WAMB Chapter 1.1

Monday

I decided to do something crazy.  

Once I made that decision, it became easier to set off on the trip I’d been hesitating over until now. I forcibly erased any sense of guilt or obligation, leaving only the goal of doing at least one crazy thing at my destination.  

Sewon’s phone buzzed in his hand. The Wi-Fi signal, flickering faintly between one and two bars, finally stabilized, and a call from Han Jaehee came through at last.  

— “Sewon-ah, so where are you right now?”  

The moment he picked up, Jaehee’s question poured out, and Sewon answered in a small voice.  

“…Istanbul.”  

— “Are you insane? Istanbul, all of a sudden?”  

“I don’t know… I don’t think I’m crazy enough yet.”  

Yeah, calling it crazy feels off—I’m still too sane for that.  

Sewon replied while recalling his neatly organized travel itinerary. Sure, he’d decided on this trip on a whim and bought the plane ticket right away, but it seemed he didn’t quite have the courage to get lost in a far-off foreign land.  

— “I know things have been tough, Sewon-ah, but this is too reckless…”  

A deep sigh came through the phone, sounding close to his ear. It felt almost like a reprimand. But Han Jaehee couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, blaming Sewon. 

People’s attitudes toward Sewon, who stood adrift like a ship lost at sea with no destination, split into two types: those who patted his shoulder and encouraged him to stay strong, and those who openly smacked their lips while tapping away at their calculators.  

Not knowing how to navigate this unfamiliar situation, Sewon chose to run away first. To keep breathing, to survive, it felt like that was his only option right now.  

『Lira Plummets OMG—Perfect Time to Travel? Budget-Friendly Istanbul VLOG』  

A video he’d normally scroll past caught Sewon’s eye like it was fate. It reminded him of a travel show he’d once watched side by side with his mom in the living room. After watching the nearly 30-minute travelogue as if possessed, Sewon bought a ticket to Istanbul. For the first time, the passport that had only served as a substitute ID finally fulfilled its true purpose.  

Feeling stifled, he opened the window. The blaring horns of cars clogging the streets mixed with the sound of an ambulance siren. Even though it was the noise of an unfamiliar city, it felt strangely familiar. As Sewon stepped closer to the small terrace, a pigeon perched on the railing took off with a flutter.  

“Was this too reckless…?”  

— “Of course—… no, it’s not. But didn’t you say you had an interview with A Group soon?”  

[A Food Company Domestic Sales/Support: 0 Positions Available.]  

The interview date marked on the calendar atop his cluttered desk slowly surfaced in his mind. The final executive interview was the day after tomorrow, but surprisingly, it didn’t stir any excitement.  

The anxiety and nervousness that had accompanied him throughout his job hunt now felt trivial. He’d always thought the position at A Food—both the industry and the role—fit him like ill-tailored clothes, so the lack of regret came naturally.  

“Yeah, the day after tomorrow.”  

—“Sewon-ah.”  

He’d expected scolding or pity, but Jaehee’s voice calling his name was soft, almost comforting. That softness—it was the problem.  

“There’ll be other chances for interviews.”  

—“I’m just saying it’s a shame. A final interview means the competition’s down to three-to-one or less…”  

“I would have ruined the interview in this state anyway.” 

—“Sewon-ah, are you having a hard time?”  

Jaehee’s voice, unbearably kind, seeped into Sewon’s ears. It was that kindness that made him hope, that eventually left him disappointed, and that, in the end, made him run away.

“It’s not because it’s hard… I just wanted to take a solo trip before graduating.”  

—“….”  

Until he arrived in this foreign land, he hadn’t felt like he was having a hard time. His mother’s death—the fact that she no longer existed—hadn’t fully sunk in. It didn’t feel real. So he had simply gone through the motions, handling tasks like a machine. 

Even now, it felt like if he called her, she’d pick up and say, “Sewon-ah.” Yet everyone around him kept asking if he was okay, and each time, it hit him that she was no longer in this world.  

“I’m going to eat delicious foods and see various places.” 

—“Yeah… I understand.”  

“You understand?”  

He’d expected a longer lecture, but Jaehee wrapped up the conversation simply.  

—“Since you’re already there, just enjoy yourself. Hearing you talk like this makes me feel guilty. How did we never take a trip together all these years?”  

Han Jaehee—a friend he’d known for over 10 years, and…  

“Yeah…”  

—“Who knows? Maybe you’ll even find a girlfriend there.”  

…the object of an unrequited love he couldn’t trace back to its beginning.  

‘I have to hide it. I must bury it so deeply that he never finds out.’

Han Jaehee would often throw out the suggestion to get a girlfriend, inadvertently hurting Sewon’s heart, no matter how well he kept that vow. 

“Yeah, thanks.”  

—“Come straight to my place when you’re back in Korea, okay?”  

‘Do you even realize?’  

That these ordinary words, the kind only a friend would say, could sway my entire day?  

“Yeah. Jaehee-yah, tell your parents thank you for me, too. I feel bad I couldn’t say it myself.”  

—“No need to feel bad, it’s fine. Just bring a gift or something. You know my mom collects cups.”  

“Yeah. See you when I’m back in Korea.”  

As soon as he hung up the phone, silence quickly fell into the room. The sound of a rolling suitcase in the hallway outside the poorly soundproofed room mixed with the sound of the road coming from outside the window.

His purpose for this trip became clear.  

One: Do a bunch of things that aren’t like the usual me.  

Two: Sort out this unrequited love for Han Jaehee and come back.  

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Leaving the hotel, Sewon decided to grab a quick bite in the nearby bustling area, though he planned to start proper sightseeing tomorrow. Winter in Istanbul was far warmer than Seoul’s biting winds, so he opted for a light coat instead of heavy padding.  

At the narrow alleyway connecting the hotel’s back door to Taksim Square, a man stood holding a large silver tray. The tray contained Midye dolma¹, a street food of mussels stuffed with steamed rice. Next to him was a familiar face—the hotel staff member who’d helped with check-in yesterday. Recognizing Sewon, the man raised an eyebrow playfully and spoke.  

“Kore?”  

It seemed like a question asking if he was Korean. Sewon, who refused to have the mussel rice fed directly into his mouth and took it in his hand, nodded in response. In response to Sewon’s answer, the hotel employee switched to English and threw out a new question.  

“My name’s Bulkan.”  

“I’m Sewon.”  

“Aha, Sewon. Why’d you come to Istanbul? Vacation?”  

“Yeah, for a trip.”  

Many men in Istanbul sported beards, but Bulkan’s face was clean-shaven. Guessing a foreigner’s age was tricky, but Sewon felt certain Bulkan was around his age.  

“Are you a college student?”  

“Yeah, I’m graduating soon.”  

“Me too. I’m on a break right now, working at the hotel part-time.”  

Maybe because he was a student, Bulkan’s English was pretty fluent. After struggling with gestures and broken phrases from the airport to the hotel, hearing “somewhat” familiar English was a relief Sewon hadn’t expected to feel so strongly.  

“Where in Korea are you from?”  

Bulkan asked, popping a midye dolma into his mouth, his face showing both friendliness and curiosity.  

“Seoul.”  

“I’ve been to Korea before.”  

“Really? For a trip?”  

“Yangju, in Gyeonggi-do.”  

Not Seoul, Busan, or even Jeju—Yangju? It wasn’t a famous tourist spot, so Sewon found it surprising.  

“Yangju?”  

At Sewon’s question, Bulkan explained he had a close Korean friend.  

“I know some Korean too. Annyeonghaseyo. Jagiya. Saranghae.²”  

His pronunciation was shaky, but the charm was a perfect ten. A smile crept onto Sewon’s lips without him realizing.  

It seemed Bulkan’s “close friend” wasn’t just a friend—more likely a lover. Sewon almost asked if he still kept in touch with that Korean friend but held back. He wasn’t in the mood to hear about someone else’s love life just yet.  

Bulkan taught Sewon a few simple Turkish phrases and peppered him with small-talk questions: Why’d you come to Istanbul? Isn’t it boring to travel alone? The conversation flowed nonstop as Sewon polished off several midye dolma, their subtle flavor brightened by a hint of lemon juice.  

Standing side by side with a stranger, sharing a meal—it was something he’d never done before. Without meaning to, he’d already checked off the first goal of his trip.  

The start of this journey felt pretty good.  

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

After diligently eating breakfast and returning to his room, Sewon frowned in confusion. Before heading down, a housekeeper in the hallway had asked, “Cleaning?” He’d assumed the room would be tidied by now, but it looked untouched.  

There wasn’t much mess to clean, so that didn’t bother him—he just needed the two daily water bottles. Yesterday’s were already empty. After a moment’s thought, Sewon headed to the lobby. A familiar face greeted him.  

“Hey, you’re up early.”  

Bulkan flashed a bright smile and waved at Sewon. Maybe it was the casual chat they’d shared last night, but he already felt approachable.  

“Good morning. Uh… do you know when my room might get cleaned?”  

“It hasn’t been done yet? Want me to ask them to do it now?”  

“No, cleaning’s fine. I just drank all the water.”  

“Thirsty? Want a glass right now?”  

Bulkan started to call over a staff member serving welcome drinks, but Sewon quickly shook his head.  

“No, I just meant to take some up.”  

Only after declining did he realize he was thirsty. The breakfast, decent enough, must’ve been saltier than the Korean food he was used to.  

“I’ll bring you some water bottles. Hang on.”  

“Thanks.”  

With that, Bulkan disappeared in a flash. In the lobby, Sewon wasn’t the only East Asian—another man stood nearby, naturally drawing his attention. The man was tapping his fingertips on the reception desk, and, perhaps bored, he began neatly arranging his belongings on it.  

A leather passport holder with a subtle engraved logo, a matte black credit card, a caseless phone—everything about him was as sleek and understated as his appearance.  

As Sewon tried to pull his gaze away, Bulkan returned to the lobby, arms full of water bottles. With a kind smile, he exchanged a few words with the other man before approaching Sewon and whispering softly.  

“He’s Korean too. Think he’s an actor?”  

At Bulkan’s question, Sewon mentally flipped through the actors he knew. None came to mind.  

“…I don’t think so.”  

“Say hi to him. He’s traveling alone too. I’ll introduce you.”  

‘I don’t need to meet another Korean,’ Sewon wanted to say, but before he could, Bulkan was already striding over, clutching the water bottles. Sewon followed reluctantly, inevitably closing the distance between himself and the man.  

Up close, Sewon felt a shadow fall over him. He’d noticed it from afar, but the man was tall. His perfect posture made him stand out even among the other tall foreign guests.  

“Here’s my friend, also from Korea.”  

At Bulkan’s introduction, the two men’s eyes met. He had only had a simple meal together yesterday, but Sewon had already become Bulkan’s friend. To keep Bulkan from being embarrassed, Sewon had no choice but to greet the man.  

“Uh… hello.”  

The man’s face, seen head-on, was striking. Every feature seemed sculpted with care as if a god had taken its time crafting him.  

He was so handsome it felt almost disorienting like space and time were warping around him. Meeting a man this good-looking in a foreign country—someone he’d never seen in Korea—was surreal. Or maybe it was because beauties like him were overseas that they were rare back home? Lost in silly thoughts, Sewon shifted his gaze. His eyes landed on a framed poster on the wall.  

It looked vaguely familiar but written in Turkish, he couldn’t read the title. Next to it hung a photo, likely taken on a movie set, with an actor’s bold, stylish signature scrawled across it.  

“What movie was that…?”  

Sewon mumbled to himself without realizing—a habit from years of living alone. A beat later, he clamped his mouth shut, remembering he wasn’t at home.  

“Burn Sterling.”  

The man’s flat-toned response wasn’t a greeting—it was an answer to Sewon’s unintentional muttering.  

“Oh…”  

Burn Sterling was an action movie series about CIA agent Marcus Sterling chasing villains across the globe. Starting in the ‘70s, it has spawned sequels ever since. A slow exclamation slipped from Sewon’s lips.  

“The first and fourth series were filmed in Istanbul, and this hotel exploded in the fourth series.”

“…….” 

Sewon’s gaze slowly turned to the frame hanging on the wall.

“This hotel appears in the movie for less than 5 seconds, but it remains an unforgettable memory for some people that they’ll never forget for the rest of their lives.”

His voice was low, but it carried weight. Maybe that’s why, even without a stiff suit or an imposing air, he gave off the vibe of a mature adult. The man gave Sewon a brief nod before turning away without hesitation.  

Even his retreating back was handsome, Sewon thought—and suddenly, his throat felt parched. He cracked open one of the water bottles Bulkan had handed him, downed it in one go, and stepped out.