Page 36 of From Paris to Seoul (K-Drama Love Story #2)

“The happiest I’ve felt in years,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

“Then go for him, girl! I watched you for six years with your ex—bored out of your mind. It’s like he sucked the life out of you! Now you’re finally free, you’ve met someone who actually makes you happy. What are you waiting for?”

When I didn’t answer right away, she doubled down.

“It’s not easy finding someone special, you know. Take me, for example. I haven’t dated anyone in years. The dating scene in Seoul is brutal. Brutal , I tell you. Believe me, you do not want to go back out there.” She shook her head, exasperated.

Then, as if something clicked, she narrowed her eyes at me. “Oh. Wait. Is this about your mom? She wants you to end up with some rich guy, doesn’t she?”

Bullseye.

“Bingo,” I admitted weakly, shame creeping in.

She sighed, pulling a face like she was trying to solve an impossible math problem. But in the end, nothing came out.

“Yeah… family is hard,” she finally admitted, her voice quieter now.

We both fell into silence, lost in thought as we sipped our matcha lattes.

Then Ji-a suddenly perked up, tilting her head. “Oh! I’ve been hearing this song everywhere lately! No idea who sings it, though.” She held up a finger, as if to say, Listen! , before nodding along to the tune.

A soft piano melody filled the room. I’d never heard the song before, but something about it pulled me in. Then came the voice—deep, soulful, laced with quiet melancholy.

She smiled like she had all the time in the world,

As if Paris itself whispered in her ear.

She told me her dreams, her voice like a melody,

Fingers dancing on ivory keys, lost in the moment.

A chill ran down my spine.

Then, after a brief piano interlude, the voice returned.

Was it her? Or was it just Paris?

I froze.

Ji-a looked up, frowning. “Hey… what’s up? You look weird.”

Her voice barely registered. My hands trembled slightly around my cup.

That voice.

That song.

No way. It couldn’t be… could it?

I shot up from my seat. “Ji-a, what day is it today?”

It was the kind of question only an unemployed person would ask—but at that moment, I was too stunned to make sense of what had just happened.

She blinked. “Uh… Saturday?”

My heart pounded. “I need to go somewhere.”

Ji-a’s frown deepened. “What? Where?”

Grabbing my coat, I barely managed to get the words out. “The jazz café.”

And before she could ask anything else, I bolted out into the night.

***

The all-blue jazz café in Gangnam was small and cozy, tucked away from the busy streets. Inside, a small crowd gathered around a dimly lit stage, all eyes fixed on the performer. Clearly, the live music was the main attraction here.

I stood at the back, stretching my neck to see if he was on stage. He told me he performed here every Saturday, but I had no idea what time.

My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst. After more than a month of not seeing each other… what was I supposed to say? I had rushed here without thinking. Should I be happy? Angry?

Was he really the one who wrote and sang that song?

And if he was—was it really about me?

I finally managed to peek past the crowd, but my excitement dimmed when I saw two women setting up for a duet instead of Baekhyun.

A passing waiter caught my eye, balancing a tray of drinks. I stepped forward quickly. “Excuse me… do you know if Yang Baekhyun is performing tonight?”

He nodded, glancing his watch. “Yeah, he’s scheduled to go on in about two hours.”

Two hours.

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag as my pulse quickened. I hadn’t really thought this through. What was I even going to say to him?

The waiter adjusted his tray and gestured toward the bar. “If you want to order something, you’ll have to do it over there.”

I murmured a thanks and found a quiet corner, ordering a Long Island to settle my nerves.

As the evening went on, the performances blurred together. The music faded into background noise, my mind elsewhere. Every time someone stepped onto the stage, I held my breath.

And then—finally—I saw him.

Baekhyun.

The moment he appeared, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations faded into murmurs, heads turned. He moved with quiet ease, adjusting the mic stand.

“Hello,” he said, his voice low and steady—never one for small talk, never saying more than necessary. “I’m Baekhyun, and this is a new song.”

With that, he took a seat at the piano. A moment later, his fingers brushed the keys, and the first notes filled the room.

And then, he started to sing.

She smiled like she had all the time in the world,

As if Paris itself whispered in her ear.

She told me her dreams, her voice like a melody,

Fingers dancing on ivory keys, lost in the moment.

Was it her? Or was it just Paris?

Golden lights on the Seine, your laughter in the air,

Footsteps on Pont Alexandre, wind in your hair.

The city was a dream, a scene from a film—

But tell me, did Paris ever feel like home?

My breath caught.

I sat frozen, listening.

Baekhyun sang with his eyes closed, his expression raw, lost in the music. Every note, every word pulled me back—streetlamps glowing against the river, the way Paris wrapped around us like something out of a dream.

When the song ended, the café erupted into applause, but I barely heard it over the pounding of my heart.

And then it happened.

Baekhyun looked up.

Our eyes met.

For a moment, neither of us moved. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something. Even from across the room, I saw the flicker of recognition, the hint of surprise.

But before anything could happen, someone else reached him first.

A girl near the front clapped eagerly, her voice light and teasing as she stepped onto the stage. “Oppa! Congratulations on your song! It’s about Paris… and me?”

I stiffened.

Something in the way she spoke—so familiar, so easy—made my stomach twist. I didn’t know who she was, but I didn’t have to. The realization struck, cold and sharp.

His ex.

Of course.

Of course, she would be here. Of course, she would think the song was about her.

And me? What was I even doing?

Heat crawled up my neck, shame settling deep in my bones. I had rushed here, breathless with hope, convinced this song—this moment—meant something. But maybe I had been foolish. Maybe I had misunderstood everything.

I needed to leave.

The café suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. I pushed away from the crowd, head down, heart pounding. My fingers trembled as I set my empty glass on the bar, slipping past tables, past strangers who didn’t notice me faltering.

Then, I was outside. The cold hit my skin, sharp and biting. My pulse raced as I walked faster, the city buzzing around me.

But just as I turned a corner—

“Seo-yeon!”

Baekhyun’s voice.

I kept walking.

“Seo-yeon, wait.”

Footsteps behind me. Quick, determined.

Before I could take another step, a hand wrapped around mine, warm and familiar.

I stopped. With no other choice, I turned to face him, my pulse unsteady. Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The sounds of the city faded, leaving just the two of us standing in a quiet alley—not in Paris this time, but in Seoul.

A voice in the back of my mind whispered doubts. Maybe she’s not his ex. Maybe they got back together. Maybe that’s why she’s here tonight—why she thought the song was about her.

Baekhyun finally broke the silence, his tone firm but laced with emotion.

“You know the song is about you.”

When I didn’t respond, he said it again, softer this time.

“You know that.”

I let out a shaky breath, but I still couldn’t bring myself to speak.

Baekhyun’s grip on my hand loosened slightly, like he was afraid I’d pull away. His eyes searched mine, waiting, but I wasn’t sure what for. An answer? A reaction?

The night air was cold against my skin, but my thoughts were louder than anything else.

You know the song is about you.

His words echoed in my mind, but I didn’t know what to do with them.

I swallowed hard, still staring at the ground. “Then why didn’t you call?”

It was the only thing I could say, the only thing I could think about. If I had meant something—if Paris had meant something—why had he disappeared?

His jaw tensed, and for the first time, he looked away. “Because I was scared.”

I frowned, lifting my gaze. “Scared?”

Baekhyun exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You said it yourself, Seo-yeon. What happened in Paris… stays in Paris.” His voice was quiet, measured. “I didn’t want to ruin it.”

I stared at him, my heart twisting in ways I didn’t know how to stop. “So you just let it end?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a small step closer. “I tried to move on,” he admitted. “I thought maybe you wanted me to.”

The honesty in his voice made it hard to breathe. I felt a lump in my throat. “And now?”

His gaze held mine, steady. “Now, I just want to know… if I was wrong.”

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I just looked at him— really looked at him.

The way his brows knit together, the slight tension in his shoulders, the unspoken hope in his eyes. He was bracing himself for disappointment, waiting for me to walk away, to prove him right.

But I wasn’t going to.

I exhaled, the weight in my chest easing just a little. “Well… You were wrong.”

A breath of something—relief, maybe—flickered across his face. Then, so softly I almost missed it, he smiled.

The tension between us didn’t break immediately. We just stood there, the hum of the city fading into the background, exchanging stolen glances and swallowed smiles. Then—

Baekhyun tilted his head slightly, as if something had just occurred to him. “Oh,” he said, his tone shifting. “My place is empty tonight. Family’s visiting Auntie in Sunchang.”

I blinked at the sudden change in topic. “…Okay?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, lips quirking up just a little. “So… wanna come over and have some instant noodles?”