The spicy aroma of Indian curry still lingered in my senses as we stepped out of the taxi and back into the hotel lobby. I glanced at the sleek digital clock above the reception desk.
7:20 PM.
"Alright, guys," I said, smoothing down my black skirt and checking my reflection one last time. My heart had already begun its familiar, frantic drumming. "I'm heading out. Don't wait up for me, but keep your phones near you."
Sanvi grabbed my wrist, her expression a mix of teasing and genuine maternal worry. "Sana, promise me. If he acts even a little bit weird, or if you feel uncomfortable for even a second, you call us. I don't care if he's the President's best friend.
I laughed, patting her hand reassuringly. "Sanvi, I'm an IPS officer. I literally catch people for a living. I'll be fine. Besides, something tells me I'm safer with him than I am anywhere else in this city."
"Go on then," Anvi smiled, giving me a quick hug. "Go find out what's behind that mask!"
I hurried back out to the street, the evening air of Seoul humming with the energy of the weekend. I hailed a taxi, and as the city lights blurred past the window, I realized with a groan of frustration that I had done it again.
The coat.
In my rush to be on time, I had left my jacket draped over the chair in the hotel room. I was wearing a sleeveless crop top and a light skirt. I was going to be an ice sculpture before the night was over.
"We often forget the armor we need for the world when our minds are entirely preoccupied with the person who makes us feel like we don't need any armor at all."
I arrived at Namsan Tower five minutes early. I took the glass elevator—the "electric crane"—upward once more. As the doors slid open at the top, I stepped out into the crisp, biting wind and paused.
Just like the night before, the observation deck was unnervingly quiet.
I looked around the vast, wooden plaza. Downstairs, the crowds were bustling, the gift shops were full, and the ticket lines were long. But up here, by the love locks, the space was empty. It felt like the world had been carved out just for me.
"This is so strange," I whispered, rubbing my bare shoulders as the first shiver raced down my spine. "They let me up here... so why is no one else here?"
I checked my phone. 7:58 PM. To pass the time and keep my mind off the cold, I walked toward the metal fences that were heavy with thousands of colorful padlocks. Some were rusted with age; others were shiny and new, inscribed with names and dates of couples who had promised their hearts to one another under the Seoul sky.
I leaned in closer, squinting at a bright red lock. It had Korean characters written in neat, black ink. I had been studying Korean for months in preparation for this trip, but my reading was still slow and hesitant.
"Sa... rang..." I murmured, trying to piece the syllables together. "Sa... rang... hae?"
"Saranghae," a deep, muffled voice said from directly behind me.
I gasped, spinning around so quickly I almost lost my footing.
Woonbae was standing there. He looked exactly as he had the night before—the black hoodie, the cap, and the mask. But there was something different about his posture tonight. He wasn't slouching; he stood tall, his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.
"Oh! Hi, Woonbae," I said, a blush creeping up my neck despite the cold. "You startled me. I was just... doing a little time-pass while I waited. I was trying to read the locks."
I gestured to the fence, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I know the meaning of that one. I've seen it in enough K-dramas to know that Saranghae means 'I love you,' right?"
Woonbae stepped closer, his presence immediately cutting off the wind. He looked at the red lock I had been pointing at, then back at me.
"Yes," he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "It means 'I love you.' But it is a heavy word to write on a piece of metal, don't you think?"
"A lock can hold a gate, a secret, or a promise; but the strongest locks are the ones we put on our own hearts, terrified of what might happen if we finally lose the key."
"Maybe," I replied, looking back at the fence. "But I think it's beautiful. Thousands of people come here just to leave a mark of their feelings. It's like they're telling the universe that their love existed, even if it's just for a moment."
I shivered again, my teeth clicking together.
Woonbae let out a soft sigh—a sound that was half-amused and half-exasperated. "You promised me," he murmured, stepping into my personal space. "You promised you wouldn't forget your coat today, Officer Sana."
"I know, I know!" I laughed nervously, hugging myself. "I'm a disaster. My brain just... stops working when I'm in this city. I think the excitement is short-circuiting my common sense."
Before I could say another word, I felt that familiar, heavy warmth. He didn't even ask. He simply unzipped the black leather jacket he was wearing and draped it over my shoulders.
I froze. This wasn't the oversized wool coat from last night. This was his personal jacket, still radiating the heat of his body. The scent of him—that intoxicating cedarwood and spice—was so strong it made my head spin.
"Woonbae, no," I protested weakly, though I didn't move to take it off. "You'll be cold."
"I am fine," he said, his eyes locking onto mine through the gap in his mask. "I have a thick hoodie. You, on the other hand, are turning blue."
He gestured toward the edge of the railing where we had sat the night before. "Come. Let's sit. You told me you wanted to know my name... but tonight, I want to know why a girl who is so 'strict' and 'professional' in India is so prone to forgetting her coat in Korea."
I smiled, following him to the bench. "It's because in India, I have to be the person everyone relies on. But here... in this city... for the first time in my life, I feel like I can just be Sana."
Woonseok sat down beside me, his heart thundering so loud he was certain the 'Officer' would hear it. He looked at her—this beautiful, brilliant girl wearing his jacket—and he knew.
Tonight, the 'Saranghae' on the lock wouldn't be the only confession in the air.