During the summer before I began my course at the seminary, I lived in Incheon City. I was living with an aunt who had been unwell and needed some help in her day to day chores. Despite arriving in a positive state of mind, I quickly became lonely in my aunt's house and I longed for the company of people my own age. My aunt, a distant relative and childless widow with few relations of her own, lived something of a life of solitude, but she at least had her own friends. Whenever she went out with them I was left at home, alone and extremely bored. It did not escape my aunt's attention that I became sombre during the weekends when she went out, so one day she recommended that I take the day to explore some of the area.

"Go to Gyeyang Park," she told me. "You will like it there. There are walking trails and pleasant scenery, a good place to spend your day of rest and meditation."

Taking her advice, I took the train to Mt. Gyeyang after church that Sunday. She was right about it being a pleasant park, and a perfectly unexciting place, but appropriate for a Sunday. Nature, even in the midst of an urban environment reminds one of God's creation, and I was happy to be there. The Judas trees that lined the path were alive with summer, and the green leaves seemed especially cheerful and bright on this day. I remember it so vividly now, because this was the day that I met him.

It happened like so: at some point during my walk I realised that there was someone else walking beside me; a young person, face hidden behind a large hat and glasses, who carried a small backpack and looked entirely lost in his own world. I had noticed him before, when I had first arrived, but he seemed so determined in his own mission that I chose not to speak to him. The further we walked the harder I found it to stay focused on my own thoughts and I continuously checked to see if he was still beside me. Sometimes he would be walking ahead of me and other times he would fall behind, usually when he would stop to get a look at something in the trees.

When I reached the gate which led to the path to the summit, he was a few paces behind me. Impulsively, I decided to wait for him. We made eye contact when he looked up and he smiled at me.

"Are you going to the summit?" he asked.

"Sure, why not? Shall we go together?"

He paused for a few moments, looking around him as if he was checking no one else was present.

"Sure, why not?"

In his moment of indecision, I regretted having asked him. It occurred to me that he may have come to the mountain to seek peace in solitude, and I had clumsily interrupted it. However, he smiled when he assented, and he stepped up to walk closely beside me. I thought he might be my own age, and I was suddenly excited at the prospect of having a friend.

We walked together in silence until I asked him for his name. He didn't answer immediately. He looked around himself, as if he had not even heard the question.

"Ryeo-wook," he said at last.

I asked him for his age, and when he told me I replied, "Same as me!" This was actually not true, he was a year younger than me, but I chose not to mention this because I did not want him to be awkward with me. Lying is always best avoided, but sometimes I feel that it is good to be spontaneous in moments like these.

"What do you for a living?" he asked me.

"I am starting a course at college in September."

Ryeo-wook was impressed with this answer. He was a student too, he told me. Natural Science at the University of Incheon. From the sound in his voice you could tell that he was proud. He told me he lived locally, near the mountain.

"I will point to my house when we get to the summit."

"Do you come here often?"

"Every Sunday," he replied automatically, without a pause. "Every Sunday I walk up to the top of the mountain, and I watch the views and I think about things."

I was tempted to ask what things, but I had a feeling he wouldn't answer me, at least not truthfully. Perhaps they were things I didn't need to know. I realised that I had come in order to do much the same, so perhaps we were like minded people. I wanted to think so.

Since I had decided not to continue the conversation, a heavy silence set upon us. It was not an uncomfortable silence, but the further we went, the harder it was to break. We said nothing until the summit was reached.

"There it is over there," he said as he pointed to the city below us. I couldn't tell the houses apart, but I tried to follow his line of view. I thought he had pretty eyes.

We took a seat under a nearby tree, and spent the better part of the afternoon talking. The vow of silence that had held us earlier was gone, and I no longer felt awkward about starting conversations. I told him more about myself, about where I was from, why I had come to Incheon. I liked the way that he listened kindly, and laughed easily, although he would always cover his face when he did so and numerous times I felt the urge to pull his hands away.

"I feel a little guilty," I confessed to him. "You came here to think about things on your own, and I have distracted you."

"Not really," he replied. "It doesn't matter. Why did you come here today? Was it for the same reason?"

"Yes, I think so. I was going to spend Sunday the way I usually do, with quiet reflection."

He laughed, but stopped suddenly when he saw that I was being serious. "What sort of reflection?" he asked.

"Well, I believe there is a certain kind of reflection a person should do on a Sunday. It's God's day, after all, isn't it? I think going outside, and coming to a place like this, really helps you appreciate the miracle of God's work. Think about it: we have something as magnificent as a mountain, and on it every tiny ant and every blade of grass, so small and seemingly insignificant, yet each so sacred in its own way..."

While I was speaking he was looking at me with an amused expression, sort of like a child who was being told a bedtime story.

I continued: "It instills a kind of awe and wonder in a person, to think God created the world. On the seventh day He rested and saw what He had done. So I think we should too."

As soon as I finished speaking, Ryeo-wook turned his face away from me and stared off into the distance, as if contemplating something deep. When he replied to me, he spoke slowly: "So, you do believe all that stuff then?"

"I do," I said with some conviction, although his words had left me feeling cold. "You don't?"

He smiled at me, and it wasn't unkind. "Of course not. I'm a scientist. The mountains were created millions of years ago by tectonic movements."

I suspected now that he was calling me stupid, but it didn't feel that way. His eyes were too kind.

"But then again," he added, as if reading my mind, "that is like a miracle in its own way. You can find explanations for most things, but at the bottom of it all there will still be some sort of mystery. I don't think God meant for it to be so easily understood."

I was finally able to let go of a deep breath I didn't know I had been holding. I was relieved to hear him mention God's name, since I had started to worry that he might be an atheist. I find it difficult to get along with atheists, especially when they are headstrong in their opinions. I had an impulsive desire to reach out and hug him, but I did not. I thought it was funny that he probably had no idea easily he pleased me.

When the afternoon had reached its later half, we turned back. We were mostly quiet as we walked back down, but by then there was not much left to say. At one stage on the path Ryeo-wook tripped, only slightly, but I immediately reached out to stabilise him. I held his hand, but he pulled it away abruptly, and it left me wondering if I had offended him.

He quickly became cheerful again, and I supposed that I had only imagined his sudden anger. When we were on the level paths again, he slipped his hand into mine and walked closely beside me.

After we said good-bye, I watched him disappear into some indistinguishable street and I realised that there was no guarantee that I would ever see him. Neither of us had mentioned a second meeting. Somehow that didn't bother me, and I caught the train back to my aunt's house feeling wonderfully at peace.