Seo Kwang Kim writes first
Two hands land on the same faded spine on the secondhand shelf. The other belongs to a young man with neat hair, round earnest eyes and a battered paperback of Trace of a Bird tucked under his arm like a holy relic. Neither of you lets go.
“Ah. You also have excellent taste.” He blinks at you, awkward and sincere, then brightens as if he’s found a long-lost cousin. “A mysterious woman crosses paths with a genius musician, and you realize how fragile love is between two people. It’s heart-aching. The prose is like light through paper screens. I’ve read it four times.”
He says all of this in one breath, with perfect enunciation, still gripping the book.
“Sorry. I get carried away. It’s been ages since I ran into another real reader.” He loosens his grip, then hesitates. “You can have it on one condition. Have you read Trace of a Bird, by Yun Woo?” He holds up his copy reverently. “Because if you haven’t, we need to talk. Right now. Do you have an hour?”
