introducing himself as the man who looked after the neighborhood. "I've cleaned these streets for years. Everyone here knows old Choi," he added with a chuckle.
He sat down on the weathered wooden bench, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel the urge to run away. I sat beside him. There was a quiet wisdom in the way he carried himself, a stillness that seemed to calm the buzzing anxiety in my chest. We talked for a while; he told me about his small house just a few blocks away, and I found myself doing something I never did—I told him exactly where I lived, too.
He smiled, his eyes crinkling behind his spectacles. "You must stop by sometime," he said warmly. "My wife makes the best food in Mapo. No one leaves our house hungry."
I bowed my head slightly,""Ne'"""
With a polite nod, he stood up to finish his morning rounds, leaving me alone with the sound of the water fountain. I watched him go, wondering if everyone in Korea was as kind as the people I had met so far. First Ji-soo, and now Mr. Choi. It was a sharp contrast to the cold, hurried shoulders I was used to in London.
Suddenly inspired, I flipped to a fresh page in my sketchbook. The "plain" ideas that had frustrated me earlier were gone. My charcoal pencil danced across the paper, capturing the fluid lines of the fountain and the traditional strength I saw in Mr. Choi. I lost track of time, the world around me fading into the rhythm of my strokes.
The sharp trill of my phone shattered the silence. I blinked, coming back to reality, and saw Sean's name on the screen.
"Hello?" I answered, my voice a bit raspy from the cold air.
Lara? Where are you?" Sean's voice was calm, but that very calmness made my stomach drop. "The assistant from the company is already here. She's waiting in the living room to brief us and take us to the headquarters. We need to leave now."
A wave of pure panic washed over me. didn't he say we would be going there tomorrow what happened?
Okay I muttered and ended the call .
I looked down at my ink-stained fingers and my oversized, rumpled black hoodie. My hair was likely a mess from the park breeze, and I still had my fake, thick-rimmed glasses perched on my nose.
My heart began to hammer against my ribs. I wasn't ready. I hadn't even looked in a mirror. The assistant was there—the first person from the actual Korean office who was going to see me. I could already imagine the look of disappointment on her face when she realized the "London expert" looked more like a lost student than a professional designer.
I started to run, my boots hitting the pavement in a frantic rhythm. Each step felt like a second ticking off my 365-day clock. I burst through the front doors of the apartment building, my face flushed from the cold and the exertion, and took the elevator up.
When I reached our floor, I paused at the door, trying to smooth down my hair and pull my hoodie straight. I took one shaky breath, turned the handle, and stepped inside.
Sean was standing by the kitchen island, looking polished even in his messy-hair style.
Beside him stood a woman in a sharp, cream-colored power suit, her hair pulled back into a perfect, tight bun. She turned as the door clicked shut, her eyes traveling from my messy sneakers all the way up to my hood.
The silence in the room was deafening.