It was late in May when I finally assumed full responsibility for Haerin and moved into what I fondly referred to as the "fairy-tale house." From the moment I set foot inside, I recognized its understated charm. The attic rooms, bathed in sunlight, offered a panoramic view of the city—a spectacle worth more than most penthouses could offer. The front yard, with its southern exposure, presented itself as a blank canvas, ideal for cultivating a curated bed of exotic flowers. The occasional subway trains passing nearby could have been bothersome, but the carefully maintained garden separating the house from the tracks provided a serene buffer, transforming what could have been a flaw into a quaint feature.
Despite its unique character, the house seemed to deter the average tenant, likely due to its eccentric appeal. This exclusivity was reflected in the rent—a mere 2,000,000 won a month, with no deposit. For a place of such singularity, it was practically a steal.

"Haerin, from now on, call me 'Minji' not 'Ms. Kim,'" I said the day we moved in. "And let's live like friends, all right?" Naturally, I informed my family that I'd moved from the upscale apartment to a charming, old-fashioned house of my own, and that I'd hired an eighteen-year-old girl to serve as a maid; but I did not tell them we were going to live "like friends." My relatives would never come to visit unless I specifically invited them, so there would be no problem if I didn't tell them anything.

We spent many busy, happy days transforming our strange new home. Haerin didn't need to do much; she would just share her ideas, and I would take it from there, purchasing and arranging everything myself. We collaborated equally, with Haerin contributing 50% of the ideas and I taking charge of the execution. We were free to choose whatever design we liked, combining a variety of cultural influences.

I chose a selection of elegant Korean art prints, which I thought would complement the airy, modern feel of the space. Haerin gave me her thoughts, and I ended up sewing the prints into flowing curtains myself, adding an element of hands-on artistry. At a shop in Itaewon, where they specialized in both Western and Eastern furniture, I found a gorgeous old rattan chair, a sofa, a soft armchair, and a beautifully crafted table. All of them were carefully placed in the living room to create an eclectic yet cohesive atmosphere.

I had initially considered buying Western-style bedding, but abandoned the idea once I realized that two beds would be quite costly. Instead, I opted for elegant, high-quality Korean bedding, which I had sent from my family's home. I believed this choice better suited the overall aesthetic of our home — refined, yet deeply rooted in tradition and culture.

When the bedding arrived, Haerin's turned out to be the kind a maid uses: a stiff cotton quilt as thin and hard as a cracker, adorned with the usual floral pattern. I felt sorry for her.

"This won't do, Haerin. Let's exchange it for one of mine." "No, it's fine," she said, pulling it over her as she lay down alone in the six-by-nine attic room. I slept in the room next to hers—the nine-by-nine room in the attic—but every morning we'd call to each other, from room to room, without getting up. "Haerin, are you awake?" "Yes. What time is it?" "Six-thirty. Shall I boil the rice for you this morning?" "Would you? I did it yesterday, so you can do it today." "All right. But it's a lot of trouble. Shall we make do with bread?" "We can. But you're sneaky, Minji."

When that was too much trouble, we got by with bread, milk, and jam, or a piece of Western pastry. For dinner, we had noodles or went to a Western-style restaurant in the neighborhood if we wanted something fancier.

"Minji," she'd often say, "order me a steak today." After breakfast, I left Haerin alone and went to work. Every other day, Haerin stayed at home to study English conversation and reading with a private tutor, and I helped her review her weak points afterward. I had no idea what to do about music lessons, but then we heard of a woman, a recent graduate of the music school in Seoul, who gave instruction in piano and voice in her home in Itaewon, so Haerin went every day for an hour's lesson. Wearing a dark blue skirt over a silk blouse, black socks, and charming little shoes, she looked every inch the pupil. Bursting with excitement at having realized her dream, she went off to her lessons diligently.

She no longer styled her hair in the traditional Korean way from her hometown; instead, she wore it in trendy styles like the Korean idols. Haerin had become incredibly beautiful. She looked the best when her long hair was straight, with bangs. She seemed like Tomie stepping out of a manga and into the real world. I think I said earlier that I would "keep her like a little bird." Since coming under my charge, her color had improved and her disposition had gradually changed, so that now she'd become a truly radiant, vivacious little bird, and the enormous living room was her cage.

May came to a close, and bright, early-summer weather settled in. The flowers in the garden grew taller and more colorful each day. In the evenings, when I returned home from work and she from her lessons, sunlight would filter through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the white walls, as if the day had not yet ended. Haerin would be there, wearing slippers on her bare feet and a simple, unlined summer dress, quietly humming the songs she'd learned. Sometimes, she'd sit by the window, lost in thought, gazing out at the fading light. Her movements slow and deliberate, as though she was trying to nurture the small corners of the world around her.

Her quiet presence filled the house with a peaceful stillness. Occasionally,  I would pull her into a game, her gentle voice inviting me to play tag or hide and seek. She never rushed. We'd move around the living room together, and she'd lightly hop over the table, carefully avoiding the chairs, taking her time as though in a dance rather than a race.

But one day, as we were playing, Haerin, laughing softly at something I had said, hurried up the stairs a little too quickly, her attention divided. She lost her footing and stumbled, falling awkwardly. The suddenness of it startled both of us, and she let out a soft cry as she landed. Her face flushed with embarrassment, from the pain, from her own clumsiness, the result of her not paying enough attention to where she was going. She quickly wiped her eyes and apologized, her voice gentle as always, even in that moment of vulnerability.

"Where does it hurt? Show me." As I picked her up, she went on sniffling and drew up her sleeve for me to see. She had scratched herself against a nail or something as she fell; the skin was broken at her right elbow and a little blood was oozing out. "Here, I'll put a bandage on it for you."

Unfortunately, the scratch became infected and took five or six days to heal.

I changed the dressing every day, and each time, Haerin didn't cry, she simply exuded a fragile vulnerability that made me feel an overwhelming urge to protect her, as if some unseen force was compelling me to shield her better. It was rare to see Haerin cry, but she always radiated a delicate femininity whenever she needed my help. Honestly, who could resist that? I adored that soft, fragile dependence of hers—it was something uniquely Haerin, and it captivated me completely.

Was I already in love with Haerin? I'm not certain. I suppose that I was; yet it was my intention and delight to bring her up as a fine young woman, and I believed that I'd find satisfaction simply in doing that and nothing more. But that summer, when, as every year, I went home for my two-week vacation, leaving Haerin with her family in Mapo and closing up the Seoul house, I found my days at my parents' house to be unbearably monotonous and lonely. Can it be, I wondered, that life without her is so dull as this? It occurred to me for the first time that I might be experiencing the beginnings of love.

Making excuses to my mother, I returned just to see my Tomie ahead of schedule. I arrived after ten o'clock at night and, despite the late hour, rushed to Haerin's house.

"Haerin, I'm back. I have a car waiting at the corner. Let's go to the house."

"Oh? I'll be right there." Keeping me waiting outside the door, she finally emerged carrying a small bundle. It was a hot, humid night; Haerin had changed into a thin, unlined, white dress with a floral design in pale lavender, and had tied her hair with a wide, bright, pink ribbon. I'd bought the fabric for her during the recent holiday, and during my absence, she'd asked someone at home to make it up into a dress.

"What did you do every day, Haerin?" Sitting beside her as the car moved off toward the city lights, I brought my face a little closer to hers.

"I went to the show every day."

"I don't suppose you were lonely, then, were you?"

"Not particularly..." She thought for a moment. "You came back early, didn't you, Minji?"

"I was bored, so I cut it short and came back. There's no place like Seoul." Heaving a sigh of relief, I gazed through the window at the flickering lights of the city at night. "But I will occasionally visit my parents if I can."

...

"I want to go to the beach," she said abruptly. Her tone was very appealing, like that of a willful child. "All right. One day soon I'll take you someplace to cool off. How about Jeju Island? Or the East Sea?"

"I'd like the ocean better than a hot spring. Oh, I do want to go." The ingenuous voice sounded like the same Haerin as before, but somehow, in the few days that I hadn't seen her, her limbs seemed to have stretched and grown perceptibly. I couldn't resist stealing a glance at the contours of her full shoulders, moving under the unlined dress as she breathed, and at her chest.

"You look nice in that dress," I said after a pause. "Who made it for you?"

"Mother did."

"What did she say about me? That I made a good choice of fabric?"

"Yes, she said it wasn't bad, but it's far too modern and stylish."

"Your mother said that?"

"Yes" With a far-off look, she added, "Everybody says I've changed."

"Changed in what way?"

"They say I've gotten terribly modern."

"I'm sure they do. I think so, too."

"I wonder. They told me to try doing my hair in traditional Korean style, but I didn't want to."

"And that ribbon?"

"This? I bought it myself at a shop in front of the temple. Do you like it?" She turned her head slightly, letting the pink ribbon flutter in the wind as her smooth, unstyled hair swayed gracefully.

"It's very becoming."

With a playful tilt of her button nose, she gave a soft, nasal laugh, the kind that was both delicate and mischievous, as though she were in on a little secret. It was the sort of laugh that made her look even more charming—like a sleek black cat with a hint of teasing grace.