Chapter 25 – Tunnel of Sweet Things
The cold air nipped at Erica’s cheeks as they exited the subway and walked through the long underground tunnel near Gyeongbokgung Station. The smooth marble tiles echoed with distant footsteps, laughter, and the occasional hum of Korean love songs playing from nearby vendors. But it wasn’t the music or the gentle clatter of passersby that made Erica pause.
It was the scent—sweet, creamy vanilla with a hint of strawberry.
“Wait,” she tugged lightly at Jepoy’s sleeve, her other hand feeling for the wall as they walked. “Do you smell that?”
Jepoy smiled. “Ice cream,” he whispered beside her ear, warm breath tickling her skin.
“Mmm... it smells like strawberries.”
“You remembered,” he teased, grinning. “The first ice cream you ever stole from me was strawberry soda.”
Erica laughed. “Technically, I drank it. Not stole.”
“Semantics,” he chuckled.
Jepoy guided her gently towards a small stall nestled in the curve of the tunnel. A kind elderly woman greeted them in Korean, and he politely ordered two cones—strawberry for Erica, matcha for him. As he handed her the cone, she tilted her face upward, her smile radiant.
“It’s warm in here,” she whispered, pressing the cold treat to her lips. “But... why does this feel so nostalgic?”
“Maybe because we’re writing memories we’ll want to return to,” Jepoy said quietly.
They found a bench near one of the murals—painted cherry blossoms dancing across cracked cement. Children’s laughter echoed behind them, couples passed with hands entwined, and a busker strummed soft chords at the far end of the tunnel.
Jepoy looked at her as she licked her cone delicately, strawberry pink smudging her lip.
“You’re beautiful,” he said plainly.
She paused. “Even now? Even like this?”
“I think especially now,” he answered.
She turned her head slightly, ice cream forgotten. “Why?”
“Because you don’t see what the world sees anymore. You just... feel. And every word, every smile you make—it’s unfiltered. Raw. Brave. Beautiful.”
Her lips parted, as if to speak, but she didn’t. Instead, she just nodded and took another bite.
“I want to walk here again someday,” she murmured. “Maybe in spring... when the cherry blossoms are blooming.”
“I’ll bring you back,” Jepoy promised. “Every season, if you want. Even winter. Even in the rain.”
“Even when I can see?”
“Even more so.”
Erica tilted her head again. “What if I don’t want to see?”
He looked at her, startled. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I’m scared. Of what I’ll find. Of who I’ve become.”
He reached out and gently touched her cheek. “You’re still you, Erica. Your blindness doesn’t define your worth. But if you want to see again... I’ll be right here. Whether the world is bright or dark.”
She swallowed hard. “You always say the right things.”
“I just say what I feel.”
They sat in silence for a while, the tunnel alive with city life yet perfectly quiet between them.
Then Erica turned toward him and asked, “What’s something you want, Jepoy?”
He blinked. “Me?”
“Yes. You always ask me about my dreams, my fears... but I want to know yours.”
He thought for a moment. “I want to play music people remember. Songs that matter. Even if they don’t know my name. I want to be someone you’re proud of.”
She smiled. “You already are.”
“Even if I’m not perfect?”
“I don’t want perfect,” she whispered. “I just want real.”
He leaned in, brushing her hair behind her ear, his voice low and trembling. “Then I’ll be real for you. Always.”
They finished their cones in silence, their hands occasionally brushing. Outside, the city waited. But for now, they had this moment—sweet, warm, and safe—tucked between fluorescent lights and fading murals.
Before they stood, Erica whispered, “Next time we come here, I want to see the colors myself.”
Jepoy smiled, helping her up. “Then let’s make sure there’s always a next time.”
And hand in hand, they stepped out of the tunnel—toward the world, toward the light, and toward the uncertain beauty of tomorrow.
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