“We’ll get a cab,” he replies immediately. He tucks my hand into the crook of his arm and we walk silently to the top of the hill. There are no cabs around, which is why everyone goes down the hill instead of up, and so we keep walking toward lights and people and traffic. Neither of us speaks, not that I know what to say. I suspect it is the same for him. At a bright intersection, we stop and Yujun from Seoul hails a taxi. He holds the door open for me and I climb inside. After he gives instructions to the driver, we take off. The two engage in some short conversation and I stare out the window as the neon signs, streetlamps, and headlights blur into one giant stream of light. I close my eyes and lean my head against the glass. When the taxi comes to a halt, it’s in front of a tall, fancy hotel. A doorman wearing white gloves approaches.

“Stay a moment,” Yujun says to me, and then he’s gone before I can respond.

The driver and I meet each other’s eyes in his rearview mirror and I steel myself for a question in Korean that I will not understand followed by a faint look of disappointment if I’m lucky and disgust if I’m not. But he only gives me a brief nod before fiddling with the GPS screen. The quiet in the car becomes almost oppressive. I wonder if I should pay him. Then I glance at the doorman waiting by the amber-lit entry and wonder if I can afford to pay for even a cup of coffee here. Yujun from Seoul may be able to swing this, but Hara from Iowa only has a little room left on her credit card. I pull up my translation app. If there’s one person in this city who knows of a cheap hotel, it has to be a taxi driver. I type in the question and hope that it translates it decently. What was “Excuse me” in Korean? The word pops into my head.

I clear my throat and try it out. “Jamkkanmanyo.”

I must’ve pronounced it well enough because the driver turns to me. “Ne?”

Yes, I translate in my head. “Jeolyeomhan hoteli eodi isseoyo.” The words come out halting and, from the confusion on the driver’s face, possibly incoherent. I open my mouth to try again when the door flies open. Yujun’s face appears.

“Come,” he says, and then tacks on a “please.”

“I don’t think—”

“Everything has been taken care of,” he rushes to interrupt me. “But for me you would be home, so please, come.” Before I can respond he hands the cabdriver a handful of bills.

The cabdriver takes the money with a smile and says something in rapid Korean and waves his hand, pointing out the window. I look past Yujun to see a couple of women behind him. Their cheeks are flushed from alcohol and one is swaying on her feet.