The arrival in Korea was one of those moments in life where you don't think—you just act.
No thoughts. Just motion.
A step into something vast. Significant. In the days before, nervous tension had curled tighter by the hour—escalating, compressing—until I finally boarded the plane. Now I stared out the window, the clouds below reflecting my old life. So close. Yet already slipping out of reach.During the flight, I began deleting memories, thoughts, people—like hitting delete on a hard drive. Irrelevant. Outdated. I was caught in a state between dream and reality.Hours blurred by as I tried to sleep, until the plane finally began its descent.
When I stepped out of the airport building with the little luggage I'd brought, it didn't feel like my first time in Seoul. It felt like coming home. Only—I didn't know anything here. Except the pictures I had seen back home. Wrong. Not back home. Because this… this was my home now I thought with a smile on my face. I stretched my tense body and looked around. The airport was a pool of people pouring in every direction. I moved through the crowd, inconspicuous, my focus locked on a goal I could already see behind my eyelids. A goal hidden somewhere in tthe heart of Seoul, waiting for me. In a place where everything seemed possible, all I had to do was reach out—and I would. Without hesitation.
The first days in Seoul were a blur of disorientation and the slow, creeping sensation of losing control. I hated it. But eventually, I began to adapt. I let the culture pull me in—the food, the language, the people. I kept studying Korean until one day, I stopped hesitating and started speaking. The unfamiliar streets became my playground. With every passing day, my fascination grew. I visited the museums and cafés Jhio had once mentioned in one of his rare interviews.I let myself drift—pretending I belonged here. And slowly, the city began to feel like it belonged to me.
I retraced his footsteps. Every place I could find. Every detail I could extract. His world had been vast. But I had time. Time to learn, to understand what he liked. Things he'd given away in careless moments to the internet. To me. I wasn't here for some grand meeting. It wasn't just about his physical presence hidden somewhere in this city. No. It was the knowing that he was somehow like me—that's what kept me going. Someone lurking behind a perfect fassade. Someone who buried more behind the lights than he'd ever show. We were alike, even if he didn't know it yet. And that's what made it so tempting. One day he'd notice me. I'd make sure of that. But until then, I would watch from the shadows. Wait. Shape the conditions in my favor.
Weeks passed. The city started opening up to me in its own way. I recognized the streets, the cafés, the restaurants near my new apartment. The screech of the subway, the faces of the people rushing to nearby stores each morning. But I still hadn't taken that final step.The step that would give me access to his world. And the one I had so carefully rebuilt—was ready to merge with his. To become part of it. I needed a place. One that wouldn't just bring me closer to that world. But to him.
I started looking around. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I'd never cared for easy. That evening, I sat in front of my laptop again, instant noodles in my lap, searching for updates. That was when I found it. The hidden key that would move my plan forward. I starred at the picture in silence. In the background of one of the newly posted photos, a street sign was visible.The caption was simple: "Finally back home in Seoul." The band stood together, all smiles. But not in their eyes. A few search queries and some Google Maps comparisons later—I had it.A hotel. Just a few blocks away. One of the more upscale areas. From my previous research, I knew the band always stayed in hotels for a few weeks before moving on.
I leaned back, as it sank in. This wasn't just any hotel. It was the kind of place where every step and every glance mattered. Where everything was about luxury and appearance. Exactly the kind of place he liked. A hiding spot from the world. An unspoken invitation—for me. The hotel's website was a helpful start. I scanned the job openings. Nothing new. Nothing useful. Until I saw it: A position at the front desk. Part-time. Flexible hours. Perfect.
The next day, I called HR. A few weeks ago, I had worked in HR myself. Almost disappointingly easy. With cool confidence, I presented myself as the perfect candidate—with a backstory as polished as any successful applicant's smile. A short résumé. An on-site interview where I stuck strictly to my qualifications. Never emotions. I didn't need to say much. My gaze, my posture, my well-groomed appearance—that was all they needed.
No doubts. It was an easy decision for them. I'd be working there. And once I was inside those hallways, I'd always be close to him. Connected—without him knowing. Soon, he would. Not yet.Not until everything was ready. The script not quite written.
The day I tried on my new uniform was the day I truly felt I had arrived in Korea. The hotel walls would wrap around me. And I would vanish in the shadows they cast. Sink deeper into the image I had so carefully created for myself. I would lose myself in the hallways. My eyes drawn to the elevator—maybe he was in it right now. Or I'd walk into the restaurant, where he and the band often ate. I knew it—I'd be in reach. So close. Yet hidden. At this hotel, I was just one of many.But I knew I was more than just another nameless employee. I was an observer. One who left nothing to chance.
I stared into the mirror in the employee lounge. Checked my appearance. Something in my eyes had changed, though I couldn't quite say what it was. But it was there. Hidden behind the bright blue of my gaze.I was no longer the invisible girl from before—the one who stared into mirrors wondering who she might become. Now I knew exactly who I was. And soon, he would too.
The first week was a game of patience. An invisible dance. The reception area, my new stage.Everyone who walked through the doors—a potential actor in my play. I studied my coworkers' faces just as much as the guests'. Analyzed who deserved more than a polite smile, who was worth noticing—and who wasn't. Every detail could matter. Anything could bring me closer to my goal.
He didn't come every day. But he came often enough. On the days he showed up, the hotel shifted. A quiet tension settled in. Like an electric hum that crawled under everyones skin.Subtle. But I felt it. And then—one morning. The sun barely pushing through the clouds, casting pale light through the tall windows of the lobby— I saw him. After all the waiting, he was so close. He walked in with the band. The sunlight gave him something otherworldly.The way he moved through the crowd, so sure of himself, like he was the center of everything—It made the moment all the more intense. I watched him from the corner of my eye while doing my job. Greeting guests at the desk. I was still the good employee wasn't I? Because I wasn't here to watch him, I was here to function. I had to treat him like any other guest—polite, professional, distant. I couldn't stand out. Not yet. The perfect employee. Always there. Always visible. But never remarkable. As the band neared the front desk, I excused myself and walked toward the restrooms. He hadn't seen me. Good. He didn't need to. My time would come.
The next days passed the same. I was nearby—but never too close. Moving through people like a ghost. Patient. Quiet. Still. Then something happened—something I hadn't planned. Call it fate.Or coincidence. With what I know now, I'd call it something else. But I didn't know that yet.
It was almost night. The last group of guests had checked in. I was walking the halls, doing one final round before the end of my shift. I turned a corner— And there he was. Not far away. No. Luck wasn't on the menu. He was right in front of me. So I bowed quickly and tried to pass him. Shit. I didn't like variables. Especially not unknown ones. His voice slid up my spine, sent a pleasant chill down my back.
"Are you off for the day?" he asked casually.
"I'm almost done," I replied.
My voice gave nothing away. Not the way my heart was pounding. It was calm and professional.
Interesting, how easily he dropped the formalities—like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"It's quiet tonight," he said.
His eyes found mine. I tried to read him. Why small talk with a hotel staff member? But there was only politeness. Maybe a hint of disinterest. Good.
"That's true. The city's asleep," I replied, evasive.
"Yeah. Clear night. I saw a shooting star earlier. Rare in Seoul." His voice was deep.
Authoritative. But there was something underneath—like a subtle challenge.
My thoughts raced. I hadn't forgotten our first encounter. Let's be honest, how could I ever?My comment about dying stars. For a second, I forgot how to breathe. But it couldn't be. He couldn't remember. I was being paranoid. It was just weather talk. He could've just as well said it was raining. His voice ripped me out of my thoughts.
"Have a good night," he said.
Then turned and walked the other way.
He didn't look back. Why would he? But I watched him walk away. It took me a while to trust my legs again. To remember how to breathe. I clocked out and rushed home. When I closed the door to my apartment, I finally let myself exhale. My heart still beat in my throat. And I realized something. Watching him…Wasn't enough.
I needed more. Needed the exact attention he'd given me for just a few seconds. A smile curled on my lips as I opened my laptop—his face lit up the screen. So still. So untouchableJhio.
I'll make all those stars around you fall. You'll see the beauty in something old breaking down so something new can begin. In things ending—out of your control.
And I'll be the one to show you.
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🕯️ How do you like it? Don't worry— Thursday, it continues. 🖤