It was a business card. Kim Minseok, Illustrator it said in simple black print. She turned it over. Handwriting ran across the small white rectangle in an undisciplined sprawl. I'm sorry. I never meant to scare you. Don't let me stop you from going to the coffee shop. I won't bother you again.

His obvious regret sent a rush of embarrassing heat into her face. He probably thought she was nuts, the way she'd run from him like that. What normal woman bolted because an attractive man wanted to meet her?

She laughed, the sound hard and brittle. It had been a long time since she was normal. Who was she kidding?

She ran her thumb over his handwriting, feeling the slight texture where the pen had pressed into the card. It had been such a shock when she'd looked up into his eyes. Even now she felt a surge of panic when she recalled the moment. Any man watching her, noting her, sent her scurrying for cover. It was almost funny, given how unaware she'd been on the street that day. How utterly unprepared she'd been when she'd seen a man in a hooded sweatshirt bearing down on her…

She tossed the card into the trash bin in her bathroom. At the end of the day, it didn't matter what Kim Minseok thought of her. She was never going to see him again.

And yet later that evening when she was reading through some of her favourite blogs on the internet, she found herself calling up a web browser and navigating her way to the newspaper website. She found Dear Ahjumma's page and scrolled down until she found today's column. She read Minseok's letter three times, and each time she came to the same conclusion: it was very charming. Before the attack, she would have been bowled over by the inventiveness and whimsy of his approach. But her world had altered irrevocably two years ago. She was afraid to go out on her own, terrified of strangers, and deeply intimidated by men in general. Where before she might have been charmed, now she felt threatened. She didn't want men like Kim Minseok to notice her. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to be safe and anonymous.

She glanced at the bouquet he'd sent her. He'd gone to a lot of trouble for her today, both with his quirky approach and his sincere apology afterward. He was clearly a nice, genuine guy. Not out to hurt anyone. What had he said in his Dear Ahjumma letter? He'd had a crush on her in high school. And he thought she was shy. God, if only that were true, she thought.

Before she could think twice, she went into the bathroom and retrieved his card from the trash. Returning to the computer, she hit the email icon and called up a new message. She typed in the address from Minseok's business card, then tapped out a short note. She did a quick search through her bookmarks and found a site that she'd saved a long time ago. She copied the link into her email and hit send before doubt and caution stayed her hand.

There. Now he would understand. For some reason, that seemed important, even though she would never see him again.

Minseok worked till it was late and his back ached from leaning over his drawing board. The children's book he was working on wasn't due for another month, but he liked to be well ahead of schedule in case things went wrong. And they always did. The author he usually collaborated with typically had at least one meltdown per book, which generally translated into Minseok having to whip up several new illustrations at the last minute.

He had a rule when he was working—no email, no phone calls, no texts, no distractions until he'd completed a solid hour's work. As a freelancer, it was the only way to stop himself from frittering away hours at a time gazing at nothing on the Net.