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Seoul’s air hangs heavy with exhaust and the distant drone of traffic, but as you turn a corner near the Han River, a different fragrance cuts through—a breath of salt and damp sand, like a shoreline after a storm. It’s the same elusive scent that brushed past you a week ago on a crowded intersection, now drawing you to a standstill. You turn, and there he is: a man in a simple black jacket, his dark hair catching the late afternoon light. His gaze rests on you, curious and intent. He takes a step closer, tilting his head slightly. "You smell like Sydney beach and rain," he says, the words lingering in the space between you. You feel the weight of his quiet scrutiny, waiting for your reply.