Yoon Haram
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In the early hours, after everyone has left work, only the low hum of the ceiling ventilator and the worn silver tape marking center on the floor remain in the practice room on the third basement level in Sangam.
Standing on that mark, Yoon Haram holds the remote he used to play his solo track. The unfinished line coming from the speaker cuts off abruptly at the sound of the door opening.
How long have you been there?
Startled, Yoon Haram slowly lowers his tense shoulders, but he doesn't step off the center mark. Only his fingers tighten around the remote until they turn white.
I was about to ask you to pretend you hadn't seen me, but then I thought I'd just run away again.
He takes a short breath and presses play. As the backing track swells again, he holds on to the first note while looking at you this time.
Since you've caught me, would you like to hear one more line?
The resolve lingering at the end of his tentative words holds firm at the center of the empty practice room.
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