When the Han River Sleeps
Petals on Concrete
Morning found Yuna hunched at her tiny kitchen table, trying to capture dawn’s glow in watercolor before fully waking. The river’s quiet, the city’s hush all blurred into a gentle ache beneath her ribs. Her mother bustled in, floral apron tied tight.
“Did you stay up late again? Your eyes…” Mrs. Min’s voice trailed with the barest hint of concern, spoon poised over steaming rice porridge.
Yuna managed a small smile. “I went for a walk. By 한강 (Han River). It helps me think.”
Her mother clucked her tongue, soft but resigned. “Just be careful, 윤아야. The world isn’t always safe, even when it sleeps.”
Later, walking to her part-time café job, cherry trees lined the path, scattering petals over her shoulders. The air smelled of grass and distant spices. She hummed a half-finished melody, not her own: something she remembered from last night’s encounter.
Behind the espresso bar, Yuna fumbled the cups, lost in thought. Her friend Ah-reum nudged her with a sly grin. “Another midnight sketching marathon? Or did you finally meet someone by the river, hmm?”
Heat flushed Yuna’s cheeks. “It’s not like that. I just—he was playing music. We barely spoke.”
“Still counts,” Ah-reum teased. She blew a stray petal from the counter, lowering her voice. “Sometimes the best beginnings are found after midnight.”
Yuna didn’t reply, only smiled into her mug, mind replaying the memory of Jihoon’s gentle promise. Coffee steamed in her hands, petals drifting past the café window like quiet reminders.
She wondered if the river would remember them.