“Byul,” a voice called in a way that it seemed unprepared.

I retraced my steps and turned to find the figure of a man getting out of his car, his face slightly dimmed by my shadow.

“It’s me,” he said and he raised his arms a bit.

“Sir,” I called in recognition at the man, his face losing a bit of his smile.

I clutched the strap of my bag and stood there awkwardly, not knowing how to act. And after a few seconds of hesitation, the man quickly walked up to me.

“How are you?” He inquired, his face turning into that of curiosity. He looked familiar in a way, but he didn’t seem like it. I didn’t even think that that was possible but I was feeling it.

“I’m good,” I countered monotonously. The answer wasn’t exactly the truth but it wasn’t like you could tell an almost stranger that you’re not okay. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice sounding three notes higher and the question seemed forced, hurried.

“I wanted to see my baby girl,” he replied coolly, his mouth turning up into a wide smile and I looked at him blankly but I was cringing inside. I was neither a baby nor was I his. If anything, that was my nickname when I was two years old.

“Then, I suppose this meeting is over?” I half-asked, half-stated, my feet impatiently wanted to leave.

“No, actually I wanted to get your number,” he answered hurriedly and produced his phone in front of me. I took it, punched my number in and saved my contact as Kim Byul. Sweet.

“And I want to know if you’re free Friday night next week,” he asked again in his hurried manner.

“I am,” retorted coldly.

“I want to take you out to dinner but we haven’t planned it yet. I guess, I’ll just text you the address?”

I nodded reluctantly and he motioned for me to get inside. I pushed open the glass door with a sigh and I could feel his eyes on me as I walked and disappeared out of his sight.

I walked into the elevator and pressed button 15.

A girl about my age walked in with her father’s hand on her shoulder. They smiled at me and the man was going to press a button but realized that the light on the said button was already on.

“We’re neighbors?” he asked and I looked up at him, his face drawn with lines around his eyes and mouth. He was tall and I saw that his daughter looked like him. She inherited his eyes and his nose. It was impossible to not recognize his face in hers.

“I haven’t seen you around,” he commented with a smile and he seemed to do it easily as though smiling came naturally. I mean it was, but it wasn’t easy. I could never smile as such to my father, what more a stranger?

“Have you?” he turned to his daughter and the daughter simply shook her head.

“I moved in… about a week ago?” I answered, “And I’m not around much,” I added then deemed the ad