The morning sun in Busan was too bright, cutting through the thin curtains of Seo-yoon's room like a sharp blade. She groaned, clutching her head. The Soju from the night before had left a dull, rhythmic thumping behind her eyes, and her memories of the pier felt like a film that had been left out in the sun—melted, blurry, and fragmented.
She remembered the orange canvas of the stall. She remembered the cold weight of Min-ho's lies. And then... a dark brown coat. A steady heartbeat against her ear.
She stumbled out of her room and into the hallway, nearly colliding with Yan-chen, who was heading downstairs. He looked impossibly fresh, his hair neat and his white shirt crisp, as if he hadn't spent half the night sitting on a cold stone pier.
"Yan-chen," she croaked, leaning against the doorframe. "Last night... what did I say? And what did you say?"
Yan-chen paused on the stairs, looking back at her. A small, infuriatingly handsome smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You said you liked the smell of my coat. And I said you were a very heavy Scriptwriter."
"I did not!" Seo-yoon flushed. "I mean... did we talk about something else? Something serious?"
Yan-chen tilted his head, his eyes dancing with a quiet, romantic mischief. "Maybe. But a good writer should remember her own dialogue. I don't give spoilers."
He turned and continued downstairs, leaving her standing there huffing in frustration. "Yah! Li Yan-chen!"
The day passed in a quiet, domestic hum. Yan-chen resumed his post at the espresso machine, his presence now a staple of the café that the neighborhood aunties had come to adore. Seo-yoon spent the afternoon helping her mother, her mind constantly drifting back to the small "cracks" in Yan-chen's armor she thought she'd seen the night before.
In the late evening, a delivery arrived for her. It was a thick envelope from Ji-hye. Inside were two bright, colorful entry tickets.
"Nakdonggang River Riverside Cultural Festival"
A sticky note was attached: "I know things were weird at the pier. Take your 'Architect' to this. It's the best festival in Busan, and since you're leaving in two days, you need a proper goodbye to the city. Don't be a hermit! — Ji-hye."
Seo-yoon held the tickets, a bittersweet feeling rising in her chest. The festival was in two days. And the day after that... they had to fly back to Suzhou. Back to the university, back to the "Ice Prince" and the "Foreign Student," back to the reality of their separate buildings.
She walked into the kitchen where Yan-chen was drying a cup.
"My friend sent these," she said, sliding the tickets onto the counter. "It's a festival I've gone to every year since I was a kid. There are lanterns, music, and food stalls by the river. It's... the last big thing before we leave."
Yan-chen picked up a ticket, examining the design. He didn't look at the dates or the price; he looked at the map of the riverside layout.
"The Nakdonggang?" he asked.
"Yeah. It's beautiful at night. Will you go with me?"
Yan-chen set the ticket down and looked at her. The teasing light from the morning was gone, replaced by that steady, grounded gaze that always made her feel like she was the only person in the room.
"I've seen your city's bridges and your pier," he said softly. "I might as well see your river before we go back to mine."
The rest of the evening passed normally—dinner with her parents, the sound of the television in the background, the distant roar of the Busan sea. But under the "normalcy," there was a countdown. Two days left. One final festival. And a flight back to a life that would never be the same again.