Life was supposed to go back to normal.
At least, that's what Michiko told herself repeatedly as she buried herself in familiar routines—attending classes, editing photographs, booking freelance sessions, even casually flirting with the literature student she'd chatted with during finals last semester. She knew these patterns well, and relied on them to reset her equilibrium.
Yet days blurred into weeks, and nothing felt normal.
Ji's voice rang persistently in her thoughts. Her fingers hovered often over her phone screen, pulled inexplicably toward Ji's contact name. In crowded places, she caught herself subconsciously scanning faces, seeking that unmistakable presence she couldn't seem to escape.
This wasn't normal.
And worst of all, she didn't even know Ji. Not truly.
Still just "Ji." No surname. No social media, no digital footprints—nothing to satisfy her curiosity.
What had once felt mysterious now gnawed at her.
She needed answers.
In the muted stillness of the early afternoon, Michiko stepped into the familiar bar. No pulsing music, just quiet preparations and the faint scent of citrus cleaner. Employees drifted around without a hint of awareness to her.
She sauntered over to the bar, her most captivating smile playing on her lips, the camera bag draping against her hip. Behind the counter stood a girl Michiko hadn't laid eyes on before. She looked to be in her early twenties, with ash-brown hair, enticing pink lips, and a satin scrunchie wrapped around one wrist. She exuded a friendly and approachable aura, fresh and inviting. Just right.
Michiko leaned in slightly, her smile a practiced allure. "You're new here, aren't you?"
The girl glanced up, momentarily caught off guard before easing into her customer service role. "Just started last week."
"Perfect timing," Michiko replied with a light, flirtatious lilt, her eyes sparkling with playful mischief. "Great cocktails and now beautiful bartenders. I've found paradise."
A soft blush colored the girl's cheeks, her smile turning shy. Sensing the atmosphere, Michiko pressed on. "Maybe you could assist me. I'm trying to recall Ji's full name?"
The girl paused, contemplating. "Ji...? Oh, you mean the manager. They're just known as Ji around here."
Michiko tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "No last name to go with that?"
The girl shrugged, a hint of apology in her gesture. "I think it's something Korean, but I can't quite remember. Sorry about that. They were here before I joined."
Michiko masked her mild disappointment with a soft, tinkling laugh. "How mysterious."
"Ji's definitely intense," the girl confessed with a gentle laugh, "but really nice, to be honest."
Michiko nodded slowly, her smile turning a touch more enigmatic. "Yes, intense is certainly one way to describe them." She straightened, bestowing one last enticing smile. "Thanks, you've been lovely."
She stepped outside, her smile immediately fading into a troubled frown.
Even coworkers didn't know the truth?
This wasn't normal secrecy. Ji wasn't just private; they were deliberately curating an identity without history, origin, or vulnerability.
Just Ji.
Something twisted uneasily within her, fascination blending with a cautious warning.
That evening, as she sat editing photos at home, her phone vibrated unexpectedly, breaking her concentration.
[Ji]:
Flirting with my coworkers won't get you closer to me, you know.
She hadn't mentioned her visit to anyone. Hadn't posted online or checked in.
How did Ji know?
Pulse quickening, she composed herself, texting back with constructed casualness.
[Michiko]:
Who said I was flirting?
Ji's response came quickly::
[Ji]:
Certainly not the girl who couldn't stop mentioning you all afternoon.
Michiko felt a shiver along her spine, fingers tightening around the phone.
[Michiko]:
Maybe I'm just irresistible.
A brief pause, then:
[Ji]:
Or maybe you're just curious.
She couldn't respond.
The next afternoon found Michiko across the street from the bar, hidden within a café. Her iced coffee sat untouched beside her laptop, her attention reluctantly fixed on the bar's windows, watching Ji discreetly move inside, speaking with employees, smiling at something the new girl said.
That easy confidence, those unreadable eyes—it tugged at her, deepening her unease and stirring a conflict she couldn't shake.
Why couldn't she let this go? Why did she still care?
Suddenly, Ji glanced up, gaze directly meeting Michiko's across the street.
Her heart skipped painfully; she quickly looked down, feigning interest in her laptop screen. But she'd been caught—Ji had seen her clearly.
Inside the bar, Ji didn't immediately look away. Instead, their gaze maintained steadily. A small, knowing smile curved their lips, a smile that only fueled Michiko's internal struggle.
Ji reflected on how Michiko had no idea how often they had watched her—on campus, near her photography studio, at the convenience store she visited almost nightly. Those sightings weren't coincidences. They hadn't been since Ji quietly took her student ID that first night. Her full name, university, department, and student number—every detail they needed to find her again was safely tucked away, carefully memorized.
They allowed themselves a brief moment of quiet satisfaction as they watched Michiko from the bar.
She didn't understand yet.
She didn't realize how carefully Ji had studied her routines, learned her habits, made sure every encounter seemed accidental, natural. She didn't grasp just how deeply Ji had embedded themselves into her daily life.
But she would.
Soon.
Ji's smile softened as they finally looked away, returning to their tasks with deliberate calmness.
Michiko wasn't ready to admit it yet, but Ji could already see it clearly:
She was curious—and conflicted.
And curiosity, Ji knew intimately, was the first step toward surrender.