By the time I pushed open the door to our room, my shoulders felt like they were carrying the whole day. I tossed my bag onto the chair and headed straight to the bathroom. The cold tiles shocked my bare feet — winter was beginning here, and the air was sharp, almost biting. Nothing like Pakistan.
Back home, summer heat clung to the skin like a stubborn shadow. Allah, it's so hot… and the electricity's gone again. What can one even say about the people running this country? Sometimes I dream of moving somewhere with real winters, just to escape that endless sweating.
The thought slipped away as I changed into warm clothes and stepped back into the room. Hana was sitting cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through her phone.
"Where's Ruhi?" I asked.
"She's outside," Hana replied without looking up. "Talking with some hostel mates. So… tell me. How was your first day at uni? Any ragging? You know it's a senior rule."
I shook my head, smiling faintly. "No. Everyone was fine. I think classes started a month ago, so I'm already late. Not just me — there were other new students too. Two of them were in my class today. Minji, from Seoul, and Sophia, from Morocco. They're nice. But…" I hesitated. "Like you said, ragging is a rule. Some seniors gave us typing work to do — part of their 'fun.' I finished mine in two days. Honestly, it was hard. My own assignments plus theirs… the work felt never-ending. But still, it's better than the kind of ragging where students make fun or play humiliating tricks."
The door creaked open and Ruhi stepped inside, rubbing her hands to warm them. "So," she said, closing the door behind her, "tell me about your first day. Any ragging?" I told her everything.
Hana looked up from her phone. "Do you want to have lunch?"
Ruhi was already nodding. "I'm ready for that."
But I shook my head. "No, I'm not hungry. I just want tea."
The two of them left for lunch together, chatting as they walked down the hall. I filled the electric kettle, letting the steam warm my hands while I waited.
After my tea, I went to the bathroom to make wudu (ritual ablution for prayer), then spread out my prayer mat and offered Zuhr (midday prayer). When I finished, I sat for a moment longer, raising my hands in dua (supplication) and letting my thoughts spill quietly into words only Allah could hear.
Ya Allah… You know I am here, leaning only on Your support. I know You will never leave me alone. Here, every corner holds a new test, but if You are with me, Zoya can bear them all. Ya Allah, protect my loved ones, keep them safe in every moment. And please… fill his heart with the light of true faith. Protect him wherever he is. Keep him away from harm, and guide him to the path that pleases You.
At that moment, my tears wouldn't stop. Ya Allah… please… protect him. Please… never let go of him.
After my dua, I made myself another cup of tea and settled into the chair by the window. The street below was busy, but my thoughts were louder.
Now, Zoya… your first priority is finding a job.
Then I paused, answering myself silently. Wait — you still have some money from Pakistan. You need to open a bank account, and get a credit card. The kind you can use for everything — travel, shopping, anything you need.
I decided I'd ask Ruhi for help with it later. For now, I needed to call home. I had only called once since arriving, and I missed their voices. I thought about family who never called me back — even when I landed in Busan, I gave them my number, but still no one called. That thought broke me a little. Everyone is busy in their own life. No one needs Zoya. My eyes grew teary, but I controlled myself. There was no one here to wipe those tears.
In the evening, when Ruhi returned from lunch, I waited until she put her bag down. "Ruhi, I need to make a bank account," I said. "When you have time, can we go together? I also have some money to transfer… and I need to do a little shopping. I don't have much won left — what should I do?"
Ruhi thought for a moment. "Hmm… maybe we can go tomorrow after class. There's a bank near the main bus stop. I'll help you with the forms, don't worry."
Her easy answer made me feel lighter, but I still counted the coins in my purse later, just to be sure.
We all put on our warm coats, scarves wrapped tight, the cold air stinging our cheeks. But if you're in the mood to enjoy, you always find a way. I slung my small crossbody bag over my shoulder — inside, just my phone and a little money — then followed the others outside.
The moment we stepped onto the main street, the air changed. It felt warmer — not because of the temperature, but because of the sizzling grills, steaming pots, and the crowd's hum of excitement.
Vendors stood behind carts lit by bright yellow bulbs, the smoke from skewers rising into the night. The smell hit first — sweet, spicy, savory all at once. I saw golden-brown hotteok (sweet pancakes filled with cinnamon and sugar) being pressed on a griddle, their sticky filling bubbling out from the edges. Nearby, a man flipped long sticks of odeng (fish cakes) swimming in hot broth, handing them to customers along with steaming cups of soup.
"Try this," Ruhi nudged me toward a stall with skewers of dak-kkochi — grilled chicken brushed with a thick red sauce. The ajumma (middle-aged lady) behind the stall smiled warmly, her hands moving fast.
Laughter and chatter filled the air. Somewhere down the lane, a seller called out the day's special in Korean, his voice competing with the hiss of oil frying tteokbokki (spicy rice cakes) in huge round pans.
I paused for a moment, just taking it in. This… this was the kind of memory that stays.
I lingered by the tteokbokki stall, watching the bright red sauce bubble like molten lava. The spicy-sweet smell was tempting, but I stepped back.
Ruhi noticed. "You're not going to try?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
I shook my head lightly. "I'm just… not sure about the meat or the sauce."
Her expression softened. "Don't worry. We'll find something safe. Remember the stall we saw earlier with vegetable pancakes? And the sweet bread with red bean filling? No meat at all."
Her voice was reassuring, but my eyes still drifted to the other stalls, curious about every sizzling and steaming thing. Even without tasting everything, I already felt full — from the scents, the colors, the energy of this place.
We wandered further, stopping to share a paper cup of hot chestnuts, their shells cracking under our fingers, the steam warming our hands. It was simple, but perfect.
Somewhere in the background, music played from a portable speaker — soft K-ballads mixed with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of metal tongs. This food street felt alive, like it was breathing along with the people walking through it.
We stopped near a busy food stall, the smell of tteokbokki and hot fish cakes mixing with the cool Busan breeze.
"Oh — Minji, Sofia," I said, gesturing toward the two girls beside me, "this is Hana and Ruhi, my hostel-mates."
Minji gave them a cheerful wave. "Nice to meet you both!"
We ordered a few snacks — hot fish cakes on sticks, cups of steaming odeng broth, and a small box of spicy tteokbokki — before starting to walk toward the university hostel together, balancing the warm food in our hands.
After a few steps, Minji suddenly turned to us with a mischievous grin. "Hey, tell me — where are all of you from? I already know about Sofia," she said, winking, "but I want to hear from the rest of you."
She pointed at Ruhi first. "Let's start with you," she said dramatically, as if she were hosting a talk show.
We were still a little surprised at how quickly she was acting like we'd all been friends for years — we'd literally met her this morning — but she continued without pause.
"Look, the five of us are meeting here at this very stall. It doesn't matter who met first or who knew who — from today, we're friends. This moment is historic!" Minji declared, lifting her fish cake stick like a microphone. "I'll even tell my children one day, so you all better remember this too."
Sofia laughed. "Children? We just came to Busan for studies."
Minji waved her hand dismissively. "Details, details. Now — let's start. Ruhi, your turn. Tell us about yourself while we eat and walk. Hana, you're next."
We continued strolling toward the hostel, chatting between bites, our laughter mixing with the sound of traffic and the evening breeze.
To be Continue.....