DMC didn't sleep.
It only changed flavours.
Steam rose from food carts lined along the wide pavement like scattered constellations. Every stall glowed beneath its own little universe of lights—sizzling, steaming, calling out to passersby.
Neon signs reflected across the glass buildings, turning the street into a moving painting.
Ruhi's eyes sparkled.
"Okay, but why does everything smell illegal?"
Minji laughed.
"Because street food here doesn't ask permission."
They walked past stall after stall.
Hotteok—golden pancakes bursting with brown sugar and nuts.
Eomuk—fish cakes floating in warm broth.
Corn dogs—half potato, half cheese, all chaos.
Gyeran-bbang—soft egg bread, steaming inside paper cups.
Dakkochi—grilled chicken skewers glazed in sweet-spicy sauce.
Bungeoppang—fish-shaped pastry with red bean hidden inside.
Zoya stopped at the gyeran-bbang stall.
She stared at it for a moment.
"This looks… safe."
Sophia nodded immediately.
"Yes. Bread and egg. No surprises."
They each took one.
Zoya bit into hers.
She chewed slowly.
Then her shoulders relaxed.
"Okay."
She nodded with relief.
"My tongue understands this language."
Hana grinned.
"Progress."
A few steps away, Teahun and Minjo were wandering through the crowd too, pretending to argue over corn dogs.
They reached the same stall where Zoya had ordered.
Minjo noticed her first.
He leaned toward Teahun.
"Why does she look so relieved eating egg bread?"
Teahun shrugged.
"She survived tteokbokki, and her tongue is still confused. Let her heal."
They laughed.
A little farther down, soft music thumped from a stall glowing brighter than the rest.
A drink stall.
Rows of bottles, jars, and taps stood in layers behind the counter—amber, ruby, neon green, cloudy gold.
For a moment, it looked less like a drink stall and more like a chemistry lab.
A handwritten board read:
DRINKS AVAILABLE
Some alcohol mixtures
Fruit cocktails
Lemonade — classic & mint
Sparkling grape
Peach fizz
Plum soda
Apple juice
Non-alcoholic mixers
Light drinks too
Minji's shoulders relaxed the moment she saw it.
"Ah… finally."
Hana smiled knowingly.
"For us, this is normal. Part of adult life."
They stepped closer.
Zoya slowed.
Sophia did too.
Ruhi tilted her head as she looked over the choices.
"I'll take something light. Just for a change of taste."
Minji turned toward her immediately.
Her voice was gentle but clear.
"No pressure, okay? Everyone chooses for themselves."
Zoya nodded.
"I'm good. I don't drink."
Sophia smiled.
"Same."
The vendor leaned forward warmly.
"No problem at all. Fresh apple juice? Just pressed."
Zoya's eyes lit up.
"Yes. That one."
Sophia nodded.
"Two."
The machine whirred softly.
Fresh apples disappeared beneath the press, and golden juice slowly filled the cups.
Minji ordered confidently.
"Plum soda."
Hana followed.
"Peach fizz."
Ruhi thought for a moment.
"Mint lemonade. Light."
Five cups were handed over.
Five different drinks.
Five different choices.
No questions.
No pressure.
Then, suddenly—
Jeon J and Jinhun came near the drink stall.
Even with the mask, Minji recognized Jeon J instantly.
There was no point pretending now.
They were standing close enough to talk while their orders were being prepared.
Jinhun ordered two glasses of red wine.
Without taking Jeon J's name.
Minji looked toward him.
"How are you?"
Jeon J turned.
Surprise flickered across his eyes.
"You… here?"
"Yes. I'm here with some friends."
Minji gestured toward the girls standing a few steps away, each holding a drink.
They had no idea who Minji was talking to.
Jeon J nodded.
"Oh. How are you?"
Then, after a moment, he added,
"When I met Uncle once, I found out you got admission to the National University of Busan."
"Yes. We arrived this morning. Rested a bit, then came to DMC."
Minji smiled.
"I thought I'd start showing my friends Seoul from here."
"That's good."
Jinhun returned with the glasses.
He handed one to Jeon J, then looked toward Minji.
"Hey, Minji. How are you?"
"I'm fine."
She smiled faintly.
"Do you still remember me? I thought you all forgot."
Jinhun laughed.
"How could we forget you? You're Jeon J's friend."
He paused.
"He used to tell us you bought the most concert tickets."
Minji's smile faded for the smallest moment.
She remembered those tickets.
She had bought them because Jeon J had asked her to.
But she had never distributed them.
At that time, she had believed Jeon J and his crew were a failed band.
And gathering people for a failed band had felt pointless.
So she had torn the tickets apart…
…and thrown them away.
"But you disappeared for a while," Jinhun continued.
"And we got busy too. Still, we don't forget our friends."
"Minji—"
Ruhi's voice came from behind.
She walked closer.
Then stopped.
Her eyes landed on the two masked men.
Silence.
One second.
Then shock.
Then excitement.
Her mouth opened.
She was about to scream.
Minji instantly covered her mouth.
"I know who they are. Stop it."
She whispered quickly.
"If everyone finds out now, it'll be a problem. Let's move aside."
Minji gestured toward Jeon J.
They took a few steps away from the stall.
The street was crowded, so they stood near one side while the drinks remained nearby.
When Jeon J, Jinhun, Minji, and Ruhi rejoined the group—
Zoya lifted her gaze.
And froze.
Only for a second.
Then she immediately composed herself.
Hana and Sophia, however, lit up.
Their hands instantly reached for their phones.
Jeon J noticed.
He spoke calmly.
"No selfies right now."
The girls stopped.
"Today, we want to enjoy ourselves like ordinary people."
Then he smiled slightly.
"But I promise—before we leave, we'll take one."
Hana and Sophia exchanged excited looks.
Zoya kept staring at her glass.
She wasn't sure how to react.
"Let's do cheers," Jinhun said.
He lifted his glass.
Everyone raised theirs.
Zoya glanced at her drink.
Then suddenly looked toward the nearby pole.
"Minji… should I go stand near the pole?"
Jeon J looked at her, confused.
In his mind, she was holding a drink.
He didn't know it was apple juice.
He assumed it was beer.
So her decision to leave the group and stand alone seemed strange.
Minji answered casually.
"That's fine. You go. We're right here."
Zoya nodded.
"No. You come when you're free, or call me."
"Okay. Done."
Zoya started walking away.
But before she disappeared into the crowd, she looked back.
Her gaze softened.
First toward Jeon J.
Then toward the glass in his hand.
Jeon J stood still.
The girl he'd seen sitting in the back seat that morning—
It had to be her.
Even under the mask, he had noticed one thing then.
A small black dot between her eyebrows.
A birthmark, perhaps.
Or something she had created herself.
He hadn't known.
But now he was sure.
What felt strange wasn't that she hadn't asked for a selfie.
It was that she hadn't seemed impressed at all.
People begged for a single selfie with them.
They were famous enough that the whole world knew TBS.
Yet this girl had simply looked at him…
and walked away.
As if his fame didn't matter.
As if he were simply another person standing in a crowded street.
And somehow, that unsettled him.
It made him feel as though—
even after all the success,
even after all the recognition,
there was still something left to prove.
As if recognition itself…
was still incomplete.
"Where did you get lost?"
Jinhun's voice pulled him back.
He lightly shook Jeon J's shoulder.
"Nowhere."
Jinhun glanced toward Minji.
"Minji… does your friend not know us?"
He lowered his voice.
"I mean… TBS?"
Jeon J looked at Minji.
"She's Zoya."
Minji answered quietly.
"She talks very little. Mostly stays in her own world."
She paused.
"As for knowing TBS—I don't know. We've never seen her get excited over the name, so we never asked."
"Oh."
Jeon J looked toward the pole.
"I see."
Zoya took a sip of apple juice.
Cold.
Sweet.
Simple.
She exhaled slowly.
Only then did she realize she had been holding her breath.
"This…"
She rested the glass in her lap.
"It's perfect."
For a moment, the noise of DMC seemed to fade into the background.
Music.
Laughter.
Voices.
Footsteps.
All of it became distant.
Zoya lowered her gaze.
"Allah…"
So many things could stand between two people.
Language barrier.
Caste barrier.
Color barrier.
Country barrier.
Traditional barrier.
Cultural barrier.
Lifestyle barrier.
Religion.
So many invisible walls.
Yet Allah was beyond all of them.
Her fingers tightened around the glass.
"Allah, You are the One who knows the state of hearts."
Her voice became softer.
"You are the One who heals hearts."
A pause.
"You are Rehman."
She swallowed.
"Please heal my heart."
She remained quiet for a few minutes.
Then—
She felt something near her feet.
Zoya looked down suddenly.
"Bamson."
She froze.
A smile appeared on her lips.
At the same time, tears filled her eyes.
Bamson sat beside her, his tail wagging wildly, his entire body expressing pure happiness.
"Bamson…"
She leaned closer.
"How are you here?"
Then she looked around.
"Oh… your father is here too."
Her eyes fell on his sweater.
"You're wearing the same sweater."
She leaned closer and whispered,
"Bamson… where is the letter I put in the sweater pocket?"
Bamson only looked at her.
His tail wagged harder.
Zoya stared into his eyes.
She didn't understand his answer.
But somehow, she understood enough.
The letter wasn't here.
Maybe Jeon J had it.
Or maybe whoever had changed the sweater had found it.
Zoya gently touched Bamson's head.
"Hey, Bamson… you tired me out."
Then she heard a voice.
"You really tired me out."
Zoya lifted her head.
A masked man was crouching beside Bamson, both hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath.
"Why did you come here?"
He looked at Bamson.
"We were walking properly. Tell me."
Bamson wagged his tail.
Then he glanced toward Zoya.
The man followed his gaze.
Their eyes met.
"Do you know her?"
He asked Bamson in Korean.
Zoya didn't understand the words.
Only their expressions.
She tried to guess what he was asking.
The man turned toward her and asked something again in Korean.
Zoya widened her eyes.
Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
The man immediately understood.
She didn't know Korean.
He switched to English.
"Do you know Bamson?"
Zoya smiled softly.
"Yes."
She looked at Bamson.
"We met once."
A faint smile appeared on her lips.
"Then we became friends."
She paused.
"And before we could remain friends… we got separated."
"Oh."
The man's expression softened.
"That's why he ran to you. You were friends before."
Zoya nodded.
He smiled.
"What's your name?"
"Zoya."
She smiled politely.
"My name is Zoya."
"Joya," he repeated, using the Korean pronunciation.
Zoya laughed softly.
She adjusted her scarf as it fluttered in the evening breeze.
"Yes. Zoya becomes Joya in Korean."
She smiled.
"You can call me Joya."
"Oh. Nice name."
He gave a small nod.
"I'm Yomin."
Then, casually—
"I'm from TBS."
Zoya's expression changed.
Not with excitement.
Not with shock.
Instead, she smiled playfully.
"Speak softly."
Yomin blinked.
Zoya glanced toward the crowd.
"If someone hears TBS, the crowd will gather."
She smiled.
"Then you won't be able to walk the streets like common people."
Yomin laughed.
Bamson settled beside Zoya's feet again.
His tail continued wagging against the pavement.
And beneath the neon lights of DMC—
among unfamiliar languages, strange food, crowded streets, and people she had never known—
Zoya had somehow found something familiar.
Bamson.
And now…
Yomin.
But she had no idea that this small encounter—
this simple conversation—
was about to become another thread connecting her to a world she had never intended to enter.
To be continued.....
Regards
ZK💌