Chapter 2 — The Artist She Met at a Café Gathering - Part 1 (2)

After our first time together, I started going to her place almost every weekend, sometimes even on weekdays, sleeping with her each time.

Back then, I had just broken up with a girl and had no intention of getting seriously involved with anyone. I kept repeating the same pattern—meeting someone casually, sleeping together, then parting ways without attachment.

We did go on proper dates—watching movies at Anyang's main street, visiting the National Museum of Korea for special exhibitions—but still, it never felt like a real relationship.

One Friday night, I went alone to a cafe meetup in Gangnam. After drinking a bit, past one in the morning, I suddenly showed up at her place without even calling her.

As far as I remember, she probably didn't think of me as a boyfriend either—more like someone she was tentatively exploring.

She clearly showed her irritation, but still opened the door. She warned me to just sleep quietly, so I lay down beside her without a word. But soon, I began touching her.

"Don't… don't do that."

I pulled back immediately. "Sorry. Should I stop?"

She was quiet for a moment, then turned toward me. "…Just this once. But I'm on my period."

"That's okay with me if it's okay with you."

"…Okay."

Now that I think about it, her personality was truly easygoing—honest, straightforward.

Instead, she got up and went to get a towel to lay on top of the blanket.

I still don't know whether she did that to take care of me—or because she genuinely wanted to enjoy sex properly.

I kissed her and slipped inside right away. She was very wet, but in the dim light, I couldn't tell if it was arousal or blood.

She didn't react much, and maybe because of that, I wasn't particularly turned on either. I stopped before ejaculating and just fell asleep.

I woke up early the next morning, ate something light, then headed to her studio at Anyang Art Park.

I'd already noticed from her clothes and accessories that she was a bit eccentric, but seeing her actual studio made her identity as a painter—something I'd only heard about—feel completely real.

Inside the stark white room, canvases were scattered everywhere. A few blank ones lay around, but most were unfinished paintings.

(She knew I knew nothing about art.) Many of her still-life works featured cats and self-portraits woven into the composition.

She poured me a capsule coffee and asked if I could help her with her work.

It was the first time I'd ever had capsule coffee.

After handing me the cup, she poured oil into a container and began squeezing paint into it.

I playfully snuck up behind her, sliding my hand along her legs and slowly creeping it up under her dress.

She slapped my hand away.

"Stop it. I've got a lot of work to do today."

"Really? Hahaha."

I teased her back, wrapping my arms around her waist—lower, around her abdomen.

"Ah… don't touch my stomach. It hurts down there."

She'd always said she never had menstrual cramps. Later, she was diagnosed at the hospital with cystitis.

Have you ever heard of honeymoon cystitis? It's a bladder infection some women get from sudden, excessive sex after a period of abstinence.

It's called honeymoon cystitis because it commonly affects women after their wedding trips.

I never told her, but my ex-girlfriend had it too. I'd given two women cystitis—not over months, but within about ten days of starting sex with each.

Back to that moment—

"Does it hurt a lot? Let's go to the hospital."

"No, it's not that bad…"

So my plan to have sex with her somewhere other than her home vanished, and I ended up seriously helping her with her work instead.

After dropping her off at home and arriving back at my place, I got a message from her.

In short, she said we didn't seem compatible. With her free-spirited nature, she wanted a boyfriend who would fully adapt to her.

She seemed careful, as if worried about hurting me. But I didn't feel hurt at all—just another woman passing through my life.

I couldn't bring myself to reply too coolly—afraid of seeming too shallow. Still, after breaking up with a girlfriend I'd dated for over a year, I never contacted her again either.

And the other women I briefly saw afterward eventually grew tired and drifted away on their own.

Sometimes I still think of her and check her Kakao profile picture.

She seems to be doing fine…

I remember her because she truly had a good personality—not because I ever loved her. That kind of feeling never existed.