It's late fall, so the summer crowds have dispersed, leaving the island a bit less crowded and ushering in the changing of colors. Here I am, with my infant daughter, Grace. She might only be 3 months old, but I'm convinced she has an old soul: always observing, rarely crying, and generally a well-behaved baby.

Well, that's assuming babies can even be well-behaved. Growing up in foster care, I got used to kids of all ages. You never knew how many kids would be there when you arrived at a home. Often, I'd be the one tasked with looking after the younger ones. So, when Grace came into my life, it wasn't like I was completely new to this. Of course, it's a different ballgame when you're on your own, often just figuring things out as you go. Sometimes, under my breath, I'd find myself chanting in moments of desperation, "Keep the tiny human alive."

My attention drifts as I absentmindedly scan the other patrons in the noodle shop before choosing my table. There are only a few people around, given that it's 2 pm and not the lunch rush. There's an elderly couple at one table, and then there's a man at another table who, from what I can make out below the rim of his baseball hat, is handsome. Even though I've given up on trying to guess people's ages in South Korea, if I had to venture a guess, he's probably in his mid-40s. He's quietly enjoying his noodles, with his back to the door, dressed casually. He looks like the many attractive men I've seen in Seoul, so I pay him and the others no mind, and it seems like no one's paying attention to me or Grace either. I've come to accept that as foreigners, most locals tend to steer clear of us due to potential communication barriers.

Feeling weary, I'm grateful for the chance to sit and eat. I choose a table with extra space for me to pull up my stroller and position Grace in a way that won't inconvenience others. I glance over the menu, using my phone to translate, and then signal the server over.

"저기요" (Excuse me), I call out, and an older woman in her 60s approaches. I point to the menu item I want with a slight nod, and the server gets the idea and heads off to relay my order to the kitchen. With that settled, I start to take Grace out of her stroller, settling her on my lap to feed her a bottle. The servers bring over my banchans (side dishes) and smiles and waves at Grace. Grace responds with a smile of her own, and the server giggles with the kind of delight only a grandparent could know. It warms my heart, and I let out a breath, reassured that things are going to be just fine.

After feeding Grace, my own food arrives, and I find myself trying to balance holding the baby and eating simultaneously. You'd think I'd have mastered this skill by now, but honestly, I haven't. As I wrestle with the situation, the server picks up on my struggle and approaches, making a hand gesture that appears to offer some help with Grace. Having learned quite recently that it's best to accept help when it's offered, I cautiously hand Grace over to the server.

Hoping my Korean is correct, I say, "제 아기의 이름은 그레이스입니다" (My baby's name is Grace). The server responds with delight, saying "만나서 반가워 Grace" and begins to gently bounce Grace in her arms. It's such a natural and heartwarming scene. Grace is now with the server as she walks around the restaurant. The elderly couple nearby becomes interested and coos at the baby. I watch them as I hurriedly eat, not wanting to impose on the server's kindness. I’ve learned that this is an universal skill for mothers—to eat quickly while not choaking (at least most of the time).

Once I'm finished eating, I give the server a polite wave to come back and say, "감사합니다, 음식이 맛있었어요" (Nice to meet you, the food was delicious).  In the two months I've been living here, I've put in a lot of effort to learn the everyday phrases I'd require, but I still feel quite self-conscious about it.

While all this is going on, the handsome man at the nearby table sneaks occasional glances in my direction. Once again, I'm completely unaware of it since I'm solely focused on trying to eat as quickly as possible while also ensuring Grace is alright. As I hold Grace in my arms again, I realize that it's time for a diaper change. I get the server's attention and ask, ‘저기요! 화장실은 어디세요?’ (Excuse me! Where is the bathroom?) so I can find a place to change my baby. With Grace in my arms, I make my way to the restroom to take care of the diaper.

While I'm in the restroom, the handsome man takes care of paying for my meal and discreetly leaves as I return to gather all of the baby essentials. leaving Grace contently in her stroller, I make my way to pay the bill.  To my surprise, the server informs me that the man who just departed covered my bill. Feeling a bit frazzled, I quickly thank the server again and I rush out the door  pushing the stroller as fast as I can down the road to quickly chase after him.

"저기요, 아저씨" (Excuse me, sir?) I call out after the stranger.

He stops and pivots on his heels to meet my gaze. I inhale deeply and, feeling a little rushed, I speak in English since I'm unsure of the Korean phrasing, "Thank you for paying for my meal, but I really can't accept that. I insist on paying you back. It's making me quite uncomfortable." While I'm talking, I frantically search through my bag to find my wallet. After finally locating it, I open it to take out some money, I lift my eyes and find myself looking at his striking face. It catches me off guard for a moment, but I gather my courage and offer the money to him.

He responds with a comforting smile and replies, "It's alright. You've got your hands full. I'm more than happy to cover a meal." He responds in English! His hand gently closes around mine, and a jolt of electricity courses through me, settling into a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. There's a word in Tagalog that describes this sensation: kilig.

Before I can fully process the situation, I blurt out, "Can I at least treat you to an iced americano?"