you for helping me."
He hesitated for half a second, then added lightly,
"I'll go put the books back. I think that's enough studying for today. We should probably get dinner."
Mi-yeon nodded, her voice coming out a little unsure.
"Yes… you're right. We've been here since morning. We should eat."
But as she said it, her eyes dropped back to the paper in her hands.
He wrote this… after what I said.
Not for the exam. Not to pass.
He wrote it for me.
Her chest felt strangely tight, as if something warm and fragile had been placed there without asking permission.
It's beautiful…but…
Is this what he thinks?
That he will burn out… If he chooses to be with me?
She watched his back as he disappeared between the shelves, moving unhurriedly, as if nothing important had just happened.
Mi-yeon carefully folded the page and slipped it between her notebook covers, pressing it flat with her palm—as though afraid it might disappear if she didn't hold it in place.
Then, very quietly, so no one else could hear, she whispered to herself:
Don't worry. We will find our way. Without sacrifices.
10 December 2025, Wednesday. Late evening. Yuna's rented room.
Yuna sat in her room surrounded by textbooks, trying to force herself to study for exams.
Every few minutes, her eyes flicked toward her phone. Restless. Uneasy.
The screen was dark.
She checked it anyway.
No new messages.
Her face held a strange mixture of sadness and relief at the same time—as if she was waiting for a message and fearing it in equal measure.
Then the phone chimed.
Yuna set her book aside immediately.
It was from him.
Tomorrow I'm going to buy tickets to Seoul.
I'll travel to see you during the break.
I miss you so much. Waiting is so hard.
Her smile appeared instantly—sincere, bright.
All the doubts of the past months seemed to loosen their grip.
He was really coming.
She would finally see him. Hold his hand. Take selfies together. He would be real, present, beside her, then all her silly worries would wash away.
She imagined them walking together, sharing food—offering him a piece of pork from her plate.
Imagined her parents' reactions when they met him.
In her mind, everything settled neatly into place.
She typed back quickly.
I'm so happy, oppa.
It's impossible to be without you like this.
I'm tired of being alone.
I cry a lot when I miss you.
When you're next to me, everything will finally make sense.
The reply came almost immediately.
Her smile faded as she read.
But Yuna… this is very expensive for me. I need to be sure that if I come to Seoul, pay for the bus, pay for a hotel, it won't be for nothing.
This isn't a joke for me. It's serious. I need to know for sure that our love is real.
That you're not playing with my feelings, and that you won't change your number or not show up when I come.
Send me photos of you in your underwear.
It will be enough proof that you love me as much as you say.
As much as I love you, sweetie.
She stared at the screen.
Put the phone down.
Picked it up again.
Put it down once more.
She didn't know how to answer.
She was afraid to refuse—and couldn't bring herself to agree.
Yuna picked up her textbook, tried to read.
She couldn't.
She just sat there, eyes full of doubt and confusion, staring at nothing.
Why does doing what the person I love asks feel so wrong?
Shouldn't I be happy to give my love?
As she bit her lip, with guilt written across her face, she locked the door to her room and closed the blinds on her window.