The hallways of her apartment complex stood still and silent, but outside her door, the neighborhood had already erupted into its usual chorus of gossip and unsolicited opinions.
Mr. Park, her ever-nosy landlord and part-time neighborhood watchdog, stood at his usual post by the stairwell—arms folded, eyes sharp, and mouth running.
"I heard she talks to herself," he said in a low, conspiratorial tone to none other than Miss Yin—the elegant forties, opinionated woman from Apartment 3B. "Maybe she's got boyfriend problems," he added with a chuckle, subtly puffing out his chest.
Miss Yin rolled her eyes in mock disbelief, but her hand reached out for a flirtatious tap on his shoulder. "Well, even if that's the case, Mr. Park, she really shouldn't be disturbing the peace. Some of us need our beauty sleep, you know." She adjusted her scarf with the theatrical flair of someone who thought every hallway had a spotlight.
Mr. Park leaned in slightly, clearly savoring the attention. "Of course, Miss Yin. A woman like you deserves only the most quietest of neighbors."
Miss Yin gave a soft, theatrical laugh. "But really," she said, her smirk creeping in as her eyes flicked toward Yujin's door, "let's be honest—who in their right mind would date someone like her?"
"If only she had your charms, Miss Yin," Mr. Park replied with a grin, his flattery thick and practiced.
"Exactly," she said, lifting her chin slightly. "Which is why you need to handle it. We pay far more rent than she does, don't we? Honestly, how big is that shoebox she lives in, anyway?"
That was all the invitation Mr. Park needed.
He scoffed. "That little apartment?!. I only gave it to her out of pity, really. She was begging for a place close to the university, and I—" he paused, puffing himself up—"well, I've always had a soft spot for the struggling types. A charitable heart, you know?"
Miss Yin arched a brow. "So it's true what they say. Clustered and cramped, I knew it. She walks around like some big shot only to see where she lives and one with zero discipline how distasteful."
Mr. Park nodded solemnly. "I've seen it a few times when she left the door open. Piles of books, random food wrappers, clothes on the couch. Looks more like a storage closet than a home."
Miss Yin tsked under her breath. "Oh, and did you hear?" she said, lowering her voice like a schoolgirl about to share a scandal. "She doesn't even work a real job."
Mr. Park's brows lifted, suddenly more invested. "Really? Huh. I never bothered to ask what she studied or where she works. As long as the money hits my account, why should I care? you know." He gave Miss Yin a knowing smile. "I focus on my important tenants."
His eyes lingered on her a beat too long. "Especially you, Miss Yin. You pay three times what she does, after all."
"She's probably doing something part-time. Or freelance," he added, waving a dismissive hand in the direction of Yujin's apartment, as if that would conjure up her résumé. His tone carried the usual disdain of someone who equated success with suits, desks, and morning commutes.
Mis. Yin made a face, halfway between confusion and pity. "That's what they call work now? Sitting around with a laptop and hoping Wi-Fi or whatever they call it pays the bills?"
Mr Park nodded in agreement, his lips pursed. "Exactly. That sort of work—it's not real. No structure. No pressure.No deadlines. No dress codes.."
She tapped her chin, feigning curiosity. "I think I saw her once… somewhere. I can't quite place it." She squinted as if straining to remember a traumatic event.
Mr. Park leaned in, ever helpful. "The bus stop?"
"No…"
"The library?"
"Please," she scoffed.
"The corner mart?"
She paused. "Hmm… actually…"
He waited patiently, nodding as if they were uncovering a grand conspiracy.
Then Miss Yin snapped her fingers, delighted. "Yes! That's it. The convenience store down the block. She was stocking shelves. Wearing that hideous green vest."
Mr. Park shook his head slowly, as if mourning lost potential. "Mid-twenties, and still doing that job isn't that for people with lower education? Well, I could not say i'm surprised ."
"Isn't she supposed to be in university? Why would anyone with prospects choose that?" Miss Yin remarked.
She leaned back, satisfied. "So much for ambition and higher education."
"Maybe she's not doing so well in school," Mr. Park offered, as if diagnosing a patient. "Young people today are lazy. They rely on the internet for everything and expect life to hand them success.No free money anywhere!"
"Back in our day," Miss Yin said proudly, "we went to the library. We read real books. Not this copy-paste nonsense they do now. They think 'Googling' something is the same as understanding it."
They nodded together like professors mourning the death of a noble age.
She scoffed, adjusting her scarf like a judge about to deliver a sentence. "It's all just noise. Nar-sizzle-ism or what's that English word."
Then, without a hint of irony, she added, "Honestly, if I had the time—and the patience—I could probably blow up on those apps. I mean, people are obsessed with skincare routines and lifestyle tips these days. Mine would be gold."
Mr. Park nodded seriously, missing the contradiction entirely. "I believe it. You've got the presence."
"Exactly," she said, missing it too. "But some of us have real responsibilities."
Mr. Park chuckled darkly. "Exactly. All that time wasted online. It's why some people just aren't cut out for city life. No structure, no work ethic. They think being young means they have forever."
Miss Yin gave an exaggerated sigh of agreement, like a TED Talk speaker who'd just solved society. "She needs structure. And maybe therapy with the way she has been talking to herself lately. These kids keep preaching about 'healing' and 'boundaries and mental health,' but can't even handle waking up before noon."
"She talks to the walls, you know," Miss. Yin added, shaking her head slowly. "I've seen her do it. Honestly, I think something's off. You know what I mean?"