The first thing Akhiera noticed was the rain.
It came down without warning — thin, cold drops that turned into a steady drizzle, blurring the city lights into rivers of color. Seoul at night shimmered like glass: glowing signboards in Hangul, neon cafés pulsing in violet, the faint smell of roasted chestnuts drifting from a nearby stall. She stood under a flickering streetlamp, her coat damp, her phone screen frozen on a map she could no longer read.
"Battery low," it warned one last time before the screen went black.
Akhiera exhaled slowly, pressing her lips together. "Perfect," she murmured. Her first night in Seoul, and she was already lost.
She had been in the city less than twelve hours. The flight from Sydney had been long, customs polite but cold, and the taxi driver who dropped her near Jongno had waved vaguely toward the streets with a friendly "Near hospital! Over there!" before speeding off. She was supposed to find Haneul Medical Center, her new workplace — a hospital she had only ever seen in photos — and report for her orientation in the morning. Yet here she was, drenched, her luggage tugged behind her like a tired companion, searching for a building she couldn't find.
The drizzle turned heavier. Pedestrians rushed by with umbrellas like translucent shields, the crosswalk lights blinking through the blur. Akhiera ducked under a shop awning, her breath visible in the cool October air. She looked up and smiled faintly — the sign above her read 꽃의 시간, Time of Flowers. A small flower shop closed for the night. It was beautiful, even in the dark.
"Excuse me—" she called out as a man passed by, but he shook his head quickly, apologizing in Korean. She sighed, wishing she had practiced more phrases beyond annyeonghaseyo and gamsahamnida.
Her shoulders slumped. Maybe she should find a café and wait out the rain. Maybe this move — this new chapter, this brave leap — was already a mistake.
And then a voice, low and calm, broke through the rain.
"Are you okay? You look… a little lost."
She turned, startled.
A man stood a few steps away, holding an umbrella large enough for two. The streetlight caught the edge of his face — kind eyes behind rain-speckled glasses, a gentle, almost amused smile. He looked like he had come straight from work: navy scrubs under a light gray jacket, an ID badge clipped to his pocket.
For a second, Akhiera forgot her Korean greeting entirely. "Ah—yes. I think so. Just… not sure where I am."
He stepped closer, tilting the umbrella slightly toward her. "Hospital?" he asked, glancing at her rolling suitcase and the folded papers in her hand.
"Yes," she admitted. "Haneul Medical Center. I'm supposed to start there tomorrow, but I can't find it. My phone just died." She gave a soft, embarrassed laugh. "And I think I've been walking in circles for thirty minutes."
The man chuckled quietly. "You're close," he said in fluent English, his accent soft and deliberate. "You're on the wrong side of the street, though. It's easy to miss at night — the sign isn't bright."
Relief flickered through her. "You speak English. Thank God."
"I studied in Boston for a while," he replied, shifting the umbrella so she was fully covered. "Come, I'll walk you there. It's only a few blocks away."
"Oh, that's—thank you, really, you don't have to—"
But he was already walking, adjusting his stride to match hers. She hesitated before following, the sound of rain tapping softly on the umbrella above them. The city around them glowed — reflections of taxi lights sliding across wet asphalt, the scent of coffee from a late-night stall, the distant hum of the subway beneath their feet.
After a moment, he said, "You're new to Seoul, right? Accent gives it away."
She smiled, glancing up at him. "That obvious?"
He nodded with a grin. "A little. Don't worry, you'll blend in faster than you think."
"I hope so. I'm Akhiera, by the way."
He looked thoughtful, as if committing the name to memory. "Hyunwoo Kang. Orthopedic surgeon."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Ah, so you work at the same hospital?"
"Yes. I was finishing a late shift. You'll like it there. It's busy, but good people."
"That's comforting to hear." She exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing. "I'm joining the general surgery team."
"General surgery?" He gave a small nod of respect. "Tough department."
She laughed softly. "You're telling me that now?"
His smile deepened. "You'll be fine. You have the look of someone who can handle chaos."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means you seem calm," he said. "Even when you're lost in the rain."
The words made her blink — gentle, but strangely disarming. She looked away, focusing on the path instead. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was the warmth in his tone, but something inside her shifted. For months she had been preparing for this new life — new country, new colleagues, new language — and now, walking beside a stranger who felt unexpectedly safe, she realized how much she had been holding her breath.
They reached the hospital gates sooner than she expected. The building rose like a pale monolith in the drizzle, its glass walls catching the city lights.
"Here we are," Hyunwoo said, stopping under the awning. He shook off the umbrella and gave a small, polite bow. "Welcome to Haneul Medical Center."
Akhiera followed his gaze, her chest tightening. This was it — her new beginning.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "I really appreciate it."
Hyunwoo shrugged lightly. "It's nothing. But maybe—next time, keep an umbrella."
She laughed, the sound mingling with the rain. "I'll remember that, Dr. Kang."
He smiled. "Just Hyunwoo is fine."
The name lingered in the air, warm and unfamiliar on her tongue. "Then… thank you, Hyunwoo."
He nodded once, that same calm composure returning. "Goodnight, Dr. Smith."
And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the drizzle, leaving her under the hospital lights.
Akhiera watched him go, the faint curve of her lips betraying a smile she hadn't expected.
Maybe Seoul wasn't so impossible after all.
Maybe, just maybe, this was where home would begin.