My Summer in Seoul

“Still a fanny pack,” I teased.

The sound of her zipping me up filled the silence in the room, the very tense silence. We were close, best friends. I was an only child who refused to cut my apron strings. My eyes misted up as the final zip sounded.

Mom looked up and braced the sides of my head with both of her hands. “Please be careful.” She locked eyes with me. She always smelled like my favorite Prada perfume, and her hands felt warm against my cheeks. “Don’t walk around alone at night, and call me, text me, I don’t care what time it is, and know that if you get scared or if you hate it, you can always come home.”

“My little girl’s not a quitter. Besides, Siu will take care of you. He’s a good man—I trust him with my life,” Dad said, waltzing right into the room with a bounce of pride in his steps. “You ready, squirt?”

I narrowed my eyes and pointed at myself. “Legal drinking age.”

Dad promptly plugged his ears while I sighed, hopped off the suitcase, and made my way over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“Gonna miss you,” he murmured into my hair.

Mom looked away.

I knew she was struggling.

And we all knew this was an insane opportunity, one I needed to take, just like my first steps when I was little—my first real step into the workforce, into adulthood, mine just looked a bit different from others, and I was okay with that.

“I’ll miss the rain,” I said against his chest. All I wanted to do was stay in the safety of his arms a little bit longer.

“I’ll miss you,” he repeated in a whisper.

And then my mom joined us for the hug.

The sudden feel of wheels touching down jolted me out of the memory as the plane hit the runway. The sound of Ariana Grande’s voice filled my ears as my eyes greedily drank in the view from the window.

I smiled.

Time for an adventure.

And the chance of a lifetime.

Chapter Two

Surrounded

Grace

It was raining. Actually, it was more of a torrential downpour that immediately made me homesick. I could almost smell the Seattle air.

It had to be a good omen, right? I had left rain only to land in rain; everything was going to be one hundred percent fine!

I waited impatiently for my turn and breathed a sigh of relief when I was able to step out into the aisle.

Nerves crashed over me as I grabbed my black Nike backpack and threw it on over my white hoody, thankful I’d packed something warm in my carry-on so that I didn’t freeze in the rain. The last thing I needed was to get sick before I even started the internship.

My leggings were sticking to my legs, and it didn’t help that my feet felt swollen in my gray Allbirds shoes. But none of that could be helped.

Did anyone actually look good after eleven hours on a plane?

Plane sweat was a real thing, and I had a thin layer of it all over my body.

I made a face and quickly adjusted my clearly dyed light blond hair in the messy bun, then stepped into the aisle and walked toward the door.

This was it.

My adventure was officially starting.

I ignored the way my heart pounded as I trekked from the plane to the gate. I don’t know what I was expecting—maybe for culture shock so strong that I’d freeze up—but it didn’t come, the paralyzing fear.

In fact, everything just looked…

Normal.

Like an airport would.

Lots of people, lots of cell phones out, and announcements over the PA that had me feeling oddly like I hadn’t landed in a different country but in a place just like home.

That feeling lasted for a total of five seconds.

Until I made my way toward baggage claim.

This wasn’t a normal airport.

Not at all.

It was insane.

Breathtaking.

High tech, forward-moving, busy.

Clean with a stark white design that screamed expensive and modern.

I gaped as I walked, looking every inch the tourist; all I needed was to pull out my phone and start snapping pictures. I held in a snort as I thought of Mom’s fanny pack—yeah, that would be a dead giveaway, wouldn’t it?

I turned in a slow, tight circle as I finally made it to baggage claim. Everything was so bright and big like the actual airport was a sculpture of pure genius architecture.

With a giant grin on my face, I found myself at baggage claim studying the various sign bearers for Siu. Dad said he would be at the airport waiting for me in baggage claim—he followed that with a ridiculously long speech about prostitution rings in foreign countries and a reminder that Ted Bundy was good-looking too. I patted him on the head and yet again reminded him that I had survived at University of Washington and knew not to take drinks from strangers, always have a buddy at every party, and make sure the Uber driver isn’t a serial killer.