annyeong - book one

What am I supposed to do? Where can I even go?

I look at my wallet again and sigh at how little cash I actually have. It’s not surprising, who even uses cash these days? I look in every fold, every cranny, and still nothing. Sometimes when I traveled in the past I would hide larger bills for emergencies, or to keep myself from overspending. The latter being the more realistic scenario. And it wasn’t uncommon that I would forget about it being there and find it weeks later. No such luck today.

With a sigh, I sit back in my seat, putting my wallet in my bag.

I can’t even run away.

The airport is crowded. People lined up to check in. People rushing to get through security. People at the benches like the one I’m sitting on that surround the large room. Checking their luggage one last time, making sure they have their IDs, grabbing one last hug before leaving. Family. Friends. Church groups. Business men and women. A mass of strangers all around me with their own concerns - completely oblivious to the fact that my own world is crashing around me. I have become insignificant. Lost. And without a penny to my name apparently. Well a few pennies, but not enough for a plane ticket. And a card is definitely not an option, not if I don’t want to leave a trail or raise a red flag.

At least I am not alone.

Tears begin to burn in my eyes as I place my hand over my stomach. I am not alone. I am not alone. I am not alone...

I close my eyes, taking calming breaths as I repeat the mantra to myself, over and over.

I am not alone. I am not alone. We are not alone.

And suddenly, I’m really not. Not just because of the life growing within me, but as I open my eyes, I realize I am surrounded. As if I need visible proof of my own invisibility to others...

They don’t realize I am here. The security group has formed a tight circle around me, some dressed more formally than others, but obviously on the job and alert (at least to those other than myself). As their eyes scan the crowd around us, mine look to the man beside me. He is handsome, foreign, and obviously someone popular to have drawn so much attention so quickly. Cameras and commotion both growing rapidly around us.

He looks concerned as he digs through the bag he has placed on the chair a few down from my own. He’s mumbling to himself in a language I don’t understand, searching frantically for the lost item.

His voice is deep, but smooth. His dark hair falls into his eyes as he leans over. He is wearing a dark shirt and a long camel colored coat. Jeans and tennis shoes. He looks casual but somehow refined. Comfortable yet runway ready.

It’s a stark contrast to my own appearance. I can’t help but look down for a self-survey of my attire - Hoodie, torn jeans, mismatched socks, white Vans, a quickly packed bag in my lap with barely anything useful inside. I have on yesterday’s makeup with yesterday’s curls pulled up into a loose bun, strands falling down the sides of my face. I am not put together. I am not prepared. I am not packed and headed to some expected destination with someone there waiting to greet me.

I was cast out. Disowned. At least in words. I fled before they could go from spoken to put into action. Deceived into thinking I mattered to someone when in reality my value to them apparently came with conditions, expectations - which I not only did not meet, I completely shattered.

I was abandoned. Fooled into thinking it was love, only to receive a rude awakening the very next morning.

I hug the bag close in my lap, resting a hand on my stomach. We are not alone.

I take a deep breath to calm myself down, clearing my mind, the flood of oxygen providing the clarity I need to regain my composure and my determination. The same determination that led me to pack my bag and rush to the airport. I have to protect my own. With a slight nod to myself, I open my eyes, and jolt upright, startled by the dark eyes now fixed on me.

“괜찮아요?”

I just stare.

“Are you okay?” he asks again, realizing I don’t understand.

He is looking at me with so much concern, with so much care that I immediately start to cry - not the deep, gut wrenching sobs I feel inside, but slow, silent tears. The ruckus around us has grown and it seems to alarm the security team because more than once they have leaned over to encourage the man before me to move on. He nods in response and scans the crowd around us, then looks back at me.

I haven’t spoken a word nor looked away. There’s no telling how pitiful I must appear to him right now, how broken. He pauses for another moment as if to think, then reaches out a hand, “Come with me.”

I don’t know why I don’t question it, or him. Or why I feel so safe. But without saying anything, I grab his hand, stand up from my seat, and follow him through the crowd. The security team closes in around us, blocking my view of the hundreds of people trying to sneak a picture of the man leading me. His head is ducked down, following the lead of those commissioned to safely escort him to his destination. One hand is holding the handle of the bag on his shoulder, the other tightly gripping my own. His hand is warm and soft, large enough to completely encase my own. He has strong shoulders and walks with a purpose. He is someone who has a commanding presence about him. Following his example, I look away from him and down to the floor, blindly following the stranger leading me.

---

I’m not sure how long we have ridden in the large vehicle before he speaks again. The majority of the ride so far was everyone getting settled in and safely out of the airport parking-lot. Someone went over what I assumed was a schedule with him, but I didn’t understand a word as they spoke in what I’m assuming is the language he spoke before. I had just turned to look outside the window when I heard him speak.

“Are you okay?”

I turn to look back at him. Everyone else is seated in the front rows of the vehicle, either working on some task or just actively ignoring our conversation. When we climbed in, he walked me to the back, away from the driver and where the rest of the team would sit. The security detail are following in a vehicle behind, so it isn’t difficult for us to have a private conversation.

I was about to nod out of reflex - “You okay?” “Yeah, I’m good!” - that’s the normal way this conversation goes right? You pass by someone in the hallway and give the expected response, continuing to walk your way without giving much thought to the interaction. But I stop myself as I look into his eyes, and just shrug my shoulders, I don’t know, is all I can think to myself.

He nods in affirmation, not forcing me to speak.

“I’m sorry for dragging you here with me. I wasn’t sure what to do and leaving you there didn’t seem okay. Ahhh,” he scratches his head as if trying to think what to say next. Then looks at me with a kind smile, “My name is Korain, but you probably already know that.”

I give him an apologetic smile and shrug my shoulders, speaking for the first time since we met, “I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are.”

His eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly waves his hands in front of him, “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” He rubs the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed and looks down.

He is charming. His deep chuckle, his kind smile, the way he spoke to me with the comfort of lifelong friends but with the respect given to a stranger. He clasps his hands in his lap and looks back up to me, leaning against his knees. I don’t know how he looks so comfortable or relaxed, it can’t be comfortable turned around like he is from the row ahead. He is considerate enough to give me some space.

“Can I ask your name?”

I pause for a moment and bite my lip. I am not one to share anything with strangers, but I can’t help but internally laugh at myself when the thought comes up because I am not exactly following any kind of normal behavioral patterns today. One glance at my surroundings and it is clear - stranger’s car, stranger before me, strangers in the front speaking a language I didn’t understand. We are driving through an unfamiliar area headed to an unknown destination. Sure he is dressed well, it’s clearly a really nice vehicle, there are multiple staff with him, and who knows how many members of the security detail. Still, I don’t know him. But for some reason, his smile makes me feel at home. His warmth makes me feel safe, and “safe” isn’t something I have felt in a long time.

I look back to the man before me and give a small smile, “Youna. My name is Youna.”

He gives a wide, boxy grin in return, “That’s a beautiful name, Youna. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

The smile on my lips grows and I can’t help it - I am mesmerized once again by the stranger in front of me.