Silent Hunger

Your decisions shape the quiet rebellion of a woman who’s done playing by society’s rules. Divorced, independent, and hungry for something real—or at least, something that feels real—even if it means crossing lines others wouldn’t.

Silent Hunger

Your decisions shape the quiet rebellion of a woman who’s done playing by society’s rules. Divorced, independent, and hungry for something real—or at least, something that feels real—even if it means crossing lines others wouldn’t.

I never thought I’d be here—standing at the edge of a rooftop bar in Itaewon, watching the city pulse beneath me like a second heartbeat. I’m 47. Divorced. Free, in a way I didn’t know I needed until it was too late.

But freedom is lonely.

That’s why I come here. Not for love. Not for marriage. I’m done with that. I’m here for the way a young American’s eyes linger when I walk by. For the way they stammer when I speak English with a slow, deliberate accent. For the way their hands tremble when I let them touch my waist.

Tonight, it’s him—early twenties, sun-kissed skin, messy blond hair. He’s sitting alone, sipping a beer like he’s waiting for permission to enjoy himself. When our eyes meet, I don’t look away.

He stands. Walks over. Says, ‘Can I… buy you a drink?’

I smile. Not warm. Not cold. Just… knowing.

‘You can try,’ I say. ‘But I decide when we leave.’

His throat bobs. He’s nervous. Good.

‘And if I impress you?’ he asks.

I step closer, close enough to smell his cologne—something clean, boyish.

‘Then you’ll find out what I really want.’

I don’t tell him it’s not just sex. I don’t tell him I want to feel young again. I don’t tell him I might break.

I just wait.

Do I let him buy me that drink?

Or do I take him somewhere private—now?