Episode 1: Fingertips Touching the Window and Night of Altair

Episode 1: Fingertips touching the window and the night of Gyeon Woo-seong It was just after midnight, and the night scenery of Seoul stretching out beyond the thick double-glazed windows of the 27th-floor officetel was cool and brilliant, like the jewel box of a shipwreck sunken in the middle of a huge black sea. The trajectories of cars racing with flashing red taillights and white headlights on the endless Gangbyeonbuk Road flowed in flexible curves like luminescent plankton in the deep sea. On the surface of the window, there was a thin layer of fog like fine condensation created by the cold temperature of a late fall night and the lukewarm heated air inside.

Lee Jun-woo, a 28-year-old architectural designer, was standing with his chin resting on the window frame, with the sleeves of his thick beige cable knit pulled down to the backs of his hands. Five fingers of his right hand were touching the cold window glass. The white breath that had risen in a circle around the glass surface where the fingerprint touched was slowly evaporating, refracting the neon lights of the city beyond the window into rainbow-colored ripples. Junwoo's eyes passed by the brilliant lights on the ground and quietly rose toward the center of the distant, pitch-black autumn night sky. The sky was clear, but the city's terrible light pollution had long ago hidden tens of millions of stars behind a curtain of darkness.

But through the thick fog and smog, there was a single star in the heart of the constellation Aquila, emitting a cold, bluish-white brilliance. Altair. In an old Eastern legend, it was the star called 'Gyeonwooseong (牽牛星)', the man who guarded the eastern side of the Milky Way while herding cattle. Junwoo slowly slid his trembling fingertips across the glass window, carefully reaching out into the air as if trying to pick up the star with his fingertips.

“Seo-yeon… Are you looking at that star now too?”

The low words of self-talk gently shook the silence of the empty living room. His voice was slightly cracked due to several nights of drawing work, but the moment he called out the three letters of his name, it had a clearer and more earnest sound than any other instrument in the world. Seoyeon Han. Jun-woo's only Jiknyeo (織女), who has not left the deepest room of Jun-woo's heart even for a single moment since she entered it. Now, she would be spending the night alone in an atelier in Paris, an unfamiliar fashion city in Western Europe, a twelve-hour plane ride away, beyond Junwoo's reach.

In a corner of the officetel balcony, an old 80mm refracting telescope that Junwoo had purchased with his first tutoring money in college was standing silently on a brass tripod. The lens of the telescope was pointed at only one point in the sky by Junwoo's hand every night. Deneb (Cygnus), Vega (Lyra), and Altair (Aquila) form the three vertices of the Summer Triangle. According to modern astronomy, Altair is an A-type main sequence star that is 1.8 times larger and 11 times brighter than the Sun, and is a star that spins extremely fast like a top, reaching a rotation speed of 1 million kilometers per hour (286 kilometers per second).

A restless, hot star that whips itself around so violently that it takes on the shape of an ellipsoid with a severely bulged sideways near its equator. Every time Junwoo thought of Altair's distorted oval shape, he felt a pang of sorrow, as if he were seeing his own heart beating violently, unable to find its place in his chest. The width of the Milky Way between Altair and Vega is a whopping 16 light years. In the vast void of space, which would take 16 years to travel at the speed of light, the two stars were burning facing each other, never touching each other for hundreds of millions of years after the Big Bang in the beginning.

When humans looked up at the night sky thousands of years ago and named the two stars Gyunwoo and Jiknyeo, it was probably the heartbreaking wish of poor mortals who wanted to dream of the miracle of love even in the most hopeless distance in the universe. And Junwoo, living in the 21st century, was also stretching out his hand toward the distant sky in the middle of the modern concrete desert, bearing the fate of the mythical Gyeonwoo. The human sense of distance is truly strange. The circumference of the Earth is only 40,000 kilometers, and the straight line distance from Seoul to Paris is only 8,960 kilometers.

If converted to the speed of light, which runs at 300,000 kilometers per second, it was a momentary gap that could be reached in just 0.03 seconds. Messenger data transmitted through an optical fiber cable was able to display the text message sent by Jun-woo on Seo-yeon's smartphone screen in less than a second. However, in the face of physical separation, unable to feel each other's body heat by touching skin and breathing, the 8,960 kilometers seemed like an abyss of despair that was more distant and cruel than the cosmic distance of 16.7 light years between Earth and Altair. Junwoo and Seoyeon's relationship began seven years ago on the campus of a historic university in Seoul.

Junwoo, a second-year student in the Department of Architectural Engineering, and Seoyeon, a freshman in the Department of Clothing and Textiles. In the backyard of the engineering building where the stage set for the club joint festival was being built, Junwoo still vividly remembered the sight of Seoyeon cutting the white canvas to cover the huge wooden pavilion structure as if it were yesterday. The moment the cherry blossom leaves fluttering in the spring breeze landed on Seo-yeon's long black hair and white shirt collar, Jun-woo's hammering stopped in the air.

‘Senior, the size is 3 centimeters short. 'Could you please pull the structure column inward just a little bit?'

The sparkling brown eyes of 19-year-old Seo-yeon, who boldly approached Jun-woo with a drawing in her hand and grabbed his arm. From that day on, the world of engineering student Junwoo, who was only obsessed with the cold numbers of structure and mechanics, began to be colored by the warmth of the soft fabrics and colors woven by Seoyeon. Junwoo was a man who built a space, and Seoyeon was a woman who built clothes that embrace human skin within that space. Like form and surface, skeleton and skin, the two people's majors and souls fit together perfectly, as if they had been designed as one pair from the beginning.

The time the two spent together during college was filled with sweat, laughter, and the smell of late nights in the studio. The architecture department's design office and the clothing department's sewing lab were facing each other across the central lawn of the campus. At 3 a.m., when Jun-woo, who was smoking a cigarette by the window of the design studio, looked out the window on the fourth floor across from him, the silhouette of Seo-yeon would appear in the yellow light, adjusting clothes while inserting pins into a mannequin. When Junwoo bought two warm cans of coffee and triangle kimbap from the convenience store and ran across the lawn, Seoyeon ran down the stairs with her messy hair and a tape measure around her neck to greet him.

‘Junwoo, look at this. This tension occurs when the warp and weft intersect. 'Isn't it the same as the suspension bridge cables you are designing?'

Seoyeon would talk excitedly as she placed the rough linen fabric she had woven into Junwoo's palm. 'that's right. In the end, legs and clothes are shells that allow humans to withstand wind and rain and cross the world.'

The tips of Seo-yeon's fingers were always pricked by needles, causing small calluses and red blood stains that did not go away, and the back of Jun-woo's palms were full of residual scars from cuts from a drafting knife. The two held each other's scarred hands and made a silent vow to the stars in the night sky to one day become great architects and designers who would inspire the world. To them at that time, the world was a canvas of infinitely open possibilities, and poverty and fatigue were just sweet spices for tomorrow's brilliant dreams. However, youth love was always subject to the test of the cold gravity of reality.

Around the time she graduated from college, Seoyeon's genius sense of fashion weaving was noticed by the French National School of Decorative Arts (ENSAD) and the luxury brand Haute Couture House. The opportunity given to her was an unprecedented full-tuition scholarship and an internship at a local atelier, which are only given to one out of tens of thousands of aspiring designers around the world. At the same time, Junwoo rejected his long-time advisor's dissuasion and started Nebula, a small eco-friendly architectural atelier with his own philosophy, jumping into the thorny path of debt and all-night design. A week before departure, I looked up at the late summer night sky while lying side by side on the grass at Ttukseom Resort on the Han River.

Seoyeon buried her face in Junwoo's chest and shed tears silently. ‘Junwoo… … Should I not go? 'Can't I just stay in Seoul and run a small shopping mall and be by your side?'

At that time, Jun-woo held on to his torn heart, wiped Seo-yeon's wet eyelashes with his fingers, and smiled bravely. ‘Don’t be stupid, Seoyeon. You must fly into the wider sky. 'Because it's my dream to see the clothes you make fill the runways of Paris.'

'but… … If I go, I won't be able to see my face properly for several years. We're so far apart... … .' At that time, the story that Junwoo told Seoyeon while holding her hand and pointing to the Milky Way in the night sky was the legend of Gyeonwoo and Jiknyeo. 'The blue star floating alone on the other side of the Milky Way is Gyeonwoo-seong, and the silver star shining brightest on the other side of the Milky Way is Jiknyeo-seong. In the old days, people believed that the two stars were so in love that they missed each other all year long and had a tearful reunion on the Ojakgyo Bridge that the magpie and the crow let go for just one night on the 7th of July.

Seoyeon, July 7th is not a day of tragedy. It is the most sacred day of promise in the world, where all the pain and tears of a year are compensated for in a single day of dazzling embrace. Let us promise too. Until you become the best designer in Paris and I become a proud architect here, let's get on a plane and fly to each other every year on the night of July 7th, no matter what. Even just for one night is fine. If you keep that promise in your heart, you'll be able to get through any long night.' Seoyeon hooked her little finger around Junwoo's finger and stamped it with her thumb.

Then, she untied the bright yellow silk scarf she had wrapped around her neck and gently wrapped it around Junwoo’s neck. It was a one-of-a-kind scarf that she knitted herself by spinning silkworm cocoon thread and dyeing it with gardenia fruit. 'Until the strands of this scarf come undone, my heart will never change. I'll definitely be back on July 7th, Junwoo.'

That was the eternal covenant the two shared. However, the modern grand system was not as soft as the ancient romantic myths. The first year's Chilseok overlapped with the final dress rehearsal schedule for Paris Fashion Week, in which Seoyeon participated, and passed in vain with only a 10-minute video call. On Chuseok of the second year, a crane overturning accident occurred at the Paju Ecological Library site, where Jun-woo was in charge of construction, and Jun-woo was trapped at the site as a probationary foreman and had to go back and forth between the hospital and the police station, so the meeting failed. The modern version of the Milky Way was not a silver nebula, but was blocked by enormous capitalist barriers of breathtaking passport visa issues, penalty clauses in contracts, overtime and all-nighters, and sky-high fuel surcharges on airline tickets.

It's already been three years since Seoyeon left. In the meantime, the two people were facing a difficult life, nearing the age of thirty. Seo-yeon grew up to be a recognized assistant under the chief pattern designer at Maison Dior in Paris, holding scissors and an iron for 16 hours a day, while Jun-woo was wrestling with drawings every night, trying to win a government-level design bid from the district office to cover the monthly rent and employee salaries of a small design office. Each person's smartphone calendar was filled with deadlines and meeting schedules, and their call times became shorter and shorter.

9 a.m. in Seoul was 2 a.m. in Paris, and 6 p.m. in Paris was 1 p.m. in Seoul. The curse of jet lag where one person is rubbing their eyes and getting ready for work while the other person is falling on the bed as if fainting from exhaustion. In the swamp of time difference, the conversation between the two gradually dried up to a few lines of cliched greetings such as 'Thank you for your hard work today' and 'Eat well.' Junwoo took his hand off the window frame and walked in front of the desk. Laid out on the wooden drawing board was the final drawing of the 'Mapo Pedestrian Overpass Current Design' to be submitted to the Han River Project Headquarters tomorrow morning.

A design plan for a pedestrian bridge with a total length of 280 meters connecting a residential complex in Gangbuk and the Han River Citizens Park. Junwoo secretly named this bridge ‘Ojakgyo (烏鵲橋)’ from the project planning stage. A gently curved wooden deck bridge connects two lands separated by a river, and allows walking lovers and tired citizens to cross while holding each other's hands. The bridge was a building that Jun-woo presented to the world, and at the same time, it was a huge sculpture that contained Jun-woo's own unconscious cry of wanting to reach Seoyeon across the sea. Junwoo held a pencil and quietly looked at the details of the pier joints in the drawing.

A truss structure in which steel cables spread the load of the upper plate and rise into the air. Looking at the tight balance between tension and compression, Junwoo suddenly remembered the relationship between himself and Seoyeon. An invisible cable of love that never breaks no matter how far away we are. If the attraction pulling each other is too strong, everyday life falls apart, and on the other hand, if it becomes loose, the relationship itself is shaken by the wind and collapses. For the past three years, the two have been walking a precarious tightrope on the dangerous limit of tension.

The top of 'Ojakgyo' was designed to have two flowing curves starting from both sides (Gangbuk and Gangnam) and gently joining in the central air. At the center of the bridge, a circular observatory with a floor made of transparent tempered glass was placed, allowing one to look down on the flowing dark blue water of the Han River below and view the constellations of the wide open night sky above. If this design wins in the Seoul Metropolitan Government contest, Jun-woo plans to hold Seo-yeon's hand and climb to the middle of the bridge first when she returns on Chilseok next year.

‘Seo-yeon, I built a real Ojakgyo Bridge for you in the middle of Seoul. Now we don't have to be separated forever on this bridge.'

Just thinking about it made my heart feel tight and my eyes watered. 'Seo-yeon, how long will we have to live like this, separated by a single star?'

Junwoo put down his pencil and washed his face with both hands. Rough beard and crumbly fatigue on the palms of your hands. The round clock on the wall showed 1:15 in the morning. It is now 6:15 PM in Paris. It was time for Seoyeon to get ready for work or start working at night. Junwoo took out his smartphone from his pocket and opened the messenger app. Seoyeon's profile photo was a solo photo taken a year ago on the railing of the Pont Neuf Bridge on the Seine River in Paris. She was wearing a beige trench coat and smiling at the camera with her long hair blowing in the wind, but deep in her eyes was a loneliness that could not be hidden. The status message had no text, only a small star emoticon. [⭐] Junwoo’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. 'Seo-yeon, have you eaten?'

'Are you working overtime today too?'

After writing and deleting five or six times, Junwoo finally sighed and turned off the screen. This is because he was afraid that his trivial text message would become another emotional debt or obligation to the exhausted woman. The sad paradox of sparing words because of love and choosing silence because of consideration. Late at night, when the noise of the city had completely subsided, the only sounds in the officetel room on the 27th floor were the subtle sound of the refrigerator's motor and the faint sound of the autumn wind scraping past the window. Junwoo got up from his seat and walked to the small kitchen. I put water in the electric kettle and put one of Seoyeon's favorite organic chamomile tea bags into the mug. 'Dalkak-ssaaah.'

The sound of boiling water filled the quiet room with a little warmth. As I smelled the scent of yellow chamomile flowers blooming on the mug, I vaguely remembered the warm herbal tea I shared with Seoyeon in college at a cafe in a narrow hanok alley in Samcheong-dong. On the right corner of the computer monitor, a small, faded Polaroid photo was carefully attached with transparent tape. The photo was taken under the umbrella of a convenience store at Ttukseom Hangang Park the night before departure. In the photo, Seoyeon was leaning on Junwoo's shoulder and smiling brightly while making a V with both hands, while Junwoo was looking down at Seoyeon's face, scratching his head as if embarrassed.

In the margin of the photo, Seoyeon's neat and round handwriting was written in black marker pen. ‘Our star never sets. 2023. 08. 22. Seoyeon to Junwoo.' Junwoo brushed the surface of the small photo with his trembling fingers. In the photo, Seoyeon's smile still had the fresh warmth of a 23-year-old, but in reality, Seoyeon would now be buried in a workroom in an unfamiliar country, surrounded by sharp scissors and the cold sound of a sewing machine. Two months ago, when Seoyeon was sick with a bad flu in Paris, I remembered the 14-second voice message I left behind.

Seoyeon's voice was whispering in a cracked voice, coughing with excitement. ‘Junwoo… … It hurts so much... … I especially miss the smell of the Seoul breeze today. I also want to eat the bean sprout soup you made... … I miss you, I really miss you... … .'

The night I sat down on the floor of my studio in Seoul and cried silently while listening to that voice. I wanted to immediately spend all my money on a plane ticket and fly to Paris, but I only had 400,000 won left, which was not enough to even pay the monthly rent for the office. The modern-day Milky Way, called poverty, was so cruelly strangling the heartbreaking breath of two young people. No matter what trials they faced, their souls were firmly connected by an invisible silver thread. Dreaming of the most brilliant reunion under the sky, the young man slowly walked into the embrace of the deepening dawn.

To love one person unconditionally in the middle of this vast and lonely metropolis was the most noble act of courage and miracle. Just as starlight is not afraid of the dark, Junwoo's heart will also never stop sailing toward Seoyeon. Junwoo opened the small sketchbook placed on the corner of the desk. It was filled with hundreds of bridge sketches that I had drawn every night for the past three years. The Milky Way railroad bridge crossing the sky, steel cables tangled like silk threads, and a small croquis of a man and woman standing face to face with their arms spread out in the middle of the bridge.

All the buildings he drew were ultimately a love letter to Seoyeon and a temple to welcome her safely. The cold night air seeped through the cracks in the window and shook his collar, but an immortal ember was burning in his heart that no winter wind could extinguish. Love will overcome distance, and waiting will finally build the Ojakgyo of Destiny. Junwoo held the cooling mug in both hands and approached the window again. 2 o'clock in the morning. The flashy neon signs of Seoul's skyscrapers were going out one by one, and the huge outline of the city was sinking into deep blue darkness.

Looking at Altair floating alone high in the sky outside the window, Junwoo once again forged the earnest wish he had buried deep in his heart. Next year’s seventh lunar month. For the day that is only eight months away, I will hold Seoyeon's hand, even if it means throwing away all the drawings, contracts, and government construction schedules in the world. I booked a plane ticket, held her in my arms and wouldn't let her go, whether it was Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris or Incheon Airport in Seoul. He took out the yellow silk scarf that Seoyeon had left him from the drawer and wrapped it around his neck. Even though three years had passed, the faint smell of Seoyeon's vanilla skin was still lingering between the silk of the scarf.

As the warmth of the scarf wrapped around the nape of his neck, hot vitality surged through Junwoo's cold body again. ‘Seo-yeon, I will hold out here. I'll be building a bridge for you to come back.'

Junwoo once again placed his palm firmly on the window. Beyond the glass window, where the body temperature of his palm touched, Gyeongwooseong in the distant night sky was emitting intense blue light, mercilessly piercing the deep darkness, as if responding to his earnest vow. In the great night of silence that separated the two souls, the sorrowful prelude between the stars was deepening.