Page 9 of Public Image, Private Heart (K-Drama Love Story #1)

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Yumi

F ollowing the chaotic cupcake night, our friendship evolved to be closer than ever.

Ji-yong managed to visit whenever his busy schedule allowed, and our evenings were filled with competitive gaming, board games, scary movies, and shared meals.

Hanging out with him felt surprisingly effortless; he seemed more like a long-lost friend than an acclaimed actor.

Yet, beneath the casual camaraderie, an undeniable tension lingered between us. Every accidental touch sparked a tingling anticipation.

But I valued our current relationship too much to indulge in romantic fantasies. Besides, who in their right mind would start a romantic relationship with me, given my complicated family background?

To completely dispel those romantic fantasies, teaser footage for Hometown Whispers began appearing on video streaming platforms.

Before I knew it, I was knee-deep in the commentary sections, scrolling through a flood of posts and theories about Ji-yong and Min-hee.

One click led to another, and soon I was buried in a myriad of opinions and speculations from fans and curious onlookers alike.

Headlines like “Their chemistry is on fire!” and “Ji-yong and Min-hee look so cute together!” kept appearing, each accompanied by a cascade of conspiracy theories analyzing every detail for hints of an off-screen romance.

Comments like “They look like a real couple!” and “He can’t take his eyes off Min-hee!

” only drew me further into the whirlwind of speculation.

I found myself diving deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole of fan theories and intrigue surrounding Ji-yong and Min-hee’s relationship.

The more I scrolled through the comments and watched the clip, the more my insecurities grew. I couldn’t help but compare myself to Min-hee—her glamorous idol background, her tall and sexy figure, the way she seemed to effortlessly banter with Ji-yong on set.

In one clip, she playfully threw a few light punches at his arm after he made a joke, and he responded by pulling her into a side hug, both of them laughing.

The easy physical closeness between them made my stomach twist uncomfortably.

Had he ever touched me like that during our interview? I couldn’t remember.

I knew I shouldn’t read too much into it.

After all, creating chemistry is part of an actor’s job.

Ji-yong and I had undeniable sparks when the cameras were rolling too.

But seeing their flirty interactions splashed all over the internet for the world to dissect still stung more than I cared to admit.

With heavy sigh, I closed my laptop with a bit more force than necessary. Why was I torturing myself like this? Ji-yong and I were just friends. That’s all we could ever be. The sooner I accepted that, the better.

A ping from my phone interrupted my wallowing. It was a text from the man himself with wink emoji at the end: “Hey, want to grab dinner tonight? I know a great place that just opened up. Super private.”

My heart did a little flip as I read his message. Super private, huh? Was he implying ... No, stop. Reading into things is what got me into this mopey state to begin with. It’s just dinner between friends. Nothing more.

I hesitated, my thumbs hovering over the screen. A big part of me wanted to say yes, to spend time with Ji-yong again. Our hangouts at my place had been so much fun. But another part worried it would just make these confusing feelings worse.

“Sorry, I can’t... Busy with rehearsals for the play. Rain check?” I finally typed back, hitting send before I could change my mind. Technically it wasn’t a lie—I did have play rehearsals. But they weren’t so intensive that I couldn’t spare an evening for dinner.

“No worries, fighting! Let me know when you’re free,” he replied couple of minutes later, along with a muscle arm emoji.

I tossed my phone back on the bed with a loud groan. Determined not to waste the whole day moping, I hauled myself up and grabbed my script to run lines. At least rehearsing would provide a welcome distraction from my jumble.

The following days passed in a flurry of rehearsals and plays. I threw myself into the play, relishing the long hours in the theater as a respite from my tangled thoughts about Ji-yong. It felt good to immerse myself in a new character, to temporarily shed the weight of being Han Yumi.

Diving into a character and disappearing into a story had always been my refuge, my way of escaping reality for a while. On stage, I could be anyone—a fierce warrior, a tortured artist, a woman hopelessly in love. The possibilities were endless.

The play itself was a challenging piece, emotionally raw and unafraid to delve into the gritty realities of life. My character, Soo-jin the homeless woman, was a far cry from the princesses I played on Princess of Cosmos .

My theater co-stars were a lively bunch, grounded and more relatable compared to the strikingly handsome Ji-yong and his glamourous circle. For the first time in a while, I felt like I belonged somewhere outside the glittering world of celebrity.

While Ji-yong and I still texted sporadically, I kept the conversations light and brief, always citing my busy schedule as an excuse not to meet up.

If he sensed anything amiss in my short replies, he didn’t let on.

His messages remained as warm and playful as ever, punctuated with silly bear stickers and teasing remarks.

Opening night for the play arrived sooner than expected.

As I stood in the wings, listening to the expectant murmur of the audience, a familiar tingle of nerves and excitement zipped through me.

This was what I lived for—the thrill of performing live, of feeling the energy of the crowd and letting it fuel my own.

The first act went off without a hitch. I lost myself in Soo-jin’s world, enjoying her sharp wit and no-nonsense attitude. After the performance, as I gulped down water and toweled off sweat in the backroom, my co-star Jung-hwan sidled up to me with a grin.

“Looks like you’ve got quite the admirer in the audience tonight,” he remarked with a grin, nodding towards a bouquet of flowers taking up half the makeup table. I quickly moved to inspect the bouquet and the accompanying card. It read, ‘A star is born!’ with a small heart and the initials: R.J.Y.

I almost spilled my water in surprise. Ji-yong was here? At my play?

I glanced around the backstage area, half-expecting to see him lingering somewhere.

Just then, Da-eun approached with a bright smile. “Yumi, you were fantastic in the play today! How about we go out for some tteokbokki?”

“Sure,” I agreed, still a bit lost in thought, and let Da-eun lead me to a nearby tteokbokki and oden joint.

Once we arrived, Da-eun placed our orders, and the food was served shortly after.

“Hey, Da-eun...” I began, idly poking at my tteokbokki with my fork, my appetite noticeably absent.

Da-eun has been my manager for the past six years and is also my closest friend. We’ve navigated many highs and lows together, from one play to the next and through numerous commercial gigs.

When I had just turned 24, fresh out of university with a degree in Fine Arts and reeling from the recent loss of my mother to bone cancer, I was working odd jobs as a clerk and server while searching for more stable work.

It was in the mini-market where I worked that a scout from my current entertainment agency approached me and asked if I was interested in working as an extra in theater.

At first, I thought he was joking. But mustering my courage, I visited the agency, landed a role in a theater production, and started getting minor parts.

Eventually, I moved on to leading roles in theater and landed my first commercial ad for a car.

As offers for commercial ads, small roles in TV series and music videos continued to roll in, the agency assigned me a manager, and that’s how I met Da-eun. Our similar age helped us bond quickly and I’ve always felt she’s more of a best friend than a colleague.

Da-eun studied my face and the untouched tteokbokki with a concerned look. “What’s going on?”

“Is it... possible for a guy and a girl to just be friends?”

“Oh boy,” Da-eun sighed, pausing to consider the question. “I guess it depends. Are they the same age? Are they both single? Do they share the same sense of humor? Is there any spark between them?”

I nodded in response to each question.

“Hmmm, then... it might be difficult to remain just friends,” Da-eun said, sounding concerned.

“And what if... what if they can’t be more than friends?”

“Why not?” she asked. Then, as if having an epiphany, her eyes widened. “Wait, you’re not talking about yourself, are you? With Ji-yong...?”

I hesitated, trying to gauge how much to reveal. “Well, maybe,” I admitted, feeling a flush creep up my cheeks. “You know, with the way things were on drama set and these flowers... I’m starting to wonder if there might be something more.”

Da-eun leaned in closer, her curiosity piqued. “So, you have feelings for Ji-yong?”

I nodded slowly, struggling to express the confusion swirling inside me. “I think I might. But it’s complicated. I’m not sure if he feels the same way, and I’m afraid of of the consequences.”

Da-eun nodded sympathetically. “I understand... but I think you should keep your distance from him. I’m not saying this just as your manager, but as your friend,” she said, her tone turning serious.

“Dating an actor isn’t easy,” she continued. “Going public can be really challenging. There are too many actors whose lives have been ruined by rumors and gossip. And you, Yumi, you tend to invest so much emotionally; it would be hard to recover if things didn’t work out.”

She gave my hand a reassuring pat before going on. “I know this might sound harsh, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Her words seeped into me like a cold, sobering truth, making me reevaluate my feelings and the potential fallout.

After a long pause, I groaned in frustration. “Argh! I don’t know. Let’s just finish this tteokbokki.” I jabbed my fork into the tteokbokki with a bit too much force and poured more beer into our cups.

“What about you, then? Any special someone in your life?” I shifted the focus to Da-eun. She blinked in surprise.

“We’re not getting any younger, you know,” I teased. “You shouldn’t work all the time.”

“Yeah, I’ve been working too hard, thanks to someone ,” she replied sarcastically, and we both burst into laughter.

After our laughter subsided, the conversation shifted to lighter topics.

Da-eun began sharing amusing anecdotes from her life—like her little brother’s recent acceptance into a prestigious university and stories about her cat.

The tension from our earlier discussion seemed to melt away as we joked and discussed our schedules for the coming week.

We paid for our food and decided to take a walk to clear our heads.

I was grateful for the distraction. The streets of Seoul’s subdistrict at night were quiet, and the cool, crisp air offered a soothing contrast to the day’s chaos.

We strolled side by side, chatting about everything from future auditions to light-hearted, random topics.

Eventually, Da-eun turned to me with a thoughtful expression. “You know, sometimes it’s okay to take things slow. There’s no rush. Focus on what makes you happy right now.”

I nodded, appreciating her words. “Thanks, Da-eun. I needed to hear that.”

We continued walking until we reached a metro station, where we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways home.