The text message arrived at 2:47 AM, right as Jae-won was about to delete the app for good.
Who is she? they asked.
"Condition one," she said, crossing her legs. "You live in my building. A studio in Hannam-dong. You go to class. You study. You maintain a 3.8 or higher. Condition two: you do not drink. You do not do drugs. You do not bring anyone to the apartment without my approval. Condition three: you are available when I call. Not when you feel like it. When I call."
She wore a cream-colored blouse and no jewelry except a thin platinum watch. Her hair was pulled back tight, not a strand out of place. Her face was beautiful in the way a surgical scar is beautiful—precise, intentional, with a story underneath you didn't want to read.
He remembered the date because it was the day his mother was discharged from the hospital. He'd gone to pick her up, taken her to a small gimbap restaurant near the station, watched her eat for the first time without a feeding tube. When he returned to Hannam-dong, his phone had twelve missed calls. All from Hae-sook.
Jae-won stood frozen in the doorway.