A YEAR AGO- SEOUL CITY, SOUTH KOREA.
--
"Keifer! Don't forget your charger! And Kim, make sure your school forms are in that folder!"
Georgia's voice echoed through the house like background music, laced with urgency and motherly panic. The hallway was alive with footsteps, zippers, drawers opening and slamming shut.
Somewhere downstairs, a kettle whistled. In the distance, the family driver honked once, politely. Upstairs, Kim's room was quieter. Still. Familiar.
Sunlight poured in through her open window, soft and warm, dancing across the cream walls and the rose-gold trimmings that still clung to her teenage years. Her bed was already stripped bare, just the sheets folded at the edge and a single open suitcase waiting in the middle.
Kim stood over it, pressing down lightly on the contents before zipping it closed, almost. Just one more thing.
Her eyes flicked toward her nightstand.
There it was.
That damn photo frame.
It sat exactly where it always had. Untouched. The picture inside was slightly faded now, not in color, but in feeling. It was a snapshot of a memory she couldn't unsee, her and Kalix at that little street-side café during fall, laughing, cheeks pink with cold and joy.
She remembered what he said just seconds before the camera clicked "You're the only thing that makes this city feel like home."
That was two years ago, and two years should've been enough to forget. But it wasn't.
Kim picked up the frame slowly, brushing her thumb over the glass. Her chest ached, like an old bruise that hadn't quite healed. He wasn't just a first love. He was the kind you don't bounce back from immediately, the kind that changes how you breathe.
She sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the photo for a long, quiet moment. They were so young. So reckless. So sure they'd be forever.
But forever ended and moving on wasn't a luxury, it was survival.
Her jaw tightened as she flipped the photo facedown, slipped it between some clothes in the suitcase carefully and zipped it up without another word.
Kim was still standing near the suitcase, staring blankly at the floor, trying to push back the lump in her throat.
And then—
BANG! The door flew open.
"Yo!" Keifer barged in, arms flailing dramatically. "Mom's screaming like she's in Labour Room Part 2, and Dad already turned on the car's A.C. like we live in a damn sauna. Let's gooo!"
Kim blinked at him, startled out of her fog.
"Jesus, knock much?"
He grinned. "I did knock. Mentally. Telepathy. You missed it."
She sighed, wiping the corner of her eye quickly. "I'm coming."
Keifer's eyes narrowed at her like a detective. "Wait a second." He stepped closer, peering at her face. "Were you crying?"
Kim gave him a dry look. "No."
He gasped. "Don't lie. Your eyes are misty. You look like a romantic K-drama lead who just watched her oppa walk away with another girl."
She groaned. "Keifer—"
"—Wait, lemme guess." He reached for the suitcase and grunted dramatically as he lifted it. "You were looking at that photo again, weren't you? You and Kaaaalix."
Kim shot him a death glare.
"Relax," he chuckled. "It's not that deep. Guy looks like a boiled chicken anyway."
"Keifer!"
"What? He does. No offense to poultry."
Despite everything, Kim snorted. He had that effect on her. Always had. When things felt like they were caving in, he cracked a joke. Bad ones, mostly. But they helped.
"Thanks," she said quietly as they headed for the door.
"For what?" he asked, hoisting the suitcase with exaggerated effort. "For being devilishly strong? For my charming wit? For reminding you you can do better than Chicken Boy?"
Kim just shook her head with a small smile.
"For being my annoying little brother."
"Wow," Keifer gasped. "She admits it. On the record. July 8th, 11:47 a.m. Someone write that down."
They stepped into the hallway, the echo of their footsteps and banter bouncing down the stairs as Georgia's voice screamed from below:
"KIMBERLY! KEIFER! IF YOU'RE NOT DOWN IN TEN SECONDS, I SWEAR—"
"We're coming!!" they shouted in unison.
NEW YORK CITY, AMERICA.
The plane touched down at 5:30 p.m., nearly an hour later than expected. The sun had already begun to dip behind the New York skyline, casting everything in a warm amber glow. From the plane window, the city looked endless buildings stretched out like a restless ocean of glass and steel.
Kim yawned behind her hand as they walked through the airport terminal, dragging their feet and their carry-ons. She hated flying. Not because of the turbulence or the altitude, but because of the waiting. Hours of just sitting and thinking and remembering things she wished she could forget.
The moment they stepped outside, the noise hit , honking cars, impatient travelers, rolling suitcase wheels over concrete.
A uniformed airport attendant wheeled their luggage cart toward the curb where a sleek black car had just pulled up, its body shining like it hadn't seen a speck of dust in days.
The driver stepped out, tall and grey-bearded with a friendly, familiar face. His name tag wasn't needed. Georgia and Gael smiled as soon as they saw him.
"Marvin!" Georgia called.
"Mrs. Virelli," he greeted with a grin, tipping his cap. "And Mr. Gael. Long time, ma'am. Sir."
Marvin had been their designated chauffeur since Georgia's return to New York for a few business trips over the past year.
The drive through was quiet, apart from Keifer humming to whatever played softly on the radio and snapping random photos of street signs from the window like a tourist.
Thirty minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of their new home. A stunning white-bricked house with ivy creeping up one side and a porch that looked straight out of a catalog. It felt too polished to be real.
As Gael and Georgia stepped out, Kim paused in the back seat.
"Hey," she said. "You guys can go in first. I… I forgot something important. Marvin, can you drive me to the nearest supermarket?"
Gael turned around from the porch. "Now? Kim, what did you forget?"
Kim rubbed the back of her neck. "Just something small. I'll be five minutes."
Georgia raised a brow but waved her off. "Fine. Be quick. Dinner will be soon."
She nodded and shut the car door behind her.
Marvin looked back through the mirror, already buckling in. "To the supermarket, Miss?"
"Yeah. Nearest one, please."
---
The supermarket was half-lit and half-empty, the kind of place you stopped at when you needed something urgently but didn't want to be seen. That worked for Kim. They were already on the plane when she realized she hadn't packed any pads, she knew she had no choice.
Asides that Kim needed the air, the space, something away from the echo of cardboard boxes and that temporary feeling of returning to a country that no longer felt like hers.
She walked in with her hoodie up, no makeup, slides on, phone in hand, and a face that told the world not to talk to her. She moved quickly through the aisles, grabbed a packet from the feminine care section, and made her way to the front.
There was only one cashier on duty—a girl who looked barely older than Kim, her face tired but polite. Kim offered her a brief nod, eyes already back on her phone, until she realized there was someone ahead of her in line.
Tall. All black clothes. Hoodie up. Leaning slightly over the counter, card in hand, voice low and irritated. She couldn't see his face, just the rigid line of his posture and the sharpness in his tone.
"Swipe it again," he said.
"I've tried, sir. I think the network's down—"
"Then fix it."
There was no yelling. No raised voice. But his tone cut through the air like a blade. The girl flinched, fingers fumbling over the machine. It beeped again. Error.
Kim frowned, stepping forward just enough to hear better. Her eyes narrowed. The girl's hand shook slightly. She hated people like that—people who thought being cold made them powerful.
"Hey," Kim said, her voice flat and pointed. "Maybe try backing off and giving her some space to breathe."
He turned slightly, slowly, just enough to glance at her from beneath the hood. His eyes were dark. His stare was unreadable. Calm. But sharp.
"Not your business."
"It kinda is," she replied, stepping fully into the line behind him. "Because the longer you keep playing dictator over a card machine, the longer we're all stuck here."
He turned then, fully this time. Face shadowed by the hoodie, expression cold and impassive.
"Maybe," Kim continued, "if you stop acting like the world owes you speed, she can do her job, and you can get on with whatever you're buying."
He looked at her like she was noise. His stare didn't flinch, didn't warm, didn't care. "Who even are you?"
She lifted her chin. "Someone who doesn't think basic decency is too much to ask."
"Congratulations," he said, voice low, flat, and unimpressed. "You want a trophy or are you just loud for free?"
The cashier kept her head down, swiping his card again. Beep. Approved. Receipt printed.
"There. Was that so hard?" Kim muttered under her breath.
He grabbed his plastic bag from the counter and turned toward her once more, like an afterthought. His voice was quiet. Cruel.
"You better get going with that pad before you bleed all over the floor. Or are you already leaking?"
Everything stopped.
The cashier froze mid-motion. A woman behind Kim gasped. Kim's hand clenched around the packet of pads so tightly the plastic crinkled.
Her heart thudded once, loud and disoriented. She blinked at him, stunned. No words. No comeback. Nothing that could rise fast enough to answer the absolute cruelty of what he'd just said.
He walked away without another glance.
The automatic doors opened, and then he wa
s gone.
Kim paid in silence. No sass, no fight. Just the burn of humiliation crawling up her neck. When she reached the car, she slammed the door harder than necessary.