Not much time had passed since SoMi found out that her new neighbor was Woo Do Hwan. The discovery had stuck in her mind, haunting her day and night. It wasn't just his name, either. She had seen every drama he was in and lived through every story, every gesture, and every glance. In her dreams, she often imagined accidentally meeting him on the street and simply saying, without a hint of pretense:
"Your acting is magical. You make people live alongside the characters."
But reality turned out to be treacherous.
Each time she left her apartment and unexpectedly caught his gaze in the hallway or hopped into the elevator and noticed his silhouette by the wall too late, she felt frozen in place. There was silence, awkwardness, and an inability to even nod in greeting. She did not understand why she was paralyzed precisely when words were needed most.
And Do Hwan did not seek to break this fragile silence.
After the incident that had once brought them closer, yet also separated them, he avoided unnecessary contact as well. Even when music came from the neighboring apartment—no longer as loud or carefree as before—he didn't knock on the door as he used to. He waited patiently for the music to stop, and only then went to bed.
Fortunately for him — and perhaps for her — SoMi now knew when to stop. Around ten o'clock in the evening, she would put on her headphones or immerse herself in her work, leaving the world around her in cozy silence.
***********
SoMi came home from work early today. Her new office was almost ready, and her things were being moved there from the cramped storage room. She took the manuscript home with her because she didn't want to waste any time. But insidious and merciless hunger defeated her ambition.
Suddenly, SoMi had a craving for simple, hot ramen from the little shop around the corner. She threw on her coat, grabbed her phone and headphones, and hurried downstairs, hoping not to run into her neighbor.
The street greeted her with the cool evening air and the aroma of food wafting from nearby restaurants. As she approached the shop, she noticed a familiar figure with a hood carelessly thrown over his head. His hands moved decisively as he slurped noodles, oblivious to the world around him.
Woo Do Hwan.
Instinct told SoMi to turn around and run away. But hunger, a ruthless judge, reminded her of itself with a growl that even passersby seemed to hear.
"I'm a grown woman. Why the hell am I afraid of him?" she muttered under her breath, shifting uncertainly from foot to foot.
An unknown tremor paralyzed her legs, but her mind pushed her forward.
"Enough. I'm hungry. So what if he's there? It's not his restaurant, so I can come in."
Taking a deep breath, SoMi decisively pushed the door open.
Inside, it was quiet. There was only the salesman behind the counter and Do Hwan at the table. Music was playing softly in her headphones, but even through her favorite melodies, SoMi could clearly hear her stomach growling.
She quickly grabbed a package of ramen, two sausages, sauces, and a boiled egg. Then, she headed to the preparation table. She poured boiling water over the noodles, generously seasoned the dish, and paid.
She was about to go home when she gave in to a tempting thought. It would be tastier here, right on the spot.
She chose a table by the window, away from her neighbor but not so far as to remain unnoticed, and began to prepare her meal. Their eyes met. It was like an arrow flying through the air.
Suddenly, the guy spoke, breaking the silent evening.
"Are you crazy... Are you listening to music even now?" He muttered this with his mouth full of noodles and nodded at her headphones.
SoMi pulled out her headphones and asked, confused:
"What?"
"Are you a child? Always with that music, singing and dancing. It's like the world is a stage for you."
His tone was irritatingly condescending.
"What's wrong with listening to music?" she asked cautiously.
Do Hwan smiled skeptically.
"Even musicians are silent sometimes. But you—from morning till night. You go to work with headphones. You eat lunch with music. You sleep with music. It's like a childish addiction. It's time for you to grow up.
SoMi put down her chopsticks and felt a quiet rage burning in her chest. Calmly, almost coldly, she replied.
"I'm an adult. I decide how I want to live my life. For me, music is not just entertainment. It's a salvation from the grayness of this crazy world. It's like having the sun shine inside, even on a rainy day. And yes, adults sometimes need to act childishly. Forget the burden of seriousness and just sing and dance, even if you don't know the words to the song.
She leaned forward slightly, her voice sounding more confident.
"Listening to my favorite songs makes me feel alive. Whether I'm happy or sad, music is always with me. It saves me better than any therapy. Maybe you should allow yourself to be happy for no reason sometimes, at least a little."
Something disturbing flashed in Do Hwan's eyes for a moment, like a short circuit of emotions. But he just silently slurped his noodles, as if considering whether responding was worth it.
Outside the window, dusk was slowly falling. An invisible, taut, electrified thread stretched between them—one touch and it would snap with a crack.
"Yoga, peace, and rest help me," Do Hwan interrupted, slurping hot soup as if to drown out the conversation.
"But you will never know this art," she replied, glancing at him sideways and hinting that he would never understand true joy.
"For me, joy is a delicious dinner, a good night's sleep, and a morning run," he replied, breaking down complex concepts into simple things.
"Then that is your 'music.' If it really brings you pleasure, I am happy for you. But at least once, allow yourself to be a child. Feel joy in simple things. Then you'll understand me."
Do Hwan smiled slightly, as if acknowledging her point, but only in his mind.
"Yeah, I'll try sometime," he said, finishing the last sip of broth. He gathered up the trash and slowly headed home, leaving her behind like a fading frame in darkness.
"Tch... He's so stubborn! I thought he would be as cool in real life as he is in dramas," SoMi muttered, hurrying after him with her half-eaten ramen.
In the entrance, she noticed Do Hwan talking to the security guard. But as soon as he saw her, he ended the conversation abruptly and nearly ran to the elevator.
They stood silently, like two actors on a stage without a script, exchanging awkward glances. Finally, the elevator dinged, the doors slid open, and they both rushed inside almost simultaneously. They almost collided in the passageway—luckily, the doors were wide.
They both reached for the button at the same time, but Do Hwan was faster. They stood in different corners of the elevator, their eyes meeting and lingering, heavier than silence.
Seventh floor. The doors opened, and they both jumped out of the elevator as if thunder itself were chasing them, each heading to their own door.
But suddenly, Do Hwan stopped abruptly.
He exhaled heavily, as they sometimes show in dramas when the hero decides to do something important, and approached SoMi.
"Listen," he began, faltering and almost backing away. "If music is so important to you, let's make a deal. Let's compromise on the hours when you can turn it on. Otherwise, we'll both lose this war." he said, timidly touching her hand and stopping her at the door.
SoMi stared at him as if he were an alien rather than her silent neighbor.
"What?" she whispered.
"I come home at nine in the evening. Give me one hour of silence so I can have dinner, meditate, or read. After ten, you can listen to music, but keep it quiet. And also... sometimes I'm at home in the afternoon, so... you can turn on the music for a little while during the day, too. And don't laugh if you hear me... singing along."
"Okay," she nodded.
Do Hwan let go of her hand, lowered his head, and slowly walked to his door.
"And... I'm sorry I yelled at you back then," he muttered over his shoulder without turning around.
"It's okay. I'm sorry for ignoring your requests," she replied.
The door closed with a soft click.
SoMi took off her coat, threw herself on the sofa, and muttered.
"What was that? He was angry as wolf, then indifferent, and now he's gentle, even sweet. You have to keep an eye out for him, because he's very changeable..." She muttered this as she played her favorite song and turned on the speaker. "Today is okay. He allowed it," she said with a smile.
In his room, Do Hwan heard the faint sound of music. He smiled to himself.
"Everything's fine," he thought. "She heard me."
While cleaning, he heard a familiar tune and sang along involuntarily. He didn't even realize it at first.
"Adults sometimes need to act childishly." ..." The words spun around in his head like the soundtrack to a new life.
He remembered her words: "Whether I'm happy or sad, music is always with me. It saves me better than any therapy. Maybe you should allow yourself to be happy for no reason sometimes, at least a little..."
Was she right? Maybe it was him who had long forgotten what it was like to be happy for no reason?
He didn't yet know that the cheerful, daring girl nearby would paint his black-and-white world with new colors.
She didn't know yet that her neighbor, who seemed bold and indifferent, would become someone very important to her.
Their story was just beginning, and fate itself was the director of this film.