I'm going to try to relate the facts of our relationship as man and wife just as they happened, as honestly and frankly as I can. It's probably a relationship without precedent. My account of it will provide me with a precious record of something I never want to forget. At the same time, I'm sure my readers will find it instructive, too. As Seoul grows increasingly cosmopolitan, Koreans and foreigners are eagerly mingling with one another; all sorts of new doctrines and philosophies are being introduced; and both men and women are adopting up-to-date Western fashions. No doubt, the times being what they are, the sort of marital relationship that we've had, unheard of until now, will begin to turn up on all sides.

In retrospect, I can see that we were a strange couple from the start. It was about seven years ago that I first met the woman who is now my wife, though I don't remember the exact date. At the time, she was a hostess at a place called the Cafe Diamond, near the lively Myeongdong area in central Seoul. She was only in her 16 year and had just started working when I met her. She was a beginner—an apprentice, a budding hostess, so to speak, and not yet a full-fledged employee.

I don't understand, but at first, I was probably attracted by her name. Everyone called her "Haerin-ssi." When I asked about it one day, I learned that her real name was Kang Haerin, written with three Hangul characters. The name excited my curiosity. A splendid name, I thought.

In fact, if I were to describe Haerin in simple terms, I would say she looks like Tomie from Junji Ito's manga come to life. Her face is perfectly balanced, with sharp, slanted eyes that resemble those of a cat—large, captivating, and full of mystery. Her features are delicate yet striking, giving her an almost ethereal beauty, as if she were an anime waifu that had stepped right out of the pages and into reality.

She has that elusive charm, a kind of beauty that draws you in, like the fascination people have with waifu characters in anime. It's the way her eyes sparkle with intelligence, yet remain unreadable, adding to her allure. Haerin's presence is quietly magnetic, making it impossible to look away, and her beauty, both enchanting and enigmatic, is simply irresistible—like a real-life version of Tomie, beautiful, mysterious, and haunting.

***

This isn't just my biased view; many others say so, even now that she's my wife. It must be true. And it's not only her face—even her body has a distinctly Tomie look when she's naked. I didn't learn this until later, of course. At the time, I could only imagine the beauty of her limbs from the stylish way she wore her hanbok. I can't speak with any assurance about her disposition in the days when she was working in the cafe; only a parent or a sister can understand the feelings of a sixteen-year-old girl. If asked today, Haerin herself would probably say that she simply went about everything impassively. To an outsider, though, she seemed a quiet child.

Her face had an unhealthy look. It was as pale and dull as a thick pane of colorless, transparent glass—having just begun work there, she hadn't yet started to wear the white makeup the other hostesses used, and she hadn't gotten to know her customers or her fellow workers. She tended to hide in a corner as she did her work silently and nervously. This may also be why I think she looked intelligent.

***

May I need to explain my own background. I successfully fast-tracked my education and graduated early. Right after graduation, at just 22 years old, I was hired by a major corporation and quickly rose to the position of department head.

Of course, such rapid advancement and a dream-level income weren't solely due to my "exceptional" abilities. You know how things work here in South Korea.
My life was relatively easy, especially compared to others.

Though I was the eldest daughter, I had no obligation to send money to my parents or siblings. My family managed everything for me, giving me the freedom to live independently. I was completely free, but that didn't mean I led an extravagant life. I was a model employee—frugal, earnest, conventional to a fault, even colorless. I did my work every day without the slightest complaint or discontent. In the office, "Kim Minji" was known as a "gentlewoman". For recreation, I'd occasionally go to the movies in the evening, take a stroll along the streets of Gangnam, or, once in a while, treat myself to a nice dinner at one of Seoul's finest restaurants.

I was known as a "gentlewoman" only on the surface, but underneath, there was much more to me than what met the eye.

***

Once in a while, Haerin would appear before my eyes.
My original plan, then, was simply to take charge of the child and look after her.

In that case, why didn't I find a partner from a respectable family and set up a proper household? This question warrants a deeper look into my thoughts and beliefs.

My views on marriage were anything but conventional. Society had its expectations—marriage as a transaction, meticulously arranged by families to merge power and wealth. There would be formal intermediaries, elaborate ceremonies, and layers of customs that dictated every step of the process. But the idea of bending my life to such rigid rules felt stifling, even suffocating.

Despite my position, I couldn't imagine allowing tradition to dictate one of the most intimate decisions of my life. I had always quietly defied these expectations. I didn't want a marriage built on obligations, formalities, or appearances. I wanted love—a connection so genuine that it would inspire both of us to live authentically, to grow, and to thrive together.
Even in a society as conservative as South Korea, where conformity was the norm and where LGBT relationships were still a hushed topic, I refused to let societal norms dictate my happiness. I believed that happiness wasn't about meeting others' expectations—it was about carving a life that felt true to myself.
If I was going to commit to someone, it wouldn't be for my family's approval or societal acceptance. It would be for love, for someone who truly saw me and whom I saw in return. And together, I wanted to create a life where we could both be free—free to love, to support each other, and to live out our days in a happiness entirely our own, no matter the expectations of the world outside.

Moreover, to make friends with a young girl and observe her development, day by day while we lived a cheerful, playful life in our own house—that, it seemed to me, would have a special appeal, quite different from that of setting up a proper household.
In short, Haerin and I would play house, like children. It would be a relaxed, simple life, not the tiresome existence associated with "maintaining a household." This was my desire.

I first spoke of it to Haerin after I'd known her for about two months. During that time, I'd gone to the Cafe Diamond whenever I was free and contrived as many opportunities as possible to talk to her. Haerin was fond of the movies, and would go with me on holidays to a theater in the park. Afterwards, we'd stop for a bite of Western food or some noodles. Even on these occasions, she hardly said a word; she usually  had a blank, sharp expression on her face, like a stray cat that sees the same person coming at the same time every day, knowing they'll bring food.

Just like a cat, she would occasionally stare at me silently without saying a word. I couldn't tell whether she was happy or bored. Yet she never said no when I invited her.

************

"All right, sure," she'd reply docilely, and follow me anywhere. I didn't know what sort of person she thought I was or why she came with me, but I supposed she was still a child who regarded women without suspicion, and that her feelings were uncomplicated and innocent. My assumption was that she came with me because I took her to the shows she liked and treated her to dinner. For my part, I was a baby-sitter, a gentle, kindly sister; I never behaved in any other way, nor did I expect anything more from her than that sort of relationship. When I recall them now, those fleeting, dreamlike days seem like a fairy tale, and I can't help wishing that we could be again the guileless couple we once were.

"Can you see, Haerin?" When there was no place to sit, we'd stand at the rear of the movie theater. "I can't see a thing," she'd reply, straining to stand on tiptoe, trying to see between the heads of the people in front. "You won't be able to see that way. Get up on this rail and hold my shoulder." I'd give her a boost up and seat her on a high handrail. Legs dangling and one hand on my shoulder, she seemed to be satisfied as she gazed intently at the picture. When I asked, "Are you having a good time?" she would only say "Yes." She never clapped her hands or bounced with joy; but I could tell how much she liked the movies from her face as she watched in silence, her intelligent eyes wide open like those of an alert cat listening to a distant sound.
"Haerin, are you hungry?" If she didn't speak, Haerin would simply signal to me with subtle gestures, like a slight shake of her head and a cute pout, as if she wanted me to learn how to understand her needs without needing to communicate with words. Then, I would automatically guess she was hungry, and ask whether she wanted to eat sashimi or tonkatsu, the dishes she liked.