One more round. Just one last round. That’s what Eric had told himself ten minutes ago, and yet, here he was, still running, lungs on fire, questioning every life choice he had ever made. “I swear, after this lap, I’m retiring from cardio.” He muttered between gasps, earning a side-eye from a woman power-walking past him in flawless athleisure. He wasn’t new to running. He just hated it. So Eric continued to run with the stubborn determination of someone who didn’t believe in New Year’s resolutions but still felt guilty about breaking them in October. His breath came in sharp gasps, his legs begged for mercy, and his left shoe had started making a squeaky noise that was deeply embarrassing, even though no one seemed to notice.

“A healthy mind in a healthy body.” he muttered under his breath, trying to sound convinced but judging by the stitch in his side, his mind was still tired, and his body was trying to sue him. “A healthy mind in a healthy body.” had become his mantra since the end of summer. That, and “Maybe I should delete Grindr.” Only one of those stuck. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the one that involved better sleep but the one with the awkward 1 a.m. conversations with strangers asking, “Top or bottom?”. So far, fifty percent success rate : no more grindr. Sleep? Still a myth.

The burning in his chest was less “feel the burn” and more “call the ambulance." but Eric pressed on, determined to complete his loop around Seokchon Lake. The crisp, autumn air, bright leaves, and families with adorable children in puffy jackets made it feel like he was running through a Korean drama opening sequence. Except in his version, the lead character wheezed, tripped on his own shoelace, and seriously regretted the second serving of tteokbokki from the night before. There was probably still gochujang in his bloodstream trying to sabotage his lungs.

Still, the lake was beautiful, bathed in golden sunlight, its mirror-like surface broken only by the occasional duck or ambitious Instagram boyfriend trying to get the perfect foliage shot of his girlfriend. Eric, sweating profusely and limping slightly, was not part of this aesthetic.

When he finally stopped near the edge of the path, every cell in his body screamed to sit down and never move again. But his coach’s voice haunted him, “Don’t stop abruptly. Cool down with a walk until you catch your breath.” 

“Fine.” he muttered, robotically walking until his heart rate dipped below “emergency mode." then made his way to a bench. He bent to touch his toes, regretting it immediately, then settled into a seated stretch, rotating his ankles like he was someone who actually knew what he was doing. As his breathing calmed, he bent forward to stretch more. His back cracked in protest. He grimaced in pain. So much for getting back into shape. So much for turning thirty-six gracefully.

Gradually, his breathing slowed, and the burning in his chest became less death-adjacent. He looked around. The lake shimmered. Couples strolled hand-in-hand, exchanging lazy smiles. Elderly aunties power-walked in colorful visors. Everyone seemed to know their place.

Except him.

Then, he heard it, a burst of French, clear and unmistakable.

“T’inquiète, j’ai grave géré l’exam, c’était plus facile que ce que je pensais.”

The words hit him like a cold splash of water. He turned his head, eyes catching sight of two young women walking briskly, coffee cups in hand, their laughter filling the air. French, here in Seoul. Somehow, it felt more foreign than Korean. He hadn’t lived in France for years, but hearing it like this always caught him off guard, like bumping into an ex you didn’t recognize until they said your name.

He smiled, then frowned. The sound of his native language in a foreign land didn’t make him nostalgic. It made him feel like a ghost. Like someone out of sync with time and place. Too western for Asia. Too Asian for the west. Too single for the couples, too tired for the gym bros, too “mid-thirties crisis” for the confident twenty-somethings with flawless skin and bios like “no ONS unless vibes” whatever that meant.

Seoul always had this effect on him, brought up old feelings, pushed buttons he thought he’d buried. Even after years of business trips and occasional long stays, the city remained both familiar and alien. It was beautiful, chaotic, fast-paced, and relentlessly aspirational. Everyone had somewhere to be. Everyone looked like they belonged.He never quite did.

Still stretching, he glanced back at the elderly couple. They were walking slowly, their steps perfectly in sync. The woman adjusted the man’s scarf then the man said something that made the woman chuckle and tap his arm affectionately. It was the kind of affection that came from decades of shared routines and quiet jokes. It hit Eric harder than expected. Eric felt something tighten in his chest, not the wheezing kind this time.

He exhaled through his nose. That kind of intimacy, that quiet, comfortable closeness, felt impossibly far away. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a relationship that lasted longer than a few weeks. Not since that one, messy relationship five years ago. And even that had ended so badly it had taken more than a year to recover.

Since then, it had been flings. Late-night conversations. Short bursts of intimacy with men whose names he sometimes forgot the next day. Safe, predictable, unfulfilling.

He sighed, standing up slowly and muttering, “Let’s not do this now.”

But of course, his brain did it anyway. The mental spiral had already begun.

Still watching that couple, he couldn’t help but wonder: was he just protecting himself from pain, or had he forgotten how to let anyone in?

He got up, shaking out his legs, and started the short walk back to his temporary apartment. The rented flat was just across the street from the lake, a small place, neat and minimalist, like most serviced apartments in Seoul. It had everything he needed and absolutely nothing he didn’t. Which, on some days, was a bit too accurate a metaphor for his life.

The elevator hummed quietly as he rode up to the sixth floor, clutching the water bottle he’d barely touched. He entered the apartment and kicked off his shoes, the warmth inside hugging him in contrast to the brisk air outside. The smell of clean laundry lingered from the day before. Everything was tidy. Impersonal.

He dropped onto the warm floor, exhausted. But instead of relief, a strange emptiness settled in.

It wasn’t a sad emptiness. Just... neutral. Flat. Like background noise. He stared at the ceiling for a while, listening to the faint hum of the heater. His body ached, his thoughts drifting. The run had cleared his head just enough to let new worries in.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table. A whatsapp notification. He glanced at it, just a promo message.

After a moment, he stood up, stripped off his running gear, stepped into the shower, and stood under the hot water longer than necessary. Afterwards, he wrapped himself in a towel, made a cup of instant coffee, and hopped onto the couch. He stared at the ceiling, body sore, heart slightly heavier than before.

He’d been to Seoul so many times. Work brought him here regularly. He liked the city. He liked Korean food, the language he could understand just well enough to order confidently in restaurants, and even the endless coffee shop chains. But every time, the same feeling crept in.

The city made him feel like he was behind. Everyone else seemed to be building something, families, careers, futures. He was just… visiting. Running laps. What was he even looking for anymore? A boyfriend? A partner? A reason to believe that the way he lived his life wasn’t just a long string of distractions? Was he lonely? Was this just autumn blues? Or was he finally admitting to himself what he'd been avoiding for years?

His last relationship had ended badly, yes, but it wasn’t just the arguments. It was how he disappeared after. How easy it had been to retreat into solitude. After a while, it stopped feeling like a choice and became a default.

He didn’t want to admit it aloud, but maybe, just maybe, he was tired of being alone.

Not the kind of alone that meant no one to hang out with. He had friends. A few good ones, even. There was Minwoo, for instance, an old friend and his wife, Camille, was lovely too, warm, clever, too observant for her own good.

His phone buzzed again. Debating against himself whether to answer or not it went to voicemail. He let his eyes close for a moment. The apartment was quiet. The ache in his legs reminded him he’d accomplished something, even if it wasn’t life-changing.

He wasn’t where he wanted to be. Not yet. But maybe, just maybe, he was closer than he thought.

Maybe it wasn’t about some dramatic turning point. Maybe it was about showing up. Putting on running shoes, going for coffee, answering calls from friends. Letting life surprise him.

Maybe he’d finally answer a message, open a door, let someone in.

He opened his eyes and looked at his phone buzzing again. Minwoo, the missed call was from him. 

Eric smiled to himself. Minwoo, ever the dependable extrovert, who could smell emotional repression like a bloodhound, would probably show up at his door in thirty minutes if he didn’t reply.

Maybe that was the start. Maybe it wasn’t about falling in love instantly or transforming overnight into someone with a five-year plan. Maybe it started with a run, a call, a moment of honesty.

He sat back down, phone in hand, and opened KakaoTalk. A string of unread messages glared back at him like impatient toddlers. He ignored them.

Except one, from Minwoo, “Lunch tomorrow? Camille wants to see you. She made a list of things to fix in your life.”

Eric chuckled. “Of course she did.”

He typed back, “Tell her I’m a lost cause. But sure, lunch sounds good.”

He paused. Stared at the screen. Minwoo also left a voicemail, he will listen later on his way to work. While heading out he looked at his sneakers suspiciously. “Don’t get excited.” he muttered to his sneakers. “We’re not doing this again until next week, if ever.”