Night Letter, and After

01

It was late spring in Seoul, and a slight chill still lingered in the night air. You had just finished a performance at a small concert hall in Hongdae, guitar in hand. After the lights went down and the applause died down, you bumped into someone on your way backstage.

A man wearing a white shirt, jeans, a mask, and a hat pulled down low. At first, you didn't recognize him. But his gaze, a warm aura that was both familiar and unfamiliar, stopped you in your tracks.

“You play the guitar well.”