Seoul Hearts🖤🇰🇷

Chapter 1 Becoming Nina

I have always been drawn to places I could not yet reach.

For years, Hanseong University existed in my mind as one of those places.... a name I had heard often enough to associate with prestige, opportunity, and a life that seemed impossibly distant from my own.

I used to imagine its campus before I had ever set foot on it.

The photographs online showed sprawling buildings, immaculate gardens, lecture halls that looked more like corporate offices, and students moving through the grounds with the quiet confidence of people who had never had to question whether they belonged somewhere.

I wanted to be one of them.

Not because I cared about appearances.

At least, that was what I told myself.

What I really wanted was the opportunity.

I had applied for the university's scholarship repeatedly. Each application carried the same quiet hope, followed by the same silence. I learned not to expect too much from my inbox.

Still, I checked.

Every few days, I would open my email and scroll through the notifications, knowing exactly what I was looking for and already knowing what I would probably find.

Nothing.

It became a strange ritual..... hope followed by disappointment, disappointment followed by determination, and determination eventually becoming hope again.

Perhaps that was one of the first things anyone should know about me.

I have always been stubborn about the things I want.

My name is Nina.

I'm twenty years old, and I am the daughter of a Black woman and a Korean man.

Growing up, I was never quite unaware of the fact that I looked different.

My skin was a deep golden brown, warm beneath the light, and my hair was naturally thick and coily. Depending on the day, I wore it loose, braided, or styled in ways that made me feel most like myself.

I liked my appearance.

Or, more accurately, I learned to like it.

There was a time when I wasn't so certain.

High school had a way of making me question things I had never thought twice about before.

There were girls who stared at my skin as though it were something they needed to understand. Some asked questions without considering whether they were appropriate. Others simply whispered among themselves and laughed.

My hair attracted even more attention.

People wanted to touch it. They wanted to know why it was so different from theirs, why it curled the way it did, why I didn't simply straighten it.

There were comments about my complexion, too.

I was told, directly and indirectly, that lighter skin was more beautiful. That certain features were more desirable. That I would look better if I looked less like myself.

At first, I pretended not to care.

Eventually, pretending became exhausting.

There were nights when I stood in front of my mirror and wondered whether the things they pointed out were actually flaws.

I would look at girls around me...... their smooth hair, lighter complexions, effortless confidence...... and feel a quiet envy I was ashamed to admit.

It wasn't that I wanted to become someone else.

I simply wanted to understand what it felt like to move through the world without constantly being reminded that you were different.

That difference followed me through most of high school.

I was bullied by girls who seemed to find entertainment in my discomfort. Sometimes it was subtle: a laugh when I walked past, a whispered comment, an invitation deliberately withheld.

Other times, it was impossible to misunderstand.

And because I never really knew how to fight back, I became quiet.

Not weak.

Just quiet.

There is a difference.

I learned how to sit alone without looking lonely. I learned how to eat lunch with my headphones in and pretend I had somewhere else to be. I learned how to walk through a crowded hallway without expecting anyone to stop me.

I never had the kind of friendship people write about.

There was no person who knew every version of me.

No girl I could call at midnight simply because I needed someone to listen.

No best friend waiting beside me after class.

For a long time, I convinced myself that I didn't need any of it.

Maybe that was easier than admitting I wanted it.

My parents weren't exactly absent from my life, but they were rarely present in the way I needed them to be.

They were busy people. Their work demanded their attention, and I understood that. I had grown up understanding that adults had responsibilities that didn't always leave room for everything else.

Still, understanding something doesn't necessarily make it hurt less.

There were conversations we never had.

Days that passed without us spending any real time together.

Small moments I wished they had noticed.

I loved them. I knew they loved me.

But sometimes love exists alongside distance.

I became independent earlier than I probably should have.

And perhaps that was why I found comfort in another world entirely.

Acting.

I had wanted to become an actress for as long as I could remember.

Not merely because I liked movies or imagined myself on a screen, but because acting offered something I had always been fascinated by..... the ability to step outside yourself and understand someone else's life.

To become another person without losing yourself completely.

I wanted to tell stories.

I wanted to make people feel something.

I wanted to become good enough that, for a few hours, someone watching me could forget they were watching an actress at all.

That dream survived everything.

The loneliness.

The bullying.

The doubts.

Even the occasional voice in my head telling me that perhaps I was being unrealistic.

I never completely believed it.

Maybe dreams don't always survive because you are confident.

Sometimes they survive because you simply refuse to bury them.

And mine had led me back to Hanseong University again and again.

The university was known for its academic reputation, its wealthy student population, and its highly competitive arts programs. It was the kind of institution where family names carried weight, where connections could open doors before you even knocked, and where many students had grown up knowing exactly what their future was supposed to look like.

My future had never been that certain.

I didn't come from a family with endless money or influential connections.

I had no powerful surname to rely on.

What I had was an application, an academic record I had worked hard for, and a dream that refused to disappear.

So I applied for the scholarship.

And waited.

I didn't know how many times I had refreshed my inbox by then.

I only knew that each time I did, I expected disappointment.

Then, one ordinary morning, something changed.

There was an email waiting for me.

The subject line was short.

Hanseong University Scholarship Committee.

I stared at it for several seconds without opening it.

My heart was beating too quickly.

For the first time, I was afraid of finding out what was inside.

Because sometimes the things you want most are also the things you are most afraid to lose.

I finally opened it.

And everything I thought I knew about my future changed.