The late-night plane ticket. The last-minute sublet in Seoul. The hastily packed suitcase that sat slightly too heavy on your shoulders and your heart.
Everyone had called it a break. “You just need to clear your head.” “Get away for a little while.” “Find yourself again.”
You weren’t sure who you were supposed to find. Or what.
All you knew was that something about your life back home had begun to feel too small, too predictable. Like you were playing a role you didn’t remember auditioning for—smiling in the right places, saying the right things, and ignoring the quiet ache that whispered this isn’t it.
So you left. Not with a dramatic goodbye, just… a quiet promise to yourself:
Try something different. Open a new door. Even if it’s scary. Even if it’s a little lonely.
And now here you were—Seoul, South Korea. A city buzzing with people who didn’t know your name. No expectations. No pressure. Just you, a pair of worn-in sneakers, and the faint hope that maybe, somehow, you’d bump into something—or someone—that would make you feel a little less lost.
You didn’t know yet that it would happen on a street corner, beneath the golden glow of early evening.
You didn’t know that a stranger with kind eyes and a soft laugh would stop to help.
And you definitely didn’t know that this was where the story really began.
Prologue END.
You weren’t lost. Not exactly. You had a map app open, your hotel address typed in, and a vague sense of direction. But Seoul was a lot bigger and louder than you expected—and even with GPS, the blinking blue dot just kept circling itself like it was confused too.
It was early evening, golden hour melting across the skyscrapers and buzzing streets. You stood at the corner of a café tucked between two small boutiques, trying to look casual while your phone refused to connect to Wi-Fi.
"Ugh," you mumbled under your breath, tilting your phone and scanning the street signs written in Hangul you hadn’t fully mastered yet.
“You alright?”
The voice was warm. Kind. Slightly accented. You turned and saw him: a guy in a hoodie and black jeans, mask tugged under his chin, a coffee cup in hand. His brown hair peeked out from under a cap, soft curls just brushing his ears.
You blinked. He looked… familiar?
“Oh—uh, yeah,” you replied quickly, flustered. “Just a bit turned around. My phone’s being weird and I’m trying to find my hotel.”
He glanced at your screen, then at the street signs. “Ah, that place’s a few blocks over,” he said, pointing. “You actually walked past it.”
You sighed. “Of course I did.”
He smiled at that. “It’s easy to miss—Seoul’s got a million tiny turns. Want me to walk you there?”
You hesitated. He could be anyone. Then again, he had kind eyes. And you were tired of playing map roulette.
“Sure,” you said slowly. “That would be amazing. Thanks.”
“No problem. I’m Chris, by the way.”
You shook his hand. “Y/N.”
There was a pause as the two of you started walking side by side through the late-summer crowd. His steps matched yours naturally, unhurried.
“Visiting?” he asked.
“Yeah. First time here. I’m actually staying for a while—some classes, a little traveling.”
“Nice. Seoul’s great once you get used to the chaos.”
“Do you live here?”
“Sort of,” he said, sipping his coffee. “I’m here most of the year for work.”
You nodded, curious. “What kind of work?”
He smiled vaguely. “Music stuff. Producing. Bit of everything.”
That clicked. His face, the voice, the familiarity. Your eyes widened slightly but you tried to play it cool. Bang Chan. From Stray Kids. You’d seen clips of him online, watched interviews. But he didn’t seem like he was trying to be recognized right now—and honestly, he was helping you out of pure kindness.
You decided not to say anything. Yet.
“Is that why you offered to help?” you joked. “You rescue all lost tourists, or just ones who look this confused?”
He laughed, a low, easy sound. “Only the ones who look like they’re about to fight their phone.”
You smiled, feeling the tension ease in your shoulders for the first time all day.
Five minutes later, you were standing in front of your hotel. “Wow. That was embarrassingly close.”
“I told you,” he said, teasing. “You passed it.”
You laughed. “Well—thank you. Seriously.”
He hesitated, then looked at you thoughtfully. “You want a real introduction to Seoul sometime? Not the tourist map version?”
You blinked. “Like… a local guide?”
“Sort of,” he said with a smile that curved at the edges. “A coffee and street-food tour. I promise I’m not a serial killer.”
You laughed again, heart skipping. “Okay. Sure. That sounds… amazing.”
He nodded. “I’ll give you my number. You can text me when you’re free.”
You handed him your phone, and as he typed it in, you noticed how gentle his hands were. He gave it back, smiled once more, then turned.
“See you soon, Y/N.”
And just like that, he disappeared into the crowd, hoodie pulled up, coffee in hand.
You stood there for a moment, staring at your phone where Chris was now saved in your contacts.
There’s a strange moment in life that no one talks about.
The one that sits quietly after you make a big change…
…but before anything starts to feel different.
You were in that space now.
The city around you buzzed with noise and motion—horns honking, coffee machines hissing, conversations in a language you were still learning to catch. And yet, you felt like you were floating just outside of it all, like someone had pressed pause on your life while everything else kept moving.
You weren’t lonely exactly.
Just a little… untethered.
Like your soul hadn’t quite arrived yet, even though your body had.
You weren’t looking for anyone. Not here. Not really. You’d told yourself this was a trip to reset. To breathe. To figure things out on your own.
But sometimes—just sometimes—life doesn’t wait for you to have a plan.
Sometimes, a stranger with a hoodie and a soft voice walks into your orbit when you least expect it.
And even though your heart was still a little bruised, and your life still a little messy…
…you couldn’t help but wonder what might happen if you texted him back.
Just a coffee.
Just a tour.
Just a maybe.
Prologue END.
You stared at your phone for a full ten minutes before typing anything.
hey! this is y/n—the tourist you rescued from map meltdown :)
Then deleted it.
Rewrote it again.
hi chris! hope i’m not texting too soon but thanks again for helping me yesterday <3
Too soft.
Too eager.
You groaned into your pillow. It had only been one day since you met him—“Chris,” the kind stranger with warm eyes and a laugh that felt like a memory you never knew you had. And now, your phone sat glowing on the nightstand like it was daring you to text him and ruin everything.
But you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he hadn’t rushed. The way he’d offered to walk you instead of just pointing and walking away. And the fact that, deep down, you were pretty sure he was Bang Chan from Stray Kids.
Still, he’d asked you to text. That had to mean something. Right?
You chewed your lip, took a deep breath, and finally sent:
Hey! It’s Y/N. I’m free tomorrow if your offer for a city tour still stands :)
You stared at the screen. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.
[Chris: Of course it does. I know a place with the best tteokbokki in all of Seoul. 2pm? I’ll meet you there.]
Your heart stuttered. Then your stomach growled.
You were five minutes late.
In your defense, the stairs out of the subway had tried to eat your suitcase-like tote bag, you’d dropped your chapstick under a busker’s amp, and—because your life was a comedy—you’d nearly tripped walking out of the station and into the street.
Smooth.
But when you finally spotted him leaning casually against a brick wall outside a cozy-looking food stall—cap pulled low, black hoodie again—you swore you forgot what embarrassment even was.
He looked up at just the right second, and when your eyes met, he smiled. That same soft, familiar smile. The one that made it feel like he already knew you.
“You made it,” he said.
“Barely,” you admitted. “I may have almost gotten eaten by the subway.”
Chris laughed, stepping beside you and falling into pace. “That’s why I gave you extra time. You seemed like someone who might have a few… detours.”
You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Are you calling me clumsy?”
“I’m saying you look like trouble,” he grinned. “The charming kind.”
Your cheeks warmed. He was teasing. But not in the way people back home had—this was light, kind, gentle. The kind of teasing that said: I see you. And I don’t mind.
The food stall he took you to was tucked into a quiet alley, with red plastic chairs and steaming plates already crowding the tables. A local spot—not fancy, but real. You sat across from him on a stool that wobbled slightly, feeling like you were in on a secret.
“Try this,” he said, scooping tteokbokki onto your plate. “Spicy, but not the kind that tries to end your life.”
You took a bite.
And nearly cried.
“Okay,” you said through a full mouth, “you weren’t exaggerating.”
Chris beamed proudly. “I never joke about food.”
You ended up staying there for nearly two hours. Talking about everything and nothing. He asked about what brought you to Seoul, and you told him the half-truth: “I needed a break.” You didn’t mention the heartbreak or the job you’d quit or the way you sometimes felt like a puzzle missing half its pieces.
He didn’t push. Just nodded like he understood, and told you about the city in return—the quiet corners people missed, the parks hidden between high rises, the cafés with walls covered in Polaroids.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, he asked:
“Do you usually talk this much when you’re nervous?”
Your chopsticks froze mid-air. “I’m not nervous.”
He arched a brow.
“…Okay maybe a little.”
Chris laughed again, eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s cute.”
You stared at him. “You just called me cute while I’m holding a fish cake on a stick.”
“It’s your moment,” he said seriously. “Own it.”
When you both finally got up to leave, the sun had dipped low and the streetlights were flickering on, casting a soft golden glow over the alley. The walk back was quieter—not awkward, just comfortable.
“Thanks for today,” you said. “I mean it. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”
He looked at you then—really looked—and something in his expression softened.
“Then I hope this is the first of many.”
You both stood in front of a small bookstore now, the kind with fairy lights in the window and a bell that jingled when someone walked in. You weren’t ready to say goodbye. Not yet.
Chris glanced at the sign, then back at you.
“Want to go in?”
You hesitated.
Then nodded.
And as the two of you stepped inside, the doorbell chiming above your heads, you had the smallest, quietest thought:
