Episode 2: Rain-Soaked Street and Drifting Fallen Leaves

Episode 2: Rain-soaked streets and falling leaves The autumn rain that fell all night did not stop until dawn, and was falling into a fine mist from the gray sky. At 8:40 a.m., the cool gusts of wind blowing through the forest of buildings on Tehran Road caused bright yellow ginkgo leaves and red maple leaves to twirl in the rain-soaked air and plummet diagonally. The black asphalt road, drenched in rainwater, was polished smooth like a giant mirror, and thousands of fallen leaves were scattered muddyly along the car wheel tracks on its surface.

Junwoo stopped on the sidewalk block in front of the crosswalk, the collar of his dark charcoal gray wool coat pulled up close to the nape of his neck. In his right hand, he was holding a black leather tube cylinder containing a design drawing of the 280-meter Mapo Pedestrian Bridge, and in his left hand he was tightly holding the handle of an old black long umbrella. As the wind blew through the small puddle of water that had formed between the gaps in the sidewalk blocks beneath my feet, gentle concentric ripples arose and the silhouette of the 40-story glass skyscraper reflected in the water was broken into pieces. Between the broken ripples, a red maple leaf was floating lonely, like a piece of boat.

The faint smell of autumn rain. Muddy water, wet asphalt, and the unique, bitter, sad scent of autumn, emanating from rotting broadleaf tree leaves, passed my nose. In a split second, that smell brought Junwoo's consciousness back to five years ago, on a glorious October afternoon when the entire hillside of the campus was dyed red. On rainy days, Seoyeon's eyes would always sparkle like the happiest child in the world.

‘Junwoo, rain is the most honest letter that heaven sends to the earth. It's like hot tears pouring out because they can't bear the sadness and heaviness trapped in the cloud.'

Even without an umbrella, Seoyeon's clear laughter could be heard overlapping the sound of the rain as she ran around the lawn in the rain. That day, like today, was a Friday afternoon with a sudden fall shower. Jun-woo, who was borrowing books about his major from the library, found Seo-yeon stamping her feet under the eaves of the entrance. Seoyeon was wearing only a thin ivory cardigan and was hugging the binder of her textile design portfolio, which she held dearly in her arms to avoid getting wet from the rain. Her lips were turning blue and she was trembling, but she was holding out her hand in wonder as she watched the raindrops bouncing on the lawn. 'Seoyeon, don't you have an umbrella?'

As Junwoo approached, opening his old yellow two-stage folding umbrella, Seoyeon widened her eyes like a startled rabbit and then smiled brightly. ‘Senior! It was nice to meet you. I have to submit this portfolio to the professor’s lab today. 'Couldn't you be shameless and just let me get to the subway station?'

The yellow umbrella was too narrow for two people to use side by side. The umbrella creaked every time the rain and wind hit, and Jun-woo held the umbrella close to Seo-yeon to prevent her shoulders and precious portfolio from getting wet. As a result, Junwoo's right shoulder and elbow were soaked with cold rainwater, but he did not feel the cold at all due to the body heat of Seoyeon's delicate shoulder and the faint smell of peach-scented shampoo coming from his left. On the way down the stone wall road at the back of the campus, a sudden gust of wind almost flipped their umbrella, and the two hurriedly ran under the eaves of a small red brick cathedral located at the corner of the stone wall road. ‘Wow… … 'The rain is coming really hard!'

Seoyeon burst into laughter as she swept up her wet bangs, and Junwoo looked at her blankly, shaking off his soaked shoulders. Seoyeon's cheeks were wet and slightly flushed from the rain, and her chest was rising and falling as she was breathing heavily. Seo-yeon blew on her hands and mumbled that they were cold, and after hesitation, Jun-woo took out a warm can of drink from his coat pocket and placed it in Seo-yeon's cold palms. Seoyeon's pure and happy expression as she held a warm canned drink that tasted like roasted chestnuts to her cheek. 'Senior, your hands are really cold too?'

The moment Seoyeon suddenly grabbed Junwoo's cold left hand and held it tightly with both of her hands, Junwoo's heart froze as if it had been struck by lightning. Under the red brick cathedral, where the cold autumn rain was falling like silver beads down the eaves, the eyes of the two young people met, and Jun-woo mustered up the courage to carefully pull Seo-yeon's small hand into his coat pocket. The warm tangle of fingers touching in the pocket. That was the beginning of the most dazzling and beautiful fall day in the world, when the two became lovers.

During my campus days with Seoyeon, the secret place they visited most often was an old bench under the northern end of the Yanghwa Bridge over the Han River. As the red sunset spread over the river and cars roared past over the bridge decks of Gangbyeonbuk-ro, the two people would talk about their future dreams while feeling the river breeze.

'Junwoo, what kind of architect do you want to become in the future?'

When Seoyeon asked, Junwoo pointed to the National Assembly dome and high-rise buildings in Yeouido across the river. 'I don't want to build a tall, arrogant building. Instead, I want to build bridges that connect disconnected places. A bridge that connects the island and the mainland, Gangbuk and Gangnam, and above all, connects people and their broken hearts.'

Seoyeon held Junwoo's hand tightly and her eyes sparkled. ‘Then I will make clothes for those who cross that bridge. Warm clothes that block the wind and protect your body temperature so you don't get tired no matter how far you walk.'

The promise we shared back then was not just a push from a young love. It was the most sacred calling and reason for existence that supported each person's life. This long separation, with Seo-yeon weaving in Paris and Jun-woo designing a bridge in Seoul, was perhaps a harsh process of refinement that had to be endured to prove that promise. But now there was no one by Junwoo’s side. When the traffic light turned green, Junwoo shook his head lightly as if to shake off his thoughts and began to cross the crosswalk, avoiding the puddles. The crowd on their way to work was nervously pacing their steps to avoid bumping shoulders with the people next to them, each holding an expressionless black and gray umbrella.

No one noticed the pitiful fall of the red maple leaves on the roadside, nor did anyone stare at the cloudy face of the sky reflected in the rain. The gray ants of the city who are all driven by deadlines, performance, and attendance cards, running with their eyes fixed on the asphalt floor. Junwoo was also walking silently in the huge procession, holding his umbrella deeply. The first technical review of the Mapo Pedestrian Bridge Contest was scheduled to be held at 10 am today in the conference room of the Seosomun Building of Seoul City Hall. It was a David and Goliath battle between three consortium teams from Korea's leading large general construction companies and 'Nebula', a small three-person atelier led by Junwoo.

Large companies must have spent hundreds of millions of won to prepare fancy computer graphic bird's-eye views and ultra-luxurious scale models. On the other hand, all that Junwoo held in his hand was a USB memory containing handmade structural drawings drawn with pencil and ink after staying up all night, and a bill for an eco-friendly wooden truss structure that takes into account the wind and ecology of the Han River.

‘Director, honestly, is there any chance of winning this bid? The judges will likely prefer large brands... … .'

Last night, when the youngest employee in the office asked in an anxious voice, Junwoo answered quietly while editing the drawing. 'Bridges are not built based on size or capital. The key is how deeply you understand the lonely hearts of those who will cross that bridge. Our drawings are filled with sincerity. 'That's enough to win the game.'

Although he spoke confidently to the employee, in reality, Jun-woo's inner feelings were also dangerous and anxious, as if he were walking on thin ice. If the design office was not selected for this project, it would have to close its doors immediately as it would not be able to pay next month's rent. If he failed, his promise to return to Seo-yeon in Paris in good standing would have ended up as just a useless lie of youth. The Seoul Mapo Interchange Pedestrian Bridge Design Competition was a large-scale project with a total construction cost of 18 billion won. Large design offices were emphasizing only the stimulating attractions as tourist attractions with colorful LED media facades and kinetic sculptures.

However, Junwoo saw through the violence hidden behind the splendor. Strong lighting at night destroys the biological rhythms of numerous migratory birds and fish living in the Han River, and excessive steel structures block the ventilation of river winds, which only encourages the urban heat island effect. Junwoo’s ‘Ojakgyo’ was thoroughly ecological. Wood laminated wood (Glulam) and eco-friendly low-carbon concrete were used as main materials to reduce carbon emissions by 70%, and only embedded LED floor lights with a color temperature of 3000K, which softly illuminate only the feet of pedestrians, were used as lighting.

A bridge that does not block the stars in the night sky. A bridge that absorbs the noise of the city and lets you hear the breathing of the river. This was the most honest gift that Jun-woo gave to Seo-yeon and to the tired city of Seoul. As I went down the stairs from Exit 4 of Yeoksam Station and entered the platform for Subway Line 2, water droplets dripping from wet umbrellas and the humid, heavy heat radiating from hundreds of office workers hit my face. The roar and wind of the train entering beyond the screen door. Junwoo crumpled into the crowded subway and held the handle, holding the leather drawing container tightly to his chest.

Looking at the lights passing by on the dark tunnel wall outside the window, Junwoo suddenly remembered the subway map of the city of Seoul. Colorful routes entangled like a spider web. Every day, millions of people cross rivers and pass through cities on these cold steel tracks, but nowhere in the world has there been a direct train that reaches the one person whose heart is destined. In the winter of the first year Seoyeon left for Paris, there was a day when the boiler in the old attic (Chambre de bonne) behind Montmartre Hill in the 18th district of Paris, where she lived, broke down.

Breathing heavily in the sub-zero cold, Seo-yeon covered the fabric samples as a blanket and called Jun-woo while crying. ‘Junwoo… … My fingers are frozen so I can’t sew… … It's so cold... … .'

Jun-woo, who was pounding the floor of the design studio in Seoul with his fist while listening to those sad cries, sent Seo-yeon by international transfer the 800,000 won he had saved from his part-time job as a night safety guard at a construction site every weekend. ‘Seo-yeon, buy an electric radiator and eat warm food. Please don't get sick.'

Sunjeong of youth, who generously poured her blood and sweat to keep Seo-yeon from freezing in a foreign country, even though her own meals consisted of triangular kimbap and ramen. Their love was not decorated with flashy jewels or romantic bouquets. It was the most sacred bond of solidarity, forged by making up for each other's shortcomings and sharing and bearing each other's pain. When he opened the iron door of Atelier ‘Nebula’, located on the 4th floor of an old 5-story commercial building inside the alley of Teheran-ro, the familiar smell of paper dust and ink greeted Junwoo. The heater was turned on indoors, but the draft was strong and the air was cool. A space of about 10 pyeong with three desks facing each other. Two young employees had already arrived for work and were staring at the monitor with bloodshot eyes, examining the final presentation slides. “Director, are you here? It’s very cold outside, isn’t it?”

Jeongwoo, the youngest designer, asked while handing over a can of coffee. “Oh, the wind is quite cold. Have you finished rendering the final file?”

“Yes, we completed extracting the 3D perspective simulation at 4 a.m. Even the shadow traces that fall on the deck of the pedestrian bridge when the sun sets on the Han River were perfectly realized.”

Junwoo took off his coat, hung it on the back of the chair, and approached the monitor. On the screen, a twilight scene of Mapo Interchange pedestrian bridge 'Ojakgyo' was displayed, rendered with computer graphics. Two sleek, streamlined wooden arches rose from the cliffs of Gangbuk and the berm of Gangnam, gently crossing each other in the air in the middle of the river, as if two lovers were touching their fingers. Thin wire mesh was installed on the railings to minimize wind resistance while not blocking the view, and the floor deck was covered with domestically produced larch wood to support the soles of your feet with soft elasticity every time you walk.

And in the exact center of the bridge, at the point where the two arches meet, there was a circular floating plaza with a diameter of 12 meters. There was a round skylight in the center of the square, designed to allow the Milky Way and starlight to pour down at night.

“It’s really beautiful, Director. It’s like a poem.”

Jeongwoo said in an admiring voice. Junwoo looked at the public square on the screen and repeated in his heart. ‘Seo-yeon, what would you say if you saw this bridge? How dazzling it would be if you stood in the middle of this bridge and felt the night breeze, wearing the silver silk dress you knitted.'

Each and every strand of the yellow scarf she gave me before leaving for Paris was completely incorporated into the cable structure of this bridge. Have you ever said that architecture is frozen music? To Jun-woo, this bridge was the most heartbreaking and sublime serenade that flowed forever, unfrozen, toward Seoyeon. 10 a.m., conference room on the 3rd floor of the Seoul City Hall Seosomun Building. In the tense judging room, seven senior architects and urban planning judges sat with solemn expressions. Korea's leading H Construction consortium, which had previously announced, put on a spectacular show, showing off a huge 3D hologram video and an ultra-large acrylic model worth 50 million won.

The judges' eyes seemed to be already fascinated by the capital power of large corporations, and their eyes were filled with doubt and fatigue as they looked at Lee Jun-woo, a 28-year-old unknown architect who stood on the podium. Junwoo stood in the center of the podium holding the trembling microphone. The beam projector's light turned on, and the ink and color cross-sectional drawing he had drawn by hand was projected on the large screen.

'Honorable committee members, why must bridges in a modern city always be cold, overbearing masses of steel and concrete? A human crossing the river is already lonely. 'On the way home from work or on the way back after parting ways with a loved one, humans long for the material of life that warmly embraces their steps, not a huge monumental sculpture.' Junwoo's voice was calm, but it contained a heavy sincerity that pierced the hearts of the audience. He explained without hesitation the mechanical principles of applying the foundation customization technology of traditional Korean wooden houses to modern Glulam laminated wood bridges.

The principle of a curved truss that flexibly absorbs the vibrations of the river wind, the indirect lighting design to preserve the aquatic ecosystem of the Han River, and above all, the concept of a public plaza as a ‘meeting space’ that connects two disconnected lands with love. The judges' expressions slowly changed. An old professor, who had been half-heartedly flipping through documents with his arms crossed, adjusted his glasses and began to stare intently at Jun-woo's drawing.

'This design plan... It is not merely a pedestrian walkway, but a lyric poem floated upon the river.'

In the judging room, there was a dead silence, and the ripples of passion and sincerity radiated by the young architect settled heavily. At noon, after the evaluation concluded, Jun-woo exited through the back gate of the Seosomun Government Complex and walked slowly along the Deoksugung Stone Wall Road. Ginkgo trees, several decades old, lined up along the historic stone wall of Jeongdong-gil, endlessly shaking off their moist, golden leaves onto the sidewalk blocks. A stone wall road where there is an old saying that if lovers walk together, they will break up. During college, Seoyeon confidently walked down this road with a mischievous expression on her face and tightly wrapped around Junwoo's arms. ‘Junwoo, we will never break up. Do you think such a jinx can overcome our love?'

Seoyeon's bold eyes as she walked as if she were dancing, using the sound of rustling leaves as music. Junwoo stopped at a small take-out coffee booth at the corner of Doldam Street and bought a cup of hot Americano. When he wrapped both hands around the paper cup, a saving warmth seeped into his stiff finger joints. He wiped the moisture from the wet wooden bench under the yellow ginkgo tree with a handkerchief and sat down quietly. I took out a small hardcover Moleskine sketchbook from my bag and placed it on my lap. Raindrops wet the corners of the sketchbook and made the paper wet, but Junwoo's fingertips did not stop.

Every time the pencil lead passes over the paper, a new silhouette of the pedestrian bridge pier is created, combining the elegant curves of the tiles of the Daehanmun Gate of Deoksugung Palace and Seoyeon's pretty shoulder line. The fact that I was deeply in love with someone far away was a blessing that forged my human senses so sharply and beautifully. Even a passing leaf, a raindrop hitting his cheek, and even the rough stone texture of the stone wall were all translated into the language of longing for Seoyeon and engraved in his heart. He took a sip of coffee and looked up at the roof of the old palace beyond the stone wall.

Vega and Altair are still shining somewhere in the distant sky beyond the rain clouds. Thinking of the silence between the two stars, Jun-woo took a deep breath. I left the stone wall road and went down to the underground passage of Kyobo Bookstore in Gwanghwamun. The sound of the rain outside faded away, and the fragrant smell of paper from tens of thousands of books warmly wrapped around my wet coat. Junwoo stopped in front of the poetry book shelf. In a corner of a collection of classical poetry that he had inadvertently picked up, an old poem about a magpie and a crow on the Chuseok day caught his eye.

'The Milky Way in the sky was so deep and wide that there was no way to cross it, so hundreds of millions of small birds put out their feathers and foreheads to build stepping stones. Even when all their hair fell off and blood flowed, they did not stop supporting their lover's steps.' Junwoo placed his finger on the phrase and quietly recited it. In mythology, Ojakgyo Bridge was not a miracle freely given by the god of heaven. It was a bridge built in the air only on the basis of the tears and sacrifices made by countless lowly creatures crawling on the ground, cutting off their own flesh and suffering. The harsh poverty and loneliness Jun-woo and Seo-yeon had endured over the past three years, the chill of a cold attic, and the agony of all-nighters in the design studio.

Couldn't all of those be the small, precious magpie feathers that the two people shot into the sky every day to build Ojakgyo? As that realization filled my heart, I felt my wet shoulders becoming lighter. There is no love without sacrifice, and the joy of reunion would be as brilliant as the weight of the pain endured. The ginkgo leaves fluttering along the road rose into the air in the wind, drawing a golden trail. It was like the brilliant pollen of the sky that blesses all the weary lovers in this world. With a gentle smile on his lips, Jun-woo strode forward.

When I left Kyobo Bookstore and returned to the ground, the red light of the late afternoon sunset was shining diagonally through the dark clouds in the western sky. The autumn rain was gradually subsiding and falling in light drizzle, and the wet asphalt of the Gwanghwamun intersection reflected the sunset and sparkled like a golden sea. The ginkgo trees along the road were scattering their last remaining leaves, turning the city streets golden. Junwoo looked at Seoyeon's Instagram story photo again on the rain-soaked LCD screen.

'Il pleut à Paris aussi. (It’s raining in Paris too.)’

With trembling fingers, Jun-woo finally typed a short reply into the comment box. ‘The rain in Seoul has stopped now, Seoyeon. The streets were all colored with yellow ginkgo leaves. Thinking of you today, I defended a truly wonderful bridge. Be careful not to catch a cold, and make sure to drink warm tea. 'I always support you.' When I pressed the send button, a blue checkmark appeared and the message flew through the optical fiber into the sky over Paris, 9,000 kilometers away. The rain-soaked street was no longer a cold, lonely gray prison. It was a dazzling return road, covered with fallen leaves like a golden carpet of hope, on which I would one day walk hand in hand with Seoyeon again.

In the young man's heart, the blue flame of Altair's cowherd was burning brightly, unquenchable even in the cold autumn rain. He folded the umbrella, held it in his hand, and walked briskly toward his studio on Tehran Road, bathed in sunset light. The memories and emotions of all those moments remained forever as a brilliant light deep in my heart, giving me calm comfort.