POV: Seo Ji-won
Day 2 – Saturday
Setting: Ji-won's apartment, Insadong Traditional Tea House
I wake up to seventeen text messages from Min-jae.
Not seventeen messages spread across the morning. Seventeen messages sent between 7:23 AM and 7:41 AM, an eighteen-minute tsunami of digital communication that makes my phone buzz like it's having a seizure.
Min-jae (7:23 AM): Good morning! Hope you slept well.
Min-jae (7:25 AM): I was thinking about what you said last night about wanting to write real stories.
Min-jae (7:27 AM): What kind of stories do you want to tell?
Min-jae (7:29 AM): Sorry, is it too early to be texting? I'm a morning person.
Min-jae (7:31 AM): I made coffee. It's good coffee. I wish I could share it through the phone.
Min-jae (7:33 AM): That sounded less weird in my head.
Min-jae (7:35 AM): There's a traditional tea house in Insadong I've been wanting to try. Are you free this afternoon?
Min-jae (7:37 AM): If you're not free, that's totally fine. No pressure.
Min-jae (7:39 AM): I'm going to stop texting now before I seem overeager.
Min-jae (7:41 AM): Okay I lied, one more thing—have a great morning.
I stare at my phone screen, equal parts amused and horrified.
This is perfect. This is exactly the kind of behavior I need to document—except I'm supposed to be the one exhibiting it, not receiving it. Seventeen texts in eighteen minutes is clingy, desperate, the kind of thing that makes people screenshot conversations and send them to friends with "RED FLAG" in all caps.
But somehow, reading Min-jae's messages just makes me smile.
I sit up in bed, my small apartment still dim with early morning light filtering through the curtains. My laptop sits on my desk, the document "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days - Field Notes" is still open from last night.
I should add this. Document the irony that my article subject is already exhibiting the behavior I'm supposed to be demonstrating.
Instead, I text him back.
Me: Good morning. You're definitely a morning person. I am not.
Me: Tea house sounds perfect. What time?
Me: Also, seventeen texts before 8 AM might be a record.
His response is immediate.
Min-jae: I'm aware I have a problem. My friends have staged interventions.
**Me:** About the texting or the morning person thing?
Min-jae:Both. They're related issues.
Me:Should I be concerned?
Min-jae: Only if you're not a fan of enthusiastic communication and detailed itinerary planning.
Me: I'll manage. See you at 2 PM?
Min-jae: Perfect. I'll send you the address. Just one text. I promise.
He sends three more texts: the address, a screenshot of the tea house menu, and a picture of his coffee cup with the caption "Proof I make good coffee."
I'm laughing as I set down my phone, and then I remember: I'm supposed to be the nightmare girlfriend here.
The document on my laptop stares at me accusingly. Day Two, and I haven't executed a single part of my plan. I was supposed to start with excessive texting, boundary violations, moving too fast emotionally. Instead, Min-jae's beating me to it, and I'm finding it charming rather than concerning.
This is a problem.
I open my notes and type:
*Day 2: Subject (Min-jae) sent seventeen texts before 8 AM. In typical dating dynamics, this would be considered a red flag—too eager, no sense of boundaries, coming on too strong. However, the content was harmless (coffee, morning thoughts, date invitation). Question for article: Why do we pathologize enthusiasm in early dating? When does "interested" become "desperate"?*
I read it back. That's not the article I pitched. I pitched satire, not sociology.
I delete it and try again:
*Day 2: Begin the escalation phase. Plan: excessive texting, invasive questions, move relationships forward too quickly. Goal: make the subject uncomfortable enough to want distance.*
Better. More clinical. Exactly what Editor Kim expects.
My phone buzzes again.
**Yu-jin:** How was the coffee date??? I need DETAILS. Is he as hot in person? Did you kiss? When's the next date?
Me: No kiss. Yes it's still hot. Second date today.
Yu-jin: TODAY?? Ji-won, you're supposed to be LOSING him, not seeing him every day.
She has a point. Seeing someone two days in a row signals serious interest, not casual dating. But that's actually perfect for my purposes—the faster I escalate, the faster I can sabotage.
Me: Trust me. I have a plan.
Yu-jin: Your plan better not involve you actually falling for this guy.
Me: That's not going to happen.
But even as I type it, I think about Min-jae's seventeen morning texts. The way he apologized for being weird. The way he sent a picture of his coffee cup like he wanted to share a mundane moment of his morning with me.
I shower and dress carefully. If I'm going to execute Operation Terrible Girlfriend, I need to look the part—interested enough that he doesn't immediately bail, but slightly too put-together for a casual afternoon date. I choose a floral dress that's pretty but obviously chosen with purpose, do my makeup more carefully than necessary, and spend twenty minutes on my hair.
At 1:30 PM, I start texting him.
Me: What are you doing right now?
Me: I'm so excited for today.
Me: What are you wearing? I want to make sure we coordinate.
Me: Do you think the tea house will be crowded?
Me: Should we take pictures? I love documenting dates.
**Me:** Sorry, am I texting too much?
I watch the three dots appear and disappear several times. He's typing, deleting, and retyping. Good. I'm making him uncomfortable.
Min-jae: I'm excited too! Wearing jeans and a navy sweater. Don't worry about coordinating—you'll look great regardless. And yes to pictures if you want!
Damn. He's being completely gracious about my text bombardment. I need to escalate.
**Me:** Navy sweater! That'll look so good on you. You have great style. And great shoulders. Do you work out?
**Me:** Not that I was staring at your shoulders yesterday.
**Me:** (I was definitely staring at your shoulders.)
The three dots appear again, longer this time.
Min-jae: Uh, thanks? I play basketball sometimes. Mostly I just have good genes.
Me: I bet you have great genes. Do people tell you you're attractive? Because you're very attractive. Like, distractingly attractive.
I cringe as I send it. This is painful. I sound like a teenager with her first crush, all caps enthusiasm and zero chill.
Min-jae: That's... really nice of you to say. See you soon?
He's deflecting. Perfect. I'm making him uncomfortable.
I arrive at the tea house in Insadong at exactly 2 PM, and Min-jae is already there, waiting outside. He's wearing the navy sweater he mentioned, and he does look unfairly good, but I can't focus on that right now. I have a role to play.
"Hi!" I say, too brightly, and immediately hug him.
He stiffens slightly—we're not at hugging level yet, we had one coffee date—but recovers quickly, hugging me back.
"Hey," he says. "You look nice."
"You look amazing. I love that sweater. The color brings out your eyes. Your eyes are so pretty. Has anyone ever told you that?"
I watched his face cycle through several expressions—flattered, confused, slightly alarmed.
"Um, thank you. Should we go in?"
The tea house is traditional Korean—low wooden tables, floor cushions, paper lanterns casting soft light. It's quiet and intimate, the kind of place people come for contemplative conversations, not interrogations.
We settle at a table by the window, and a server brings us menus. I immediately scooted my cushion closer to Min-jae's, closing the polite distance between us.
"So," I say, "tell me about your family. Do you have siblings? What do your parents do? Do they live nearby? Are you close with them? Do they know you're dating someone?"
Min-jae blink at the rapid-fire questions. "Uh, no siblings. My parents are academics, they live in Seoul. We're close. And no, they don't know I'm dating anyone because we just started—"
"Dating," I interrupt. "So you consider this dating? Like, exclusive dating? Because I'm not seeing anyone else. Are you seeing anyone else?"
"I—no, I'm not, but we've only been on one date—"
"One and a half dates," I correct. "This is the second one. Do you believe in love at first sight? Because I think there was something when we met. Like, real chemistry. Did you feel it?"
Min-jae shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah, there was definitely... chemistry. But Ji-won, aren't we moving kind of fast?"
"Is there such a thing as too fast when you have a connection? Life's short. Why waste time playing games?" I reach across the table and take his hand. "Do you want kids someday?"
He nearly chokes on air. "Kids?"
"Yeah. Like, how many? I think three is a good number. Not too few, not too many. What do you think?"
"I... haven't really thought about it in specific numbers."
"But you want them eventually, right? Because that's important for compatibility. And marriage—do you believe in long engagements or do you think when you know, you know?"
The server arrives with our tea—jasmine for me, green for him—and I can see the relief on Min-jae's face at the interruption.
"Should we look at the menu?" he suggests desperately.
"Sure! But answer the marriage question first."
"I think... I think these are conversations people have after more than one date." He's being diplomatic, but I can see the panic in his eyes. Good. This is exactly what I need.
I pout. "Are you saying you don't want to talk about our future?"
"I'm saying maybe we should talk about our present first. Like, I don't even know your favorite color yet."
"Cream. Like, warm cream, not white. What's yours?"
"Blue. Navy blue."
"Like your sweater! We're so compatible." I squeeze his hand. "Can I ask you something personal?"
"You've been asking personal things for ten minutes."
"More personal. Have you ever had your heart broken?"
His expression changes—something vulnerable flickers across his face before he schools it back to neutral. "Once. A while ago."
"Tell me about it. I want to know everything about you."
"That's really... that's a third-date conversation, maybe."
"Why do we have to follow arbitrary dating rules? I want to know you now." I lean forward. "Who was she? What happened? Did she cheat? Did you cheat? Are you over her?"
"Ji-won." Min-jae gently extracts his hand from mine. "I like that you're interested, but this feels like an interrogation. Can we maybe talk about lighter things? Like, I don't know, your favorite movie or what you do on weekends?"
I sit back, pretending to be hurt. "I'm just trying to connect with you."
"I know. And I appreciate it. But connection takes time. We don't have to speed-run through every deep conversation in one afternoon."
He's being so reasonable. So mature. It's infuriating because it makes him harder to lose.
I try a different tactic. "Can I see your phone?"
"What?"
"Your phone. I just want to see your wallpaper. And maybe your apps. You can tell a lot about a person from their phone."
"That's... kind of invasive."
"Is it? I thought couples shared everything."
"We're not a couple. We've been on one and a half dates, like you said."
"So you don't see this going anywhere?" I let my voice get smaller and wounded.
Min-jae run a hand through his hair—the first time I've seen him look genuinely stressed. "That's not what I said. I just think we should take things at a normal pace."
"What's normal? Who decides that?"
"I don't know. Society? Common sense? The general agreement that you don't discuss children and marriage on a second date?"
I flag down the server and order three more items without consulting him. When the server leaves, Min-jae looks at the table, now crowded with tea, rice cakes, and traditional sweets.
"That's a lot of food," he observes.
"I'm hungry. Is that okay? Are you one of those guys who's weird about women eating?"
"No, I just—we probably won't finish all this."
"Are you worried about money? Because I can pay. I don't need you to pay for everything. I'm an independent woman."
"I wasn't worried about money. I was worried about food waste."
"So you're environmentally conscious. That's attractive. Do you compost? Recycle? What's your carbon footprint?"
Min-jae stares at me like I've grown a second head. "Are you okay? You're being kind of... intense."
"Intense? I'm just being myself. Is that a problem?"
"No, but yesterday you were different. More relaxed."
"Maybe I'm relaxed enough now to be my real self. Is this version of me too much for you?"
I watch him struggle with how to answer. He's too polite to say yes, too honest to say no.
"You're not too much," he finally says. "But I feel like I'm being interviewed for a job I didn't apply for."
Despite myself, I almost laughed. That's exactly what this is.
We ate in a stilted conversation. I continue to push—asking about his exes, his family dynamics, his five-year plan, his thoughts on astrology and whether he believes in soulmates. Min-jae answer patiently, but I can see him withdrawing, creating distance even though we're sitting inches apart.
When the bill comes, I insist on seeing it, then calculate exactly half and transfer him my portion down to the won.
"You don't have to—" he starts.
"I said I'm independent. I pay my own way."
Outside the tea house, the Insadong afternoon is sunny and crowded with tourists buying traditional crafts and couples taking photos. Min-jae walks beside me quietly, and I know I should feel victorious—I've successfully made this date uncomfortable, pushed too hard, and exhibited all the "red flag" behaviors dating columns warn about.
Instead, I feel terrible.
"So," I say as we approach the subway. "Same time tomorrow?"
Min-jae look surprised. "Tomorrow?"
"Yeah. We should see each other every day while this is still new and exciting. Before the spark fades."
"I actually have plans tomorrow. Family thing."
"Oh. Can I come?"
"To my family thing?"
"Yeah. I'd love to meet your parents. You said they live nearby."
"Ji-won, we've been on two dates. I'm not bringing you home to meet my parents."
I let my face fall. "So you're embarrassed of me?"
"That's not—" Min-jae sighs. "You're twisting my words. I'm not embarrassed. I just think meeting parents is premature."
"Fine. Monday then."
"I have work Monday."
"After work. Or lunch. Or breakfast. I'm flexible."
He looks at me carefully, and I can see him trying to figure me out. Yesterday's version—thoughtful, easy to talk to. Today's version—clingy, invasive, exhausting.
"Let me check my schedule," he says finally. "I'll text you."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
I hugged him goodbye—too long, too tight—and headed into the subway. As soon as I'm out of sight, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
My phone buzzes. Yu-jin.
Yu-jin: How'd it go?
Me: I think I successfully freaked him out.
Yu-jin: That's good, right? That's the goal?
I don't answer. Instead, I open my notes document and type:
*Day 2: Executed Phase One of sabotage—excessive texting (morning), invasive questions (tea house), moving too fast emotionally (discussed marriage, kids, future). Subject (Min-jae) responded with patience and attempts at boundary-setting. He's more resilient than expected. Will need to escalate further.*
*Side note: Subject boundaries are actually healthy and reasonable. He deflected inappropriate questions without being rude, suggesting a slower pace without rejecting me. In different circumstances, these would be green flags, not red flags. Question: Why do we punish people for having boundaries?*
I stare at the last paragraph. That's not going in the article. Editor Kim wants satire about terrible dating behavior, not philosophical questions about relationship ethics.
I deleted it.
My phone buzzes again. Min-jae.
Min-jae: Made it home okay?
Me: Yes. Thanks for today.
Min-jae: Sure. It was... interesting.
Me: Interesting good or interesting bad?
The three dots appear and disappear several times.
Min-jae: Just interesting. Let's talk tomorrow?
Me: Can't wait.
I set down my phone and stared at my apartment ceiling. Two days down, eight to go. Min-jae is still responding to my texts, still agreeing to see me again, still trying to make this work despite my increasingly unhinged behavior.
Which means I need to escalate more dramatically.
I just wish the thought didn't make me feel quite so guilty.