Seo Kang-joon (left) and Park Min-young (right) feature in the poster for ‘When the Weather Is Fine.’ Photo: JTBC, courtesy of Netflix.
When the Weather Is Fine begins like a picture-postcard moment on a wintry morning in a quaint Korean hamlet. Im Eun-seob (Seo Kang-joon) stands at the window of his cozy bookstore, watching leaves fall from a tree as he soaks up the simple joy of brewing himself a cup of coffee. The neighborhood is shrouded in snow, hushed and still, with an air thick with winter’s silence. His bookstore’s name, ‘Goodnight Bookstore,’ speaks to the quiet surroundings and, above all, to his own life—lonely, slow, and far removed from the chaos Mok Hae-won (Park Min-young) left behind in Seoul. As she steps into this stillness and walks up the road with her luggage, it’s like a sigh, a pause in her life to detach from the emotional exhaustion that’s left her drained and disconnected from everything. And although cold on the outside, this place is actually where she’ll start to feel the warmth of healing.
Based on the novel of the same name by Lee Do-woo, this 2020 drama directed by Han Ji-seung is purely restorative, a portrayal of the slow and gentle process of emotional recovery that human connection can bring. And I think that’s the real beauty of When the Weather Is Fine—how it explores the healing journeys of Hae-won and Eun-seob. She’s been through a lot—betrayal by a friend, family trauma, and just being worn out by her daily grind in Seoul. So, she comes back to her hometown, this small village, with all the emotional frost around her heart. But as she starts living her new life and reconnects with Eun-seob, she begins to snap out of her emotional slump and figure herself out again.
Eun-seob is also carrying the weight of his past, albeit quietly—he was abandoned as a child, leaving him with this fear of being alone and a tendency to internalize his feelings. Even so, as he supports Hae-won in working through her pain, he’s also nurturing his own and his openness to relationships. He’s this introvert, kind soul who’s been quietly in love with Hae-won since high school, and now he’s letting his guard down around her, confronting fears of abandonment and intimacy. It’s heartwarming to see how they both find comfort in each other, in the stillness of their little town, in the pages of books, and in how they gradually reconstruct their lives, moment by moment, word by word.
When the Weather Is Fine is one of the best slow-burning romance K-dramas I’ve seen to date. The way it builds the relationship between Hae-won and Eun-seob is beautifully subtle and mature, focusing on the quiet, everyday moments they share—spending hours together, reading books, having coffee, talking, cracking jokes, and caring for each other. In a particular moment, Eun-seob fixes the street lamp so Hae-won doesn’t have to walk home in the dark and shows up for her whenever she’s in need. These small acts of kindness speak volumes about his feelings for her.
In another moment, Hae-won discovers Eun-seob’s blog and gets to see into his heart. He’s been carrying this torch for her all along, and she’s just getting to understand all of it now. Their relationship is so special because they’re not trying to rush or force anything; they’re letting things flow naturally instead. There’s this one beautiful scene, which I really loved—in the Goodnight Bookstore, Eun-seob keeps staring at Hae-won, thinking, “They say loneliness can be beautiful. But it can be a cold and empty feeling when there’s no one to share it with.” And so he gets up, gets a blanket, and wraps it around her shoulders—no fuss, no drama, just quiet care and concern. Way more than passion or excitement, it’s about this deep, secure trust that develops between them over time. And even when they’re apart, their reunion feels like a quiet certainty that they belong together. It’s a love story that stays with you long after the drama ends.
When the Weather Is Fine is a compelling story on themes like domestic abuse and intergenerational trauma. It lays bare the long-term effects of domestic violence on Hae-won’s family, particularly the women. Her mother had to serve prison time for killing her abusive father, but what’s heartbreaking is that it was actually her aunt who killed him in self-defense, and Hae-won’s mom took the blame to save her sister so she could take care of Hae-won. This secret has had a lasting impact on them, leading to a legacy of trauma and emotional coldness. I think it’s so relatable, unfortunately.
Hae-won learning this truth and facing it is a deeply moving experience, one that slowly unravels her emotions, forces her to confront the complexities of her relationships, while also triggering her psychological growth and self-discovery. The drama highlights that healing comes with acceptance, embracing the past, and moving forward. The book club in Eun-seob’s bookstore becomes crucial to this process. It becomes a warm and welcoming environment, a community of compassionate listeners where people can be themselves, share their stories, and connect, making it incredibly significant. I found it very interesting how the book club brings people together and highlights the importance of collective healing, rather than just focusing on individual struggles.
Nature is at the heart of this narrative. It’s a bittersweet reminder for Hae-won of her roots and the realities of her past, but it’s also a catalyst for change in her present, ultimately shaping a more hopeful future. For Eun-seob, however, nature is his trusted friend, helping him reconnect with himself and reflect. He likes hiking; it’s his way to recharge and explore. And one day, when he rushes to Hae-won’s rescue in the dark woods, it’s clear he’s also a guardian and guide, helping others. In fact, nature is his guide, leading him to kindness, love, and healing, and helping him understand every step of the way that healing also comes with kindness as much as from a deep connection to the world around you—in the end, it’s like the drama saying, “Bloom where you are planted.”
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