The Han River looks unusually dull tonight. Everything is darker, everything is smaller, everything is gray.   Do all rivers look like this when we’re broken-hearted? Or do all rivers look beautiful only when we dream of love?   Am I even broken-hearted? Or am I just sad?   Everyone says the Han River looks best at night. Here I am sitting by the river at half past eleven, and I see no difference. In fact, it looks more boring to me—with all the unnecessary colorful lights. How artificial.   If Yongsun didn’t give me a half-hour long lecture on why I should not ingest alcohol anymore before I headed out, I would have been sitting here with a bag of beer right now. Well, not that I actually listened to a word she said—more like because her apartment is my temporary home now. I have no choice unless I want to sleep out on the streets.   I’m not kicked out from my house—my parents’ house; I just need to stay away from my family for a while. I can’t face them, and I don’t think they can face me either. I left a few text messages for my brother, telling him to announce to my parents that I’ll be gone for a while. I wonder how my parents are reacting, whether my picture will appear at police stations with a bolded “MISSING” below it in the next few days, if not already. Considering how it has been three days since I sent those text messages and that I’m not being spammed with any phone calls, however, they should be fine. Now that I think about it, I also wonder if I was drunk when I texted my brother.   Somehow, I survived that night of alcohol spree. I obviously don’t remember all the details, but I was told I passed out during the car ride to Yongsun’s place. Byulyi ended up staying overnight at her place as well. Fortunately, neither has mentioned his name since then. I guess they know me long enough to understand that there are things I prefer not to share. I’ve never been a great storyteller anyway.   A long sigh escapes my lips as I stare blankly into the water. Dull and gray.   “Beautiful, huh?”   It takes me a few seconds to realize that someone is sitting beside me. Judging by the male voice, I assume him to be one of those unsophisticated boys who dreams to have a romantic encounter with his future wife along the Han River. How more dull can the night get?   I don’t bother to make eye contact with him. He’ll move away soon. “Not very.”   “I should have guessed judging by the look on your face.”   “Yeah, my face is pretty much an open book.”   “Not open enough to tell people that you drowned yourself in alcohol three days ago.”   I immediately turn to the voice. The first thing I notice is the shave mark on his right eyebrow, strangely. The faint colored lights in the distance are just bright enough for me to make out the outline of his facial features. He looks around my age, maybe a little older—in his mid-twenties or so. At first glance, nothing stands out; his skin is clear; his nose is straight without crooks; his rosy lips look soft; and his jawline is slightly rounded. Aside from the piercings on both of his ears and a tree branch tattoo that seems to extend below his neck, he may seem even childlike at some angles.   “Do I know you?” I blurt out.   “Well, we had a brief conversation when you were drunk. Does that count?”   I can’t tell whether he is genuinely smiling, or if he is mocking me. I can’t blame him; I must have looked pathetic with the glass cup of vodka—or God knows what I consumed—in my hand.   “Tell me how much you know about me.” I need to know what happened, how I ended up talking to this fellow stranger. Because I