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# Chapter 35: Within Arm’s Reach
Minjun froze at the café entrance. Beyond the glass door, I was visible. Sitting by the window, tapping my fingers against the table. Rhythmic percussion. Like someone in the middle of a musical rehearsal. The way one’s body reacts without thinking.
Minjun pushed the door open. The café’s scent washed over his face. Espresso beans, milk, vanilla, and someone’s pastel-toned perfume. Everything mingled together. The smell that Seoul cafés always carried. Comfort and unease at once.
I looked up. Our eyes met. And I smiled. But it wasn’t the smile from before. It was thinner. Like a fragile membrane protecting itself.
“You came.”
I spoke more as a confirmation than a greeting.
Minjun sat down. Across from me. The distance between our tables was roughly sixty centimeters. Close enough to reach if he extended his arm. But Minjun kept his hands down.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Are you using formal speech with me again?”
I laughed, but my eyes didn’t.
“It’s a habit.”
“That’s something you need to fix now. You’re an actor now. An actor people see. So everything’s going to look different.”
I picked up my coffee cup. An Americano. It seemed like some time had passed. Fine dust floated on the surface of the coffee. It meant I’d been waiting for a while.
“I came first. Since morning. Thinking about what to say.”
I spoke, then took a sip. Cold coffee. My face contorted.
“What did you want to tell me?”
Minjun asked. The formal speech remained. He knew he should change it, but couldn’t. Not in front of me. Not when I was younger than him but he still treated me like someone older. For reasons even he didn’t understand.
I sighed. It was a signal of extreme exhaustion. It looked like I’d been up all night. Dark shadows beneath my eyes. My lips had lost their color. The cuticles of my fingers were damaged. Signs of extreme tension.
“You saw the article yesterday, right? The one I sent you.”
“Yes.”
“How did it make you feel? Really?”
Minjun thought. He recalled his own face in the mirror. Himself in that article photo. Was that really him, or not? That question had kept him awake all night.
“I don’t know. It felt strange.”
“Strange? Good strange or bad strange?”
“Both, I think.”
I nodded, as if I’d already anticipated that answer.
“Right. You’re going to experience two things simultaneously now. Attention and solitude. People will see you, but at the same time, no one really knows you. That’s this industry. Especially for actors like you.”
“Like me?”
“Ordinary actors. Wait, that doesn’t mean it’s bad. It’s actually an advantage. You can play any role. A pretty boy. An old man. But that’s the problem. No one remembers you. You’re just the actor in that role. Not that actor.”
I spoke. It wasn’t congratulations. It was a warning. Or a confession. About everything I’d experienced.
Minjun wanted to order coffee but didn’t. Moving around this café felt awkward. Like he wasn’t an actor in this scene. He wanted to be the observer instead.
“Do you know what happened to me after that article came out?”
I continued speaking, as if vomiting out my emotions.
“What?”
“Fear. Extreme fear. That people were seeing me. That they were judging me. And that I couldn’t escape that judgment.”
My hands were trembling. When I set down the coffee cup. Like someone feeling the cold.
“So you know what I did? I went into my SNS and deleted every photo of myself. Every picture where my face was visible. And I asked my friend—’How do I look?’ And you know what they said?”
I stopped. The café’s music played. Gentle piano. A sad melody. Exactly the music needed for this moment.
“What did they say?”
“’Do you want to quit acting?’”
My eyes were wet. But I wasn’t crying. Like an actor intensely focused on controlling her emotions.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Minjun asked. That question held multiple meanings. Why me. Why now. Why like this.
“Because I want to see you. Not the you in the article. Not the you in the mirror. The real you.”
I extended my hand across the table. Toward Minjun’s side. The distance was now about thirty centimeters. Close enough to touch if he stretched his arm halfway.
Minjun didn’t move his hand. Like stone. As if any movement would shatter something. This moment. This space. Himself.
“After that article came out, you know what I thought? That you’d moved into a different world from me. You climbed up, and I was left behind. And I… really hated that.”
I spoke, then withdrew my hand. Because Minjun’s hand hadn’t moved. It was a rejection, and I accepted it.
“I helped you. I protected you. And you climbed. But where am I? I’m still failing musical auditions, still doing supporting roles in indie films. So you know what I did?”
I stopped again. This time, longer.
“What did you do?”
“I put out an article too. About my musical casting. It didn’t make it into a good newspaper, but some small media outlet. And I posted it on SNS. I wanted to be like you. So someone would see me too. But…”
“But what?”
“No one looked. The article got fifty views. Three comments. All spam. That’s when I… I wanted to hate you. Really. Because through you, my worthlessness became even more obvious.”
My voice was shaking. But my eyes still held Minjun’s. Like I was trying to carve these words into his face.
Someone laughed at another table in the café. Young college students, maybe. People living their ordinary lives. People who didn’t stay up all night like Minjun and me.
“So… why are you telling me this?”
Minjun asked. It was a question that could have hurt me. But he had to ask it.
“Because you need to know what success really is. You thought that once you succeeded, everything would be good. But it’s not. Success creates more complicated emotions. Jealousy. Fear. Loneliness. And the worst part is… you stop trusting yourself. Whether your success is real success or just luck. And that doubt eats you alive.”
I stood up suddenly. Like I couldn’t sit anymore.
“Wait.”
Minjun said. But I was already standing.
“I know what I’m saying to you. That I don’t hate you—I hate myself. And that hatred is being directed at you. I’m sorry. Really.”
I tried to swallow the emotion rising in my throat. But I failed. Tears flowed. In public. In a café. In front of strangers. The moment an actor fears most. Loss of control.
Minjun stood up. Before I could sit back down. Like he had something he needed to do. But he didn’t know what. He couldn’t hold me. Not here in the café. Not in front of people watching. Not when he was also an actor being watched.
“I’m… I’m sorry.”
Minjun said. It was a weak thing to say. Barely audible. But I heard it.
“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re just… living. In this industry. And so am I.”
I wiped away my tears with my fingers. My makeup smeared. Mascara ran down my cheeks. This was a scene too. A scene that should be captured on someone’s camera. But here wasn’t a stage, and it wasn’t a set. Just a café near Gangnam Station.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
Minjun asked. Suddenly. Like he was trying to steer this conversation in a different direction. But that was an actor’s technique too. A way to avoid uncomfortable silence.
“I don’t know. What I should do. You?”
“CEO Sujin said we’d talk about a new role. She told me to come to the company tomorrow.”
I laughed bitterly. It wasn’t genuine laughter.
“Yeah. You’re climbing up. And I’m… what am I doing?”
“Our… Junho hyung said success is the beginning. The article isn’t the end.”
“That might be… true. But right now, that doesn’t matter. Right now, I just… wanted to see you. That’s all.”
I sat back down. Like my emotions had drained away. Empty. And Minjun sat too. The distance was still sixty centimeters.
“I’m truly… grateful to you.”
Minjun said. The formal speech remained. It hadn’t changed.
“Don’t be grateful. I didn’t help you—I helped myself. By watching you. By seeing how you endured. I thought I could endure too. So it’s you who should be grateful to me.”
The café’s music changed. From sad piano to more active strings. Like a signal that the situation was shifting.
“What do you think tomorrow will be like? What kind of role will the CEO give you?”
I asked. Now in a different tone. Like a friend asking another friend.
“I don’t know. But… I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of success. And that success might destroy me.”
I nodded. Like I’d already experienced it.
“Yeah. That’s right. And you have to carry that fear with you. Always. Because you can’t escape it. Not in this industry.”
“Hyung… what about Junho hyung?”
“What?”
“What is Junho hyung doing now?”
I paused again. Like I hadn’t anticipated that question.
“Oh, Junho… he has his role. Protecting you. And me? I have… some other role, I think. You know? Actors are always trying to find their role. In life too. But I still haven’t found mine.”
“I think you will.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because you’re already looking. The fact that you’re searching… isn’t that it?”
Our eyes met. In that moment, something shifted. The lighting of the café looked different. Or our relationship looked different. With a different weight than before.
“You… you’ve changed. Since the article.”
I said.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have. Your eyes. Before… they were uncertain. But now… there’s something. Not confidence, but something. Hope, maybe? That kind of thing.”
Minjun didn’t answer. He thought of his reflection in the mirror. The one he’d seen last night. That face. And his face now. Were they the same or different?
“What are you doing tomorrow? After we leave here?”
I asked.
“I have to go to the company.”
“Yeah. Then I… should go to musical rehearsal. I need to keep moving if I want to be like you.”
I stood up. Slowly this time. Like I wanted to stretch out this moment. And I extended my hand. Like I was offering a handshake. But Minjun didn’t take my hand. Instead, he stood and hugged me.
Everyone in the café might have looked at us. Or no one might have noticed. But Minjun and I didn’t care. In this moment, whether this embrace was real or a scene didn’t matter. Just the act of holding someone. Of acknowledging someone. That was everything.
“Thank you. Really.”
I patted Minjun’s back.
“You’re welcome.”
Minjun said.
And I left the café. Beyond the glass door. Toward Gangnam Station. Minjun remained standing in the café. Beside the table. And he did nothing. Just watched me disappear. Around the corner. And vanish.
Minjun sat back down. In his old seat. Facing the chair where I’d been sitting. That chair was now empty. But it was still warm. Still. The warmth of a person remained.
A café employee approached. To take an order. But Minjun didn’t order anything. Instead, he asked for water. Cold water. Exactly what he needed right now.
His phone rang. Junho. A message.
“Minjun. How have you been lately? Can I see you? Tomorrow evening? I need to talk to you.”
Minjun didn’t reply. Instead, he looked at the article again. His photo. And the headline.
“Newcomer Actor Reveals the Weight of Emotion, Shows the Sprout of Possibility”
Looking at that headline, Minjun thought about what I had said. Success. Loneliness. And not trusting yourself.
And one more thing.
What about tomorrow. What role will the CEO give him. And will that role lift him higher, or pull him deeper down.
Minjun drank the water. Cold water. It went down his throat. That coldness seemed to wake him up. Or confirm that he was still alive.
Outside the café, Seoul was moving. People. Cars. Time. Everyone moving toward their own goals. But Minjun still didn’t know what his goal was. Was it success. Or something after that success.
That answer would come tomorrow in the CEO’s office.
Minjun left the café. In a different direction than me. Toward the subway station. And he went down the stairs. To Gangnam Station’s platform. Waiting for the train to Sillim Station.
On that train, he wanted to look in the mirror again. At his own face. And ask himself.
Who are you.
That answer didn’t exist yet. But tomorrow might be different.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow could always be different. That was an actor’s life. And maybe everyone’s life too.