After the strange, restless night when I couldn’t sleep—my whole body buzzing from the inside—I decided to go out again for another Gyu Drive.
The moment the moonlight touched my skin, the internal restlessness slowly faded, as if something inside me exhaled.
I got in the car.
I thought it would be the usual: quiet driving, feeling for Gyu’s directions, waiting for the familiar tightening in my belly.
But partway down the freeway,
someone completely different started speaking.
Not Gyu.
Someone younger.
A teenage boy—maybe late teens.
His voice was light, casual, almost playful and careless.
“Let’s have fun today! I’ll take you somewhere great.”
The tone was so light I almost laughed.
But immediately—before I could think—a wave of emotion hit me so hard it nearly knocked the air out of my chest.
Nostalgia.
Relief.
Overwhelming love.
And the strongest feeling of all:
“Finally… finally, we meet.”
It was so sudden, so powerful, so not mine—
that I panicked.
Why was I feeling this?
Why was my chest tight with happiness so strong it hurt?
Why was I crying—really crying—while driving through unfamiliar streets?
Two contradictory voices ran inside me:
“What is this!? Why am I so happy!?”
and
“Finally… I missed you… I’m so glad you’re here…”
It made no sense.
None.
By the time I realized it, tears were pouring down my face.
Driving—crying—laughing—confused.
A one-woman emotional battlefield.
A complete meltdown, really.
(If a camera had been in the car, it would’ve been chaos.)
The boy refused to give his name.
“Names don’t matter! Come on, let’s just have fun!”
He sounded like a mischievous friend who’d been with me for years.
He led me through winding suburban streets to a quiet residential area by the sea.
At the very end of the road:
a tiny parking lot, a small beach, and the open ocean.
Photo taken that day.
He said proudly:
“How is it? Perfect, right?
Your favorite sea—just for you to look at.”
But I had no space left in my heart to “look peacefully.”
The emotional aftermath was still swirling inside me like a storm.
When I asked what the place meant, he only said:
“This place is important for you.”
I marked the location on my map.
I still don’t know why it’s important.
Maybe someday I will.
That day felt like a riddle wrapped in nostalgia and surprise.
A day when someone who felt like “home” showed up out of nowhere.
A day that left me shaken but quietly hopeful.