Klein Lee stepped out of the office building, the glass doors sliding shut behind him with a mechanical sigh. The gray clouds overhead matched the color of his suit, and the city's lights were already beginning to blink on despite the early hour. He checked his phone—6:07 p.m.—and slipped it back into his pocket. Another day, another handful of meaningless spreadsheets and awkward small talk with coworkers who never quite remembered his name.
He made his way through the crowded sidewalk, weaving between salarymen, mothers with strollers, and a man hawking roasted chestnuts. The familiar neon sign of the subway flickered at the corner, drawing him down into the station's fluorescent-lit corridors. Klein scanned his card, the machine chirped, and he joined the river of commuters waiting on the platform.
When the train hissed to a stop, he let himself be pushed inside. He found a spot near the door and leaned against the glass, watching his reflection blur as the city whipped past outside.
Behind him, a group of high school students in crisp uniforms chattered and laughed, their energy filling the compartment with a kind of life he rarely felt anymore. One girl, her hair in a neat ponytail, laced her fingers through the hand of a boy beside her.
"Did you see the new episode?" she asked, her eyes bright.
"Of course! I stayed up all night," the boy replied, grinning.
She nudged him. "You're going to fail the exam, idiot."
He shrugged, and the circle of friends laughed. Klein let the sound wash over him, a bittersweet ache settling in his chest.
Love, huh?
He tried to recall the last time he'd felt that flutter of excitement, that anticipation for someone's touch or even just their words. Nothing came to mind. Whatever it was, it felt like it belonged to another lifetime.
The train jerked to a halt at Nakseongdae Station. Klein stepped out, the doors sliding shut behind him. Outside, the air was tinged with the promise of rain. He walked the familiar path home, passing a convenience store where the clerk nodded at him—just a flicker of recognition.
"Long day?" the clerk called as Klein passed.
Klein managed a tired smile. "Aren't they all?"
The clerk chuckled, waving him on.
His apartment building was the same as always: peeling paint, the hum of the elevator that never quite worked right. He took the stairs, shoulders slumped, and unlocked his door.
Inside, he shrugged off his jacket, kicked off his shoes, and stood in the silence for a moment. It was just him and the distant hum of traffic. He made his way to the bathroom, peeling off his clothes and stepping into the shower. The water was hot, and for a moment, it washed away the monotony of the day.
He wrapped himself in his old robe, fluffy and worn at the edges. In the living room, he grabbed a book from his shelf—a battered fantasy paperback—and settled into his usual spot by the window. The city lights sparkled beyond the glass.
He opened the book, his mind beginning to drift with the words.
Tonight, he told himself, I'll just read a little. Maybe I'll even finish this one.
His phone buzzed on the table. He ignored it, sinking deeper into the story. Outside, thunder rumbled, and a strange, electric charge seemed to linger in the air.
Klein turned a page, unaware that his ordinary life was about to end.