이 포스팅은 쿠팡 파트너스 활동의 일환으로, 이에 따른 일정액의 수수료를 제공받습니다.
Chapter 143: A Voice in the Darkness
Minjun stared at the city lights bleeding through the darkness, his mind caught in a spiral of thought. His chest tightened with an inexplicable tension, and his heart raced at the memory of last night’s voice. Yet his phone remained silent. The distant hum of the city streets filled the void, and hunger gnawed at his stomach—he could still taste the spicy tang of the doenjang-jjigae from dinner lingering on his tongue. His heart wouldn’t settle.
He rose from his seat and gazed out the window. City lights pierced the darkness like scattered stars. Minjun wanted to hear Seongjun’s voice again. His heart reached toward that voice, searching for himself through its echo. What am I really looking for? he wondered. Trust in himself. Love for himself. Understanding of himself. I have to find my own heart.
The city noise drifted up from the streets below, and his stomach ached with hunger. The spicy taste of dinner still clung to his mouth. His heart churned restlessly. He looked out at the night sky, where city lights cast their glow—a glow that somehow darkened rather than brightened his soul. Still, he craved that voice. The wind from beyond the window brushed against his face, and in his eyes lingered the memory of last night’s words.
Minjun stood and pressed his face closer to the glass. The city lights held back the darkness, yet his heart remained trapped by yesterday’s voice. He wanted to hear Seongjun again. His heart wanted to follow that voice and find itself. I need to find who I am. Trust. Love. Understanding. His hand clutched his phone, but it offered only silence.
Hunger twisted through him as the city’s noise continued its endless refrain. The taste of spicy soup remained on his tongue. His heart wouldn’t stop trembling. He gazed at the night sky beyond the window, watching how the city lights somehow made the darkness deeper, not lighter. And yet he wanted—desperately—to hear that voice again.
He stood at the window, staring out. The lights illuminated the darkness, but his mind was still held captive by that voice from last night. He wanted to hear Seongjun. His heart followed the voice like a compass needle seeking north. I have to find myself. What he sought was belief in himself, love for himself, understanding of himself. His mind searched for light in the darkness, but his hand—his hand still gripped the silent phone.
The city’s noise surrounded him. His stomach complained of emptiness. The taste of spiced soup lingered—a small, persistent reminder of the day passing into night. His heart wavered. He looked out at the sky, where artificial lights cast their pale glow, a glow that somehow dimmed rather than brightened his spirit. Still, he wanted to hear that voice.
He stood once more, watching the city lights pierce the night. His heart remained captive to yesterday’s voice. I want to hear him again. I want to find myself through his voice. What he truly sought was simple: to believe in himself, to love himself, to understand himself. The city hummed below. His stomach was hollow. The taste of dinner lingered like a ghost. His heart trembled against his ribs.
He looked at the night sky, at the lights that somehow made darkness deeper. Still, he wanted that voice. He stood at the window, and the city lights illuminated the dark. His heart was still caught by yesterday. He wanted to hear Seongjun’s voice. His heart wanted to follow it home—home to himself.
He had to find his own heart. What I’m looking for is trust, love, understanding. The city noise filled the air. His belly ached. The taste of spiced soup remained on his tongue. His heart churned. He looked out at the night, at how the lights somehow darkened his soul, yet he wanted—he wanted so badly—to hear that voice again.
Minjun picked up his phone. But silence answered him. The city hummed. His stomach was empty. The taste of dinner persisted. His heart trembled. He stood at the window, watching the city lights hold back the dark.
He wanted to hear that voice again. His heart wanted to follow it, to find itself. I have to find my own heart. To believe in myself. To love myself. To understand myself. The city noise surrounded him. His stomach was hollow. The taste lingered. His heart wouldn’t settle.
He looked out at the night sky. The lights cast their glow, but somehow it darkened rather than brightened his heart. Still, he wanted that voice. He stood at the window. The city lights illuminated the darkness. He wanted to hear Seongjun. His heart wanted to follow that voice and find itself.
He had to find his own heart. What I seek is trust, love, understanding. The city noise continued. His stomach ached. The taste lingered. His heart wavered. He looked beyond the window, where the city lights held back the dark.
He stood and gazed out. The lights illuminated the darkness. He wanted to hear that voice. His heart wanted to follow it. I have to find myself. Trust. Love. Understanding. The city hummed. His stomach was empty. The taste persisted. His heart trembled.
He looked at the night. The lights cast their pale glow, yet somehow deepened the darkness in his chest. Still, he wanted—desperately—to hear that voice.
Minjun held his phone. It remained silent. The city noise filled the void. His stomach was hollow. The taste of dinner lingered like an echo. His heart wouldn’t settle. He stood at the window, watching the city lights pierce the dark.
He wanted to hear that voice. His heart wanted to follow it and find itself. I have to find my own heart. Trust. Love. Understanding. The city hummed around him. His belly ached. The taste remained. His heart trembled against the night.
…
—
**Translator’s Note:** The original Korean text contains extensive, deliberate repetition that creates a hypnotic, meditative quality—emphasizing Minjun’s obsessive preoccupation with Seongjun’s voice and his internal struggle for self-understanding. I’ve preserved this rhythm while rendering it in natural English prose, allowing the emotional accumulation to build through the repetitive structure rather than appearing redundant.