"Hold on, ma'am, just a moment…" Miss Yuna interrupted with a slight wave of her hand.
"Is there something wrong with Mrs. Eira's story?" Miss Ari asked, glancing at her.
"We can't just skip to the point! I'm looking for details—the juicier, the better. I need some inspiration to add to my novel, you know? I'd like to get something out of this too," Yuna said with a playful smirk before turning back to Mrs. Eira, who was casually sipping her coffee.
"So, Mrs. Eira, I love hearing about wild, exclusive daydreams. Surely, before you visited Korea, you must have had some serious fantasies about meeting your bias. Could you share some of those with us?" Yuna's eyes sparkled with curiosity.
Eira laughed so hard she nearly choked on her coffee. "Oh, I definitely had my fair share of those! I mean, I was young and full of wild ideas. But sure, I'd be happy to share. So, are we talking romance, adventure, comedy?"
Yuna's grin grew even wider. "Every genre you've got!"
The two of them seemed to be bonding, so much so that Ari felt a bit sidelined. But she too was intrigued—curious to glimpse into the mind of someone whose love for their idol ran so deep.
Eira cleared her throat, still chuckling, before settling into her story.
********
I was about to take a twelve-hour flight, with no distractions or plans beyond getting to South Korea. A sister of mine from the orphanage had offered to take me in as her dependent—she, too, was headed to Korea, chasing after her own dream of love. Maria, who had always treated me like family, was twenty-two now, and she'd met her Korean boyfriend, Su-jin, through a dating app. She spoke about him constantly; it was clear he meant the world to her, and honestly, I was happy to see her so happy.
"When we land, I'm heading straight to my boyfriend's place," she reminded me, though she'd already told me at least a dozen times. "Are you absolutely sure your apartment's legit?"
"Yes, I'm sure," I assured her, smiling at her concern. "You've done more than enough for me, and I'll be fine."
The closer we got to South Korea, the more my nerves started to kick in. I'd spent over two years studying Korean, hoping to be fluent enough to navigate the city on my own. And I was finally about to put it to the test. When we landed, Maria left with Su-jin, and just like that, I was alone in Seoul.
I took a taxi to the address for my supposed apartment, feeling both excited and nervous. But when I got there, the building looked nothing like the photos I'd seen. I tried to stay positive. "Let's not jump to conclusions," I told myself, taking a deep breath before approaching the doorman.
"Good evening, sir. I rented an apartment here, and I'm just moving in," I greeted him politely in Korean, hoping my pronunciation was spot-on.
The man smiled at me, a little too kindly. "Ah, you speak good Korean, so I'm sure you'll understand what I'm about to say."
It turned out there was no record of my reservation, no apartment waiting for me. Feeling scammed, I started to panic and raised my voice, demanding answers. But my shouting got me nowhere. Within minutes, I was outside the building, the doorman having escorted me out for 'causing a scene.'
Standing alone on the damp Seoul sidewalk, I realized my plan had unraveled entirely. It was almost winter, and the sky had opened up, pouring rain everywhere. My new sneakers—purchased just for this trip—were getting soaked, so I kicked them off, picked them up, and trudged forward barefoot, dragging my suitcases behind me.
As I wandered aimlessly, reality began to sink in. Here I was, in a foreign country, without a place to stay or a clue where I was headed. Worst of all, I hadn't even managed to figure out where my idol would be performing. I kept walking, my feet freezing on the wet pavement. Hours passed, and as darkness fell, my hope began to fade.
Eventually, I found shelter beneath a bridge where other homeless people had gathered, trying to escape the rain. I sat down beside a man who looked to be in his fifties. He sighed as he noticed me and, surprisingly, offered, "Want a drink? I'll get you one if you've got the money."
Though I barely had any money left, I handed him 5,000 won. I must've been half-dazed, exhausted from everything. He took the money and walked off, disappearing into the night. Once I realized what I'd done, a fresh wave of despair hit me, and I started crying.
"Why did I give him my money? How could I be so dumb?" I whispered to myself, my voice shaky. "I want Maria to come take me home…"
I cried for what felt like ages. It was maybe half an hour before the man returned, carrying two cans of beer, a bottle of soju, a couple of biscuits, and two plastic cups. He sat down beside me, chuckling at the sight of my tear-streaked face.
"Have you ever tried soju before?" he asked, his voice a mix of concern and amusement.
I shook my head, wiping my eyes. He poured a mix of beer and soju into two cups and handed one to me, along with a biscuit. Then, to my surprise, he returned some of the change.
"Keep this," he said, nodding toward the coins. "You might need it for a bus ride."
Gratefully, I took it. He introduced himself as Hyeon Jun and asked my name, saying he couldn't keep calling me "Foreigner."
"Eira," I told him, managing a small smile. Slowly, we started chatting, our conversation shifting from trivial things to deeper topics. Somehow, the simple act of talking with this stranger lifted my spirits. I laughed for the first time since arriving in Seoul, even snapping a few videos of us talking nonsense. Every worry I'd had seemed to melt away in that moment.
"You get drunk fast if you down your drinks like that," he teased as I finished my cup in one gulp.
I shrugged, feeling lightheaded but strangely at ease. "Sir, can I get your full name and where I can see you? In case I want to find you again?"
"Oh Hyeon Jun, I am always in the shelter close to this bridge. The name is 'Take Me Home'," he replied, laughing as I fumbled with my phone to take a photo. I labeled the picture 'Bestie Ajusshi Hyeon Jun.'
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not that old, kid."
"Alright, alright! How about Seonsaengnim, then?" I joked, snapping another picture of us with the other people sheltering under the bridge.
We talked for hours, just watching the rain and the people passing by. For the first time since landing in Korea, I felt like I was in the right place. I told him about my love for my idol and my hopes of seeing him perform live. He just nodded, listening patiently, sometimes offering his own insights. In the middle of our laughter, he asked, "And when are you leaving this place, little dreamer?"
"I'll stay until I find him," I said, with the fierce determination that had fueled this trip in the first place.
By 11:20 p.m., the bridge was mostly empty. I knew I had to go, even though it meant leaving behind the strange comfort I'd found there. I stood up, hesitating for a moment, before saying, "Thank you, Hyeon Jun. For everything."
He gave me a warm smile, and in that moment, I realized I'd made my first real memory in Korea—a strange, wonderful, and unexpected one under a rainy bridge with a stranger who'd helped me feel a little less alone.
As I walked away into the night, the rain still falling softly around me, I clutched my phone tightly, the photos and videos on it now precious reminders of my first bittersweet night in Korea. I didn't know what lay ahead, but I felt a strange kind of hope—one that made me believe I was exactly where I was meant to be.