When the Han River Sleeps
Shadows and Sketches
Yuna shivered, pulling her denim jacket closer as a breath of spring swept off the water. Above, the bridge lights flickered with hesitant energy, their reflection stretching long and uncertain over the sleeping Han River. She traced the scene with delicate pencil strokes, the tip scratching softly against her sketchbook. Her fingers ached, but the city’s hush soothed her restlessness—a lullaby in painted neon.
She hesitated, rubbing the edge of her sleeve. Drawing here “after curfew,” as her mother called it, felt like rebellion, yet she always returned. Tonight: cherry blossoms scattered around her sneakers, one loose petal caught on her shoelace. She bent, absently freeing it with a gentle touch.
Behind her, footsteps crunched on the gravel.
“Are you… an artist?” The stranger’s voice was low, oddly melodic, and cautious in the midnight air.
Yuna stiffened. She glanced up, meeting the eyes of a young man with messy dark hair, a sleepless cast to his features. He held a coffee cup, steam curling in the chill. His hoodie seemed a little too thin for the night, while the instrument case at his side betrayed a musician’s restlessness.
“I… I just draw when I can’t sleep.” Her reply fluttered, hesitant, before settling into the hush.
He nodded, lips twitching in a half-smile. “Music does that for me. Sometimes the city feels like it’s breathing softer, you know?” He gestured toward the moonlit towers. Yuna half-smiled in return.
She watched Jihoon as he settled onto the concrete, careful not to disrupt the scattered petals. Silence stretched between them, but not uncomfortably. The river’s surface gleamed, a silent confidant to their insomnia.
“Do you always come here alone?” Jihoon asked, voice almost a whisper.
Yuna hesitated. “Not always.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling the familiar ache in her chest. “But tonight, I think… I needed someone to see me.”
The wind teased at her sketchbook, fluttering the pages. Jihoon sipped his coffee, studying her in the quiet that only Seoul’s midnight could offer. “If you ever want to know what a river listens to… I could play for you. Just once.”
She blinked, heart catching. For a moment, even the Han seemed to pause, waiting for her answer.
“Maybe,” she replied, voice soft as blossom petals. “Maybe I do.”