Last Train to Seoul: 운명
The Return to Seoul
The crisp air of early autumn brushed softly through the gallery windows, carrying with it the distant hum of city life below. The walls of the exhibition space were adorned with Ha-eun’s photographs moments stretched between light and shadow, each frame a silent story whispered to the viewers.
She stood near the entrance, adjusting her scarf with trembling fingers, heart racing with anticipation and a trace of old nerves. Returning to Seoul was more than a professional milestone; it was a step back into a world that had tangled her emotions the last time she walked its bustling streets.
The room glowed with warm light, casting golden hues across faces young and old, strangers drawn in by the quiet power of captured memories. Ha-eun’s gaze drifted to the portraits of rainy platforms and empty benches echoes of a night that never fully left her.
Then, unexpectedly, among the crowd, she saw him.
Ji-won.
He stepped forward silently, his tailored suit trading the harsh glare of the office for the tender light of her world. His eyes held the same depth she remembered a mix of longing and unspoken question.
Their eyes met, and the room seemed to fade into soft murmurs, the gallery’s warmth now charged with a fragile electricity.
“Your work… it’s beautiful,” Ji-won said quietly, voice low enough only for her to hear.
Ha-eun’s breath hitched. “Thank you. I never imagined sharing it here.”
Ji-won smiled, a vulnerability beneath his usual composure. “I couldn’t stay away.”
They moved side by side through the exhibit, touching on favorite pieces and the stories behind them Ha-eun’s voice steady but her heart pounding beneath the delicate rhythm of their reunion.
Outside, the season turned leaves to fire, and the city’s pulse slowed to match their tentative steps back into each other’s orbits.
The return to Seoul was not only a physical journey but a crossing back into the tangled web of possibility, where past shadows and future hopes danced side by side under autumn’s fading light.