The dusty light of the late afternoon filtered through the library windows, casting long, geometric shadows across the honeycomb tiles. For Yeonwoo and Sajun, the world outside those walls had ceased to exist.
The Birth of "Doppelgänger"
Yeonwoo sat on the floor, leaning back against the dark wood of the bookshelves. Sajun was tucked securely between his legs, her back against his chest—a familiar, grounding weight. In her hands, she held a single sheet of paper, the ink still fresh.
"How is it, Sajun?" Yeonwoo asked, his voice low and vibrating against her.
She scanned the lines of the poem, her eyes moving quickly over the Korean characters. The verses spoke of looking at one another through flames, of the warmth of a hand, and the fear of what lies beyond the reflection. It was raw, intimate, and a little haunting.
"The title is 'Doppelgänger,'" she whispered.
Yeonwoo gave a small, thoughtful hum. "Mm... this one is my favorite. It's really good."
Sajun straightened up, turning her head slightly to catch his gaze. Her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and pride. "Really?!"
"Honestly, me too!" she chirped, the excitement bubbling over. "I just decided it's my favorite. Then the poetry collection title will be Doppelgänger!"
Yeonwoo chuckled, a soft sound that reached his eyes. "Is it okay to decide such an important thing so impulsively?"
"Why not?" Sajun countered, leaning back into him again, her voice softening. "If you like it, Sajun, that's enough for me."
A World of Two
The air in the room grew heavy with a sudden, sharp sincerity. The playful banter faded, replaced by the weight of their shared isolation. Yeonwoo looked at her—really looked at her—and the intensity in his reddish eyes was striking.
"I don't care what the world says," he murmured, his expression darkening with a protective edge. "It's fine even if no one understands me."
He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek with a tenderness that bordered on desperation. "Yeonwoo... are you satisfied with just me?"
She didn't hesitate. She leaned into his touch, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the room. A gentle, knowing smile played on her lips as she looked up at him through her glasses.
"Of course," she replied. "I only need you in my life."
The silence that followed was thick with a promise—a pact made in the quiet of a library, far from the judgment of others.
"So, Sajun," she whispered, her voice a final, echoing plea, "at least you... love me forever."
exploring the intense and insular world of Yeonwoo and Sajun.
The Sanctum of the Library
The world outside the library walls—its judgments, its noise, and its people—felt like a distant memory. For Yeonwoo and Sajun, reality was reduced to the space they occupied together on the honeycomb-tiled floor. Enveloped by the smell of old paper and the warm, late-afternoon light, they were anchored by each other's presence.
"How is it, Sajun?" Yeonwoo's voice was a low murmur as he leaned against the dark wood of the bookshelves, holding her close.
Sajun, tucked securely against his chest, scanned the Korean verses on the page. The words spoke of a haunting connection, of seeing another through flames and searching for what lies beyond a reflection.
"The title is 'Doppelgänger,'" she whispered.
A faint smile touched Yeonwoo's lips as he looked over her shoulder. "Mm... this one is my favorite. It's really good".
Her eyes widened with a spark of joy, a sharp contrast to the quiet atmosphere. "Really?!". Without hesitation, she declared, "Honestly, me too! I just decided it's my favorite. Then the poetry collection title will be Doppelgänger!".
Yeonwoo chuckled softly, his expression shifting to one of playful concern. "...Is it okay to decide such an important thing so impulsively?".
Sajun leaned back into him, her voice filled with a quiet, absolute certainty. "Why not? If you like it, Sajun, that's enough for me".
A Pact Against the World
The playfulness soon gave way to a heavy, airless sincerity. The world they had built was fragile, a fortress of two against an indifferent or hostile exterior.
"I don't care what the world says," Yeonwoo said, his reddish eyes fixed on her with an intensity that bordered on desperation. "It's fine even if no one understands me".
He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek with a tenderness that felt like a lifeline. In that moment, the question that haunted him surfaced: "Yeonwoo... are you satisfied with just me?".
Sajun did not pull away; she leaned into his touch, her face illuminated by the soft light through her glasses. "Of course," she replied, her voice steady and sure. "I only need you in my life".
The silence that followed was a promise and a plea. "So, Sajun," she whispered into the quiet, "at least you... love me forever".
The Witness in the Rain
This insular world, however, was not as private as they believed. Outside, under a relentless downpour, another stood watching. Through the windows of a darkened room, a figure observed the scene within—a tableau of grief and devotion.
Yeonwoo sat by a bed, his head bowed in his hands, his form shaking with silent sobs that even his glasses could not hide. To the observer in the rain, their connection was a force of nature.
The moment I saw the two of them, I felt an enormous energy of love.
It was a love that was cracked and scarred, yet remained a fortress that no outsider could ever truly enter. As the observer turned away and walked into the storm, the weight of that love remained—a bond so profound it was both a sanctuary and a prison.
The Shards of a Hollow Heart
The heart was no longer a vessel for life; it was a jagged mosaic of shattered glass, held together only by the thick, visceral weight of a love that refused to die. Every fissure pulsed with a crimson memory, a "clung-together" desperation that defied the laws of healing.
I stood there, the rain blurring my vision until the world was nothing but grey static and the salt of my own tears. I witnessed it. I saw the quiet, devastating end of a story that was supposed to be infinite. It was a broken, eternal love—a paradox that left me hollowed out.
The Living Dead
They were still there, physically. I could hear the rhythmic, shallow pull of air in their lungs, but the people I knew had vanished. They had become corpses while still breathing, their spirits extinguished by the very passion that once defined them.
I couldn't stay in that wooden house anymore. The walls were saturated with the scent of stagnant grief and old dust. I stepped out into the downpour, the cold biting through my clothes, only to realize I was a ghost in my own life.
* No money.
* No destination.
* No voice on the other end of a phone.
The only thing I carried—the only thing I had managed to steal from the wreckage of their lives—was a single, worn book. I clutched it to my chest as if it were a shield, its ink bleeding into the rain.
An Unexpected Refuge
The street was a canyon of neon and shadows. I was wandering aimlessly, a stray dog in a city that didn't care, until a voice cut through the heavy curtain of the storm.
> "Huh?! Bido?"
>
I looked up. There stood the Boss, his face a map of exhaustion and confusion, a cigarette dangling from his lip. He looked at me, a shivering, drenched mess, and gestured toward the warm glow of the shop.
"It's raining like this... why are you wandering around without an umbrella?" his voice was gruff, but it lacked the sharp edge of the world outside. "You'll catch a cold. Come in, quickly."
I couldn't find the words. I stood there, paralyzed by the sudden warmth of human concern. I had convinced myself that I had nothing left—that the world had ended when that wooden door closed behind me. But as I looked at the empty tables and the flickering lights of the restaurant, a small, terrifying spark of hope flickered.
Maybe the end of one story was just the prologue of another.
The story of Bido is one of profound loss and the quiet, flickering hope of a new beginning, told from the perspective of an author observing the internal landscape of a shattered soul.
The Echoes of a Shattered Heart
Bido's journey begins with a heart that is no longer whole, depicted as a jagged mosaic of fractured glass held together by a visceral, crimson desperation. This visual metaphor represents a "love that clung together even in every single fissure," a tragic and eternal bond that defined her previous life. As the author, I witness this "broken, eternal love" through her eyes—eyes that have seen too much and are now blurred by the relentless, grey static of rain and salt.
Ghosts in the Rain
In the aftermath of this emotional collapse, Bido views the world through a lens of profound disconnection:
* The Living Dead: She observes two people who have "become corpses while still breathing," their spirits extinguished while their bodies remain.
* A Final Departure: Unable to endure the "wooden house" saturated with grief, she steps into the cold downpour with nowhere to go.
* Total Isolation: She wanders the neon-drenched streets of Seoul with no money, no destination, and no one to contact.
* A Stolen Relic: Her only possession is a single, worn book—a fragment of her old life she "barely stole from between the two of them".
An Unexpected Haven
In the depths of her aimless wandering, a gruff but kind voice cuts through the storm. The "Boss," a man with an exhausted face and a cigarette between his lips, recognizes her. "It's raining like this... why are you wandering around without an umbrella?" he asks, offering a simple refuge from the biting cold.
Bido's path to this moment was paved by a series of quiet observations:
* A Fated Discovery: On a day spent visiting where Mr. Shin and her sister worked, she noticed a help-wanted sign.
* Economic Reality: The shop offered 12,000 won an hour, a significant increase from the 7,500 won she earned at Sohanpo.
* A New Familiarity: This place, which once seemed foreign, has slowly become a sanctuary where even an "annoying" senior worker is tolerable.
Starting Anew
As Bido sits in the empty restaurant on her day off, the Boss teases her, asking if the shop is "that good". Though she once thought she had "nothing left," she now realizes she has this place. Her internal monologue reveals her ultimate goal: to forget the "wooden house, Mr. Shin, Sohanpo, and [her] sister" and start her own life "anew in Seoul".
The following is a narrative expansion of the scenes provided, told from an observational, third-person perspective.
The Cold Rain and the Heavy Heart
The sky had opened up without warning, turning a simple trip to the library into a drenching ordeal. Bido stood there, her long dark hair plastered to her neck, droplets of rainwater clinging to her eyelashes like un-shed tears. She looked down at the book in her hands—the one she had carefully chosen—and felt a pang of despair. The cover was warped, the pages bloated and damp.
"Ah... I went to the library, then it started raining," she murmured, her voice trailing off as she stared at the ruined ink. "And then..."
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to. The weight of the day was written in the slump of her shoulders and the way she shivered in her soaked sweater.
A Small Mercy
"Wow~ so you're a smart girl!"
The manager's voice broke through her melancholy. He approached with a heavy, steady gait, holding out a white towel. His expression was a mix of paternal concern and the weary kindness of someone who had seen a thousand rainy shifts. "First, dry yourself with a towel. You're soaked, hey..."
Bido took the towel with a small, hesitant "Yes..." Her mind was still on the book, her fingers tracing the damp texture of the paper. It felt like a small tragedy held in her palms.
The Warmth of Instant Coffee
The manager moved toward the back, the clinking of a ceramic mug echoing in the quiet shop. "There's nothing warm to drink except instant coffee," he said, glancing back at her over his shoulder. He paused, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Better than alcohol, right?"
He stepped forward, the steam from the mug rising in a cheerful white plume against the dim lighting of the room. Bido looked up, startled by the gesture.
"Ah, yes... thank you, I'll drink it," she replied, her hands reaching out to wrap around the ceramic. The heat was immediate, a sharp, welcoming contrast to the chill deep in her bones. As she took a sip, she closed her eyes. It's warm... she thought, the simple comfort of the sugar and caffeine acting as a brief shield against the world outside.
An Unexpected Invitation
The manager watched her for a moment, his eyes lingering on the way she huddled over the drink. The silence was comfortable, but he had a way of puncturing it with a casualness that always caught her off guard.
"By the way, our Bido... you don't drink alcohol?"
Bido blinked, the steam from her coffee dampening her face. Before she could form an answer, he continued, "We should have a staff dinner sometime."
The suggestion hit her like a secondary jolt of electricity. "Yes?!" she gasped, her eyes widening. The idea of a social gathering—of being "part of the staff" in a way that extended beyond the clock—sent a flicker of anxiety through her.
"Ah... um... I haven't really drunk much before..." she stammered, her grip tightening on the mug. The rain was still drumming against the windows, but inside, the atmosphere had shifted from the cold sting of a ruined day to the complicated, uncertain warmth of human connection.
The cold rain had been relentless, a sudden downpour that caught Bido off guard on her way back from the library. She stood shivering, her dark hair clinging to her damp skin, staring mournfully at the book in her hands.
Its cover, once pristine, was now warped and saturated with water—a quiet tragedy for someone who clearly valued the written word.
"Wow~ so you're a smart girl!" the manager remarked, his voice cutting through the steady drum of rain against the windows. He approached with a towel, his expression a mix of weary kindness and curiosity. "First, dry yourself... you're soaked, hey...".
As Bido took the towel with a soft, hesitant "Yes...", the manager moved toward the back of the shop. He noticed the book again, a small volume titled Doppelgänger. "Oh, our Bido reads books too?" he asked, his tone casual but observant.
He returned, not with the alcohol one might expect in such a setting, but with a steaming ceramic mug. "There's nothing warm to drink except instant coffee," he said, offering it to her. He added with a small, knowing smirk, "Better than alcohol, right?".
Bido accepted the drink, her fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around the warmth. "Ah, yes... thank you, I'll drink it," she replied. As she took a sip, the heat began to chase away the deep chill in her bones. It's warm... she thought, the simple comfort of the sugar and caffeine acting as a brief shield.
The silence that followed was heavy, punctured only by the rain. The manager leaned against a table, watching her intently. "By the way, our Bido... you don't drink alcohol?". Without waiting for a real answer, he suggested, "We should have a staff dinner sometime.".
Bido looked up, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and apprehension. "Yes?!".
"Ah... um... I haven't really drunk much before..." she stammered, her grip tightening on her mug.
The manager let out a small, contemplative huff. "Young, so young. Fresh and green," he mused. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate register. "It's about time you learned while having a drink with adults. If kids start guzzling booze among themselves first, it turns into a mess.". He spoke of college students "turning into wrecks," his gaze never leaving her face.
"Ah... is that so...?" Bido murmured, feeling increasingly small under his scrutiny.
He reached out then, his hand moving to brush a damp strand of hair from her face. The gesture was uncomfortably close, his face hovering near hers. "You really look like... a drenched puppy," he said softly, before correcting himself with a strange, lingering look. "No... more like a cat.".
"Pardon?" Bido gasped, her breath hitching as his fingers lingered.
"You really are... the kind that's hard to leave alone," he whispered, his eyes searching hers. Then, the question that hung in the air, sharper than the others: "Bido, did you run away from home?".
He looked down at the soaked book on the table. "Do you have... somewhere to go tonight?".