The girl who loved south korea
Aima had always been different from the other girls in her family — not in the way she prayed her five daily prayers with unwavering devotion, or in the way she helped her mother in the kitchen without complaint. She was different in the posters that lined the inside of her wardrobe door, in the boy-band photocards tucked between the pages of her diary and in the wallpaper on her phone that changed every few weeks depending on which Korean drama she was currently obsessed with.
It wasn't just entertainment for Aima. It was admiration — deep, genuine admiration for a culture she had never set foot in but felt she understood in her bones. She loved how the heroes in her favorite dramas walked three steps behind a girl at night just to make sure she got home safe, how they remembered the smallest details — a favorite flower, a forgotten birthday, an offhand comment made months ago. She loved the quiet loyalty of it all, the gentlemanly restraint, the way respect seemed woven into every gesture.
"You and your Korean boys," her cousin Hania would tease, rolling her eyes as Aima explained — for the hundredth time — why a particular actor's on-screen character was the epitome of what a good husband should be. "One day you'll marry a boy from Lahore and forget all about Seoul."
Aima would just smile and go back to scrolling.
She was twenty-one, in her final year of university, and currently on a short break — a break she had decided to spend with her relatives in Rawalpindi, away from the responsibilities that had begun to settle over her like a second skin ever since her older sister Sunaila's wedding preparations had started dominating conversations at home.
"Just for a week," her mother had said, packing a small suitcase for her. "Enjoy yourself before the wedding chaos begins properly."
Her cousins had already made plans before she'd even unpacked. "Centaurus," Hania announced the moment Aima walked through the door, phone in hand, already pulling up a list of shops. "We're going shopping. All of us. Tomorrow."
Aima laughed, dropping her bag onto the bed. "Even Aunty Naseem?"
"Even Aunty Naseem," Hania confirmed. "She wants new bangles for your sister's mehndi."
Aima didn't know it yet — how could she? — but somewhere on the other side of the world, in a small studio apartment in Seoul, a young man named Yousuf was packing his own suitcase, checking flight times, and telling his camera crew he'd be taking a short break from filming.
He was going to Pakistan.
