I don't open the phone's gallery.

I despise photos because of their definition. They record moments in our lives to cherish them later on and my life is messed up enough as it is without the need to record it.

Still, there was a time when I used to like clicking pictures like any other artist out there.

If I couldn't paint it on my canvas, I'd catch the moment on my camera. And while I've already gotten rid of my old Nikon, this phone may have pictures I am not ready to see again.

All the more reason to throw it away.

Yet now I am curious. 

And don't get mistaken, I'm not a curious person by  nature. Inquisitiveness has always been a foreign emotion but for some strange reason, I want to see what old skeletons of my closet lie in this phone.

I head over the the Notes app, surprised to find it filled with my ramblings. I used to have an affliction for poetry back then. 

Although I was nowhere close to William Wordsworth or Emily Dickinson, I have to admit I did think my verses were unique. How clueless I was...

I really would love a coffee right now but I don't like to drink coffee brewed by strangers. I like to make my own and this is one of the reasons why I loathe travelling.

Stretching my legs languidly in front of me, I check the time on the clock on the wall in front of me.

1: 30 a.m.

It has only been a few hours back in Seoul and I already want to catch the next flight back to France.

Sadly, my agent disapproves of the idea because my paintings are going to be displayed in a couple of art galleries in Seoul and in her opinion, I should personally be here.

I sigh out loud at that. It's irritating really, the fact that I have an agent to represent me in the first place.

I value my freedom and independence above everything but even I don't know how and why I got roped into this when the sharp-eyed frenchwoman called Louise approached me one day after my college classes ended.

She used to be a curator at a very famous art gallery but quit her job to become an art agent for representing artists. Apparently she was impressed by my work when one of my professors recommended me.

I don't know why but when she didn't stop pestering me for two weeks straight, I finally yielded in. 

Maybe I took a liking to her tenacity. 

And thus, I am here now, back to Seoul against my wishes may I add; for one whole month.

Shaking my head, I focus my attention back to then phone. I click on the contacts list, scrolling through the  contact names.

There are not a lot, just Mr. Joo and a few old teachers of mine. My dad is obviously not on the list and when I come across a familiar name, my eyes glaze over slightly so I hastily scroll down to stop the onslaught of memories.

But when my eyes catch a peculiar number, I frown.

I can't remember who it belonged to.  The fact that it hasn't been saved with a name is one of the prime reasons. It's saved under an emoji of a star, and I can't figure out why. 

Maybe it's a number saved in my new phone? 

I input the digits in my new phone but no luck. It's an unfamiliar number, just like I thought.

 I try to recall who it could've been but while doing so, I accidentally press the call button.