As soon as I see him, I know he is one of them. He stands in the middle of the road, ignoring the cars racing past. None of the cars honk at the man in their way. They keep driving, blissfully unaware.

I quickly avert my gaze from him. I have only one rule when it comes to dealing with them—don’t. So I continue walking. I walk past a cosmetics shop with their doors open and a soft wave of warmth from the heating hits me along with a verse of the Christmas song playing on the radio. All I want for Christmas is you, some American lady sings.

In Korea, Christmas is only relevant to two kinds of people: couples and kids. I remember reading a passage in English class about how in western cultures Christmas is a day for family reunions, sentimentality, food, and so on and so forth, but for us, it’s just some random western holiday. It became irrelevant to me once I found out Santa Claus wasn’t real. Plus, I still had to go to school, so what’s the point?

As snowflakes rapidly fly past, the man’s figure seems to flicker in and out of existence, obscured by heavy flurries of snow. I stop to take a second glance at the man standing, who’s now staring at the sky. He reaches up in the air and a snowflake seems to settle on his palm. He slowly lowers his hand and stares at it as if it is a love letter from someone. Isn’t he cold? Black striped short sleeved shirt and denim shorts topped off with a pair of sunglasses sitting atop his head. That’s certainly not an outfit suited for December weather. Maybe he was on his way to the beach, I muse before realizing I shouldn’t be wondering about him in the first place. Just ignore and walk, ignore and walk—

I don’t look away in time, though, and the next thing I know, he shifts his gaze to me and our eyes lock. We stay like that for too long, maybe a full second or two. I see his eyes widen, his mouth fall open and I know I’ve screwed up. I was caught off guard, that’s all. It’s not like he’s any different from all the others I’ve seen around and managed to ignore. So why did I even bother to look—

I turn away and try to stabilize my breath. Deep breath in, exhale slowly. A wisp of white smoke escapes the gap of my lips. I rub my face with both my frozen, red hands.

You saw nothing, Han Gyeowool. What was there to see?

Nothing.

Who were you looking at?

No one.

Yeah, because nothing was there!

“Excuse me…?” His voice is higher and softer than I would have expected it to be—I mean, what voice? I mouth along to the Christmas carol as I move further away from the man and the cosmetics shop. I just need get far away enough before he starts to follow me, then I’ll be home free. I just want you for my own...more than you could ever know...

“Excuse me!” The man’s voice is shaky. I hear a hint of a desperate cry. I wish I hadn’t. “You saw me! You did!”  

This is what they always do. They try to lure me in when they notice me—they beg me with their tears, make me feel bad, then drag me deeper into their unfinished business that they should just deal with themselves.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a few milliseconds just to collect myself and push his voice out of my thoughts, then head over to the closest street vendor I can see. That’s right, just act natural. The faint smell of sweet red bean pastry baking from the snack cars lifts my mood and I squint to read the pricing through the flurries of snow buffeting my poor face. Three for 2000 won? That’s not bad. I put my hand in my skirt pocket and dig out a few 1000 won bills. More than enough. Maybe I should get some for myself; the day is cold and I think I deserve a snack. I let my sense of smell guide me to the vendor.

“Excuse me, you saw me, right?” I hear the voice coming closer as I stop in front of the vendor. I breathe the winter air in deeper, ignoring the man and instead focusing in on the saleswoman in front of me.

The vendor is a friendly middle aged woman, maybe around my mom’s age. “Three please,” I say as I hand the blue bills to her. She grabs the bills with her left hand, wearing thick white gloves, then opens up the black tray and picks up three fish-shaped pastries. She doesn’t fail to notice my school symbol and name tag on my uniform jacket as she looks at me.

“You must go to that school over there, right? What year?” The dialect accent in her words is strong. The older generation tends to have a thicker accent than us teens.

“Now third,” I reply. As soon as I say this, her eyes widen.

“Wow, a high school third year. It must be tiring now, right? My sons both went to that school, too. They were born only a year apart, so I had two high school third years in a row. It’s so hard to see them so tired, coming home late, but what can I do, really…” She picks up another pastry and puts it in the paper bag. “Here. I can’t do much for you, but I can at least give you another pastry.”

“Oh, uh, thank you.” I awkwardly bow as she hands me the paper bag. I feel the warmth of the pastries through the thin bag.

“It’s nothing, just a pastry.” She waves her hand. “Make sure to zip up your jacket properly. It’s cold. Supposed to snow all day.” I nod and blame my social awkwardness for the inability to convey my gratitude to the vendor lady as well as I’d like to. Thank you, I mumble in my mouth again. I start to walk toward my house as my frozen fingers slowly thaw from the heat radiating from the warm bag. The oil from the pastry seeps into the paper, making it semi-transparent within moments.

“Excuse me,” I hear, and I make the mistake of looking in the direction of the sound. It’s the man again. Pink hair. That’s an odd choice of colour. I quickly look away and bite the head off of the fish pastry.

The red bean paste is hotter than I anticipated, I realize as pain erupts in my mouth. Still, I chew my snack hastily through the pain. I’ve just burned my tongue, but who cares? I should eat away the evidence of the fact that I’ve bought a snack (even though I know dinner is probably being prepared right now) before I get home, or I’ll get a scolding from my mom for sure. I swallow my first bite. In my peripheral vision, I see the faint presence of pink hair and I brace myself for the incoming pestering from my unwanted companion.   

“Sorry, I’m not, like, trying to steal your pastry or anything.” The pink-haired ghost is in step with me now. As I take another step with my right foot, I see his near-transparent foot follow suit so we end up walking in sync. I try to focus on the sweet taste of the pastry instead of his insistent voice. Wow, how long has it been since I last bought these? It’s rare for me to be dismissed early enough to have time to treat myself, but thanks to this western holiday, I clocked out of school today at 6PM, four hours earlier than usual.

“I…I’m not asking for a lot.” I can’t hear his footsteps nor his breathing, but he still manages to maintain my brisk pace effortlessly. “Just listen to me, just once, if you can hear me…” He pauses. “Can you even hear me?

I ignore him and take another bite. I’m not doing this again. He waves his hand in front of my eyes, but I focus on my fish-shaped pastry instead.

Eventually, we reach a crosswalk. The traffic light shines red, momentarily staining the snow that falls by it a fluorescent pinkish colour.

The annoyance seems to interpret the pause in my walking as please, by all means, continue bugging me. He now stands in front of me, half blocking my view of the crosswalk sign. I try to stare at the red light through him anyway.

I hear him clear his throat. “Hi… uh…” He starts to speak again, waving his hand in front of my eyes. “Hi, sorry, maybe I should have introduced myself first—”

Thankfully, the light turns green and I walk through him without hesitation. “Wait!” he calls, catching up with me once again. “I’m Park Jimin, I lived around here, I was a university student, uh, second year...uh...do you want to know my major?”

No, I don’t. I keep walking. Figuring I should finish off at least some of the evidence of my self indulgence, I plop the tail part of the pastry in my mouth and quicken my pace as I chew, leaving only three pastries left in the bag. Whatever, I’ll just give them to mom and say I got one for everyone.

“I HAD A DOUBLE MAJOR,” he yells after me. I turn another corner.

Suddenly, I'm confronted with a torso, and I stop in my tracks, trying to avoid bumping into the person in front of me. I then realize my mistake, but it's too late. I back up a bit more and take a minute to stare directly ahead at the body before me. The man’s sunglasses are clipped to the front of his shirt now.

I remain frozen for a while, long enough that the ghost bends down slightly—not that much, he isn’t a particularly tall man—to meet my eyes questioningly. I blink, then squeeze my eyes shut for the second time today, this time condemning my own mistake. I just…I just want to get home as fast as I can. Away from this stranger. I’m not doing this to myself ever again, I swore—

“Sorry, I didn’t…” He trails off. I hear him sigh. What did he say his name was, again? Jimmy? “Sorry.”  

I don’t open my eyes. I can’t hear anything from him—no breathing, no heartbeat, no signs of life. Did he leave? Is he still here, watching me? After a few seconds of silence, I’m already tired of playing dead. I open my eyes. He’s still there. His faint figure mixes with the flying snowflakes, blending into nothing. I look around and see my house a few metres away. The streets are devoid of people, and snow accumulates higher and higher on the paths with each passing second. Distantly, I can hear the sound of metal spoons and chopsticks clink against ceramic dishes as well as laughter and conversations emanating from the open windows. Everyone must be having dinner with their families. And so should I.

I walk past him, but not through him this time. Sorry, I almost mumble in my mouth. But I don’t say it out loud.

I open the keypad on our door and punch in the code. The door unlocks with a happy chime of di-ri-ring! Finally, I slam the door shut, ignoring his disappointed expression for the last time. The door locks automatically behind me.

“What was that noise?” My mom appears with a spatula in hand. “Oh, hey, Gyeowool. You’re home…what’s in the bag?”

“Pastries.” I don’t hear anything from outside except the sound of wind. Maybe he left. I hope he left. “I got one for free. The vendor gave me one more. I ate one on the way home, though.” I almost rap the words out, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Though I wish it weren’t, my heart is pounding. I had broken my one sacred rule of coping with them—ignore and never acknowledge.  

“I told you, no snacks before dinner...” I hear my mom’s voice say distantly. I occupy myself with trying to catch my breath. I wish my mom would lay off a little on the nagging this time. After all, her daughter’s just been through a traumatic experience.

Not that she would know that.

“Gyeowool?” Mom stops herself mid-nag and raises her eyebrows questioningly. “Why are you glued to the door?”

I realize that I am and slowly detach myself from it. “No reason,” I say quickly.

“Give the bag to me. We’ll have it after dinner, okay? Three left, that’s one for each of us. Dad’s going to be home soon, so wash your hands and help me set up the table.” She returns to her kitchen with that. I smell soup and hear something sizzling. Warmth begins to soak into my frozen self, and I look back at the door one last time. It’s not like he can’t walk through the door, but I hope he at least has the decency and respect of personal space to not trespass on private property.

I suppress my urge to look outside once more before I drop my backpack to the floor and take off my shoes.