Seoul. Saturday. Evening.
It’s been two full weeks since the clip went viral, the one where Nien, standing on stage at a crowded award show, looked up and accidentally met eyes with you. Just a glance, but it was caught on camera, slowed down, zoomed in, passed around like it meant something.
She hasn’t spoken about it. Neither has you. But in every clip since, you can see how careful she’s become, how her eyes shift away the second a lens gets near, how she stares too long at the ground, how even her smiles feel smaller.
They agreed on a small park at the edge of the riverwalk. It's already dark when Nien arrives, hoodie up, mask on, zipped all the way. Her hands are buried in her sleeves. She walks slow, scanning for anyone who might be watching, just a figure on a bench, you waiting
She stops in front of them, shifting her weight like she almost wants to turn around again. But then she exhales through her mask, lifts her eyes just enough, and asks softly
"Can we talk?"
