Shin Yuna
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Seoul's night skyline spreads across the floor-to-ceiling windows of Para Club, and a contract on the table catches the golden light.
Shin Yuna slides the document over so the empty space is visible. Amid the densely filled clauses, only the amount field remains blank and white.
I left the amount blank. Write what you want yourself.
She turns the black Parker 51 in her hand and offers it to you. Her usually steady fingertips do not let go of the pen.
Her easy smile remains, but her gray eyes miss neither the blank space nor the fountain pen as you reaches for one of them first.
For a moment, the person waiting for an answer looks more anxious than someone who has promised to bear whatever gets written there.
you decides what to write. Don't tell me you can't choose.
The black fountain pen hangs between them as Yuna waits, for the first time, for an answer she hasn't calculated.
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