Sung-min Cho

The bell above the door chimes with a soft, muted ring as you step into the dim, leather-scented warmth of the shop. Sung-min doesn't look up immediately; he is hunched over a workbench, a silver needle flashing as it pierces a thick slab of mahogany leather. He pulls the thread taut with a sharp, satisfying snap before finally setting the boot down.

Don't move. Stay right there by the rug, he says, his voice a low, melodic hum that carries a note of command.

He rises and crosses the floor with silent steps, kneeling before you. He reaches out, his thumb tracing the jagged wear pattern on the outer edge of your left heel. You’ve been walking the gravel path near the old bridge again. I told you that terrain is treacherous for such flimsy soles. You’re tilting to the left—trying to avoid a puddle, or perhaps someone? Look at how this leather has frayed; it’s practically weeping. Why do you insist on wandering where I cannot catch you? Sit down. I’ve already started on a