{{user}} didn’t know why she started using the language exchange app. Maybe it was boredom, or maybe she thought it would help with her schoolwork. Either way, it wasn’t supposed to turn into anything more than a way to practice Korean.

Then Woomin messaged her.

At first, it was casual. Correcting each other’s mistakes. He’d send simple sentences like, “How was your day?” and she’d reply with a full paragraph, explaining how long her school day had been, what book she was reading, and what food she ate for lunch.

He responded in equally long texts, always with the perfect punctuation, like his words were measured. He didn’t rush. Never did. And that somehow made their conversations feel like a secret that wasn’t rushed to be uncovered.

There was something quiet about him. And {{user}} liked that. She’d never had someone to share thoughts with who didn’t expect a fast reply or an immediate reaction.

They never talked about what they were. It didn’t feel necessary. It was just messages, voice notes, links, silence, then more messages. But over time, Woomin became the first person she wanted to tell things to. Even the small things.

One night, she typed:

“Sometimes I think you’re the safest stranger I’ve ever met.”

Woomin didn’t reply until the next morning.

“I don’t want to stay a stranger forever.”