Gloom. They called it gloom. The fast collision of raindrops and the mysteriously sanguine swirls of grey air dancing carelessly on the rainy streets of Seoul. They called it gloom. I never functioned to understand how people found rain discouraging, how people found rain to be something so melancholic, because for me it was always the right remedy. Like my personal dose of endorphins apprehensively bursting through the glands of my skin a raindrop at a time.

My feet dragged one after another in complete harmony. The holes in my old sneakers were no bother to me, old but gold is what people always said, and somehow I stuck to that rule. It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford a new pair of chucks, perhaps one which would keep my feet dry, and spare me that extra couple of hours where I’d lay the dampened shoes on my heater and let them parch away in all hopes of salvaging whatever was left of the loose threaded stitches of tissue. I just preferred to spend my salary on books. The perks of a student’s life seemed to once again prove itself effulgent in all its pitiful glory.

The smell of petrichor was playfully nauseating only just mocking my love for the gentle downpour, but I kept hastily walking along the narrow alleyway crowded with poverty struck commonality. All I could think to do was to clutch tightly onto my copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility and zip my thin anorak wholly in an attempt to congest the slurs thrown in my direction.

Once the alleyway met the main road my hasty steps once again morphed into their earlier humdrum beat. The sudden change of population always amused me. Men and Women of a high status all branded in a multitude of ways each swaying through the boulevard in corresponding Chanel motion just like a scene out of a million dollar blockbuster. I felt out of place of course, but that never stopped me. It was never a reason weighty enough for me to change my trail. A routine person takes their itinerary very seriously, and I guess I’ve just always been that way.

I always wandered around the city making sure to avoid rush hours, setting off straight for my favourite coffee shop where I would settle down in the corner seat and let the hours drown away within the pages of scrumptious prose and critique, battling against my heavy eyelids a coffee cupful at a time. Americano. Always a Grande Americano, no sugar, no milk, just the bitter savour of the coffee, so symmetrical to the content roaming the pages. A routine person of course as I said, takes their itinerary in all conscience, and I never let myself step off that diligent track.

Absorbing the carefully crafted artistry of the old architectures surrounding me, I couldn’t help but let my lips quirk up into a small smile. Everything felt so perfect, so surreal, yet so in place. Moments like these reminded me that even though I felt so alone most of the time, I wasn’t truly unaccompanied. I was never the most social of people, yet my small circle of friends always made sure that I wouldn’t go by unnoticed, and somehow, in some strange sort of way, with time everything gradually fell into place. I couldn’t stop looking at the rusted lamp-post. As I lapsed by it I noticed the weathered detail carefully shaped into its base, letting the twitchy smile on my lips linger.

Pools of murky water were far and wide, wherever you took to step only soiling the run down texture of my footgear further. My nose crinkled at the distasteful feeling of moisture, the skin of my newly numb feet wrinkling rapidly. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the unoccupied leather armchair in the café corner waiting for me to take thump down on it once more, claiming its temporary ownership for several hours of this typical Thursday afternoon.

Still at an eager step, without a spot of notice my lazy enjoyment of the neighbourhood came upon a quick standstill. Effortlessly bustling past me without a glance back, a platinum haired figure carried its step without slightest hesitation. Losing my balance I slipped and slumped into a puddle, mindlessly throwing my hands to block my fall, forgetting all about how much I cherished my book. Angrily I yelled at the careless silhouette running further and further, still not losing pace.

“JINJA? You don’t even have the audacity to say sorry?” I cried out after the character. My Korean was very broken, coming from abroad I didn’t have great pronunciation, and in heated moments like these you could clearly hear my Parisian accent shining through my gritted teeth.

An anomaly, this was nothing more but change in my otherwise unflawed routine Thursday, yet it made me feel so angered. Shocked and disappointed I took a step away from the puddle letting my book float carelessly on the surface. Slowly I grabbed my backpack. My tear laced eyes fluttered through the beclouded taints in my vision as I raised my goose bump garnished arms dabbing at the brazen tear stains stinging my frost dazed cheeks. I walked away disallowing myself to whimper any longer, I wasn’t going to let a stranger accident ruin my perfect day. Taking a deep breath of the chill twined air I carried my step through the door of the café, a familiar bell twinkle causing my heart to flutter in utmost nostalgia and familiarity.

The waitress smiled sympathetically, she must have seen what had happened right outside. Her gestures making the heat in my cheeks rise to a bright shade of powdery pink. My body sunk into the folds of the familiar leather seating, where the homely scent of old cow skin wandered through my nostrils, a slight tease to my senses. As I softly sighed to myself I couldn’t help but let my mind wander to the platinum haired mystery and think, why? 

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This is just the first chapter :) 

i hope you liked it and it made sense!

the second chapter is coming up shortly in V's POV 

~S <3