The Vacancy That Changed Everything
The scorching sun beat down on my shoulders, but I barely noticed. I was too focused—focused on finding something, anything that would keep my life from stalling.
Then I saw it.
A bold sign on the notice board read: VACANCY.
I blinked, stunned for a moment, then stepped closer. "Crystal Cove Hotel is hiring a stewardess," the notice read. My heart skipped a beat. Finally—something promising. I quickly jotted down the Gmail address provided, the corners of my lips curling into a relieved smile.
"At least today wasn't a waste " I whispered to myself, shielding my eyes from the sun's glare. I could almost feel the brightness smiling down at me like a silent cheerleader. My chest filled with hope as I flagged down a cab and gave the driver my address, the city's heat now a background hum to my growing anticipation.
---
My name is Emily. I'm twenty-five years old and a graduate of Saint Paul University in Scarlet Town. Ever since I got admitted, I've lived on my own—far away from my parents, from comfort, from familiarity.
They passed away during my third year of university.
At first, I didn't cry. It was strange—I wasn't sad, not immediately. I told myself they'd gone to rest and deserved that peace after everything they'd endured. But as days passed, grief crept in like a shadow. I began to feel the weight of their absence. Who would walk me down the aisle when I got married? Who would I call when life didn't make sense?
You see, my parents had me late in life. My mother was forty-two, and my father fifty when I was born. I was their miracle child, the joy they never expected but always hoped for. Losing them both so close together shattered something deep inside me.
My father passed first. Age seemed like a logical explanation. But when my mother followed shortly after, it wasn't age—it was heartbreak. Her grief and hypertension took her from me.
Since then, I've been single—both in love and in life. Sometimes, I wonder, am I made of stone? I see couples holding hands, kissing in parks, posing on social media, and I feel... invisible. I have blue eyes, a curvy figure—things people compliment me on—but those things haven't brought me love. Maybe because I've been waiting for a love like the ones I read about or see in the K-dramas I binge-watch.
And maybe I've waited too long.
---
"It's been such a draining day," I muttered as I entered my apartment, my gaze drifting to the walls plastered with posters of BTS idols and Korean actors. It was my comfort cave—a world of fantasy where the men were flawless and love always found its way.
I dropped my bag on the center table and sank into my sky-blue couch, groaning softly. Sweat clung to my skin. "I really should've fixed that A/C," I grumbled, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand.
Eventually, I dragged myself to the bathroom. The cold water revived me, jolting me back to life. After toweling off, I decided to make lunch and sit at the old student chair I'd had since freshman year. Across from me was a brown table—metal legs, wooden surface—cluttered with documents and my loyal HP laptop.
I powered it on and sent my CV to the email I'd saved earlier.
Then—knock, knock, knock.
The sound pulled me out of my thoughts. I stood up, half-curious, half-annoyed.
"Mia, how are you?" I asked as I opened the door.
Mia. My best friend, my anchor. Slim, graceful, blonde, and effortlessly fashionable—she was what people called "moderate perfection." Not too much of anything, but just enough of everything. She gave off the kind of glow that made people think she had a silver spoon in her mouth. And maybe she did. But she never lorded it over anyone. That's what I loved most about her—her humility.
"Emily!" she squealed, throwing her arms around me like I'd just returned from a decade-long exile.
"Okay, okay, what's with the excitement? You're glowing," I said, shutting the door behind her.
"Content pour vous!!!" she sang, her eyes sparkling like rare diamonds. Her voice practically buzzed with excitement.
"What's going on? You're making me nervous," I said, raising a brow.
"Emily! I've got a hot, sexy boyfriend lined up for you—guess who he is?" she asked, bouncing on her feet as if she'd won the lottery.
I stared at her in disbelief. Seriously?
"You're not serious," I muttered, folding my arms.
"I am! You should be thanking me. Your singleness is starting to scream loneliness," she teased, her tone a playful mix of concern and sarcasm. "And by the way—you didn't even ask who he is!"
"Okay, okay. Who is this mysterious guy who's supposedly my boyfriend now?" I asked, giving in, more amused than intrigued.
"I went to see a friend who just returned from the States. While scrolling through my gallery, we stumbled upon your picture—and boom! He was smitten. Emily, this guy is hot, like—movie-star hot. And rich."
I groaned. "Mia, seriously? Falling for someone through a picture? That's not love. That's digital-level lust."
"Call it whatever you want," she pouted. "At least give him a chance. What's the harm in meeting him?"
"Because it's ridiculous!" I retorted, shaking my head.
"Please? Just one shot. Who knows? You might like him."
Her eyes sparkled, trying to melt my defenses.
"Stop batting those lashes. It's not working."
"You've been single too long, Emily. Let someone in. Live a little."
I laughed. "Look who's talking! How about you introduce me to your imaginary boyfriend?"
"I'm getting married soon, so stop teasing me," she huffed.
"Yeah, yeah. Says the woman who's still waiting for Mr. Rich and Perfect to fall from the sky."
We both burst into laughter.
"Alright, alright. Let's get some food. I'm starving," she said, reaching for her bag.
"Call your rich boyfriend to join us!" I teased.
"Emily, stop! He's not even into you," she snapped playfully.
"Aww, are you jealous?" I smirked. "Don't dish it if you can't take it."
"Okay, bossy. Just get dressed, and let's go," she rolled her eyes, feigning defeat.
---
On the way to the restaurant, I sat quietly, whispering a prayer in my heart about the job I'd applied for. I realized I hadn't even told Mia about it yet. Her romantic matchmaking completely distracted me.
Maybe I should have asked to see the guy's picture. Maybe he wouldn't be so bad. Maybe—I don't know—I'm just tired of imaginary relationships with K-pop idols and fictional men in novels. Maybe... I'm ready for something real.
Or maybe not.
But for now, all I can do is wait.
Wait for a job.
Wait for love.
Wait for my life to begin.