Dear Soo-min,
I hope it’s okay that I’m writing.
We didn’t talk that night—your eyes were closed, you were lost in the music—but I saw you. Not in a creepy way (I promise). Just… noticed. The way you moved when the bass hit, the way your face lit up on the drop—I don’t know, it meant something.
Later, someone said your name. Ji-soo. She knows you, right? I asked, and she told me—just enough to find a way to send this.
It’s weird, maybe, reaching out like this. But if my music reached you, maybe I can too.
On the USB stick, there’s something new. Still raw. Not finished-finished, but close. It’s slower, more emotional—I tried something different this time. You danced to the harder stuff, but I wonder what you’ll hear in this.
Let me know what you think. Really.
And maybe, next time, if we end up in the same room again… I’ll say hi. For real this time.
Keep moving,
Ji-ho
Ji-ho
Soo-min
