But he is real and he’s standing in front of me looking so delicious that my hands start sweating and my skin starts to pebble with goose bumps despite the hot, still air. A light, bubbling sensation replaces the rock in my stomach and the corners of my lips are curving upward of their own volition.

“I was unpacking,” I blurt out, realizing belatedly that it’s my turn to speak. I don’t know what it is about this man that renders me so dumb. It’s his looks, I guess? And his charm, which he wears like a garment that was made just for him. And the smile and the height and the way his eyes dance when he looks at me, as if I’m interesting and delightful. “I brought too much stuff,” I finish weakly. This is not a good excuse. I’ll think of one tonight, hours later when I replay this humiliating exchange in my head a thousand times.

He’s an angel because he doesn’t call me on the bullshit but instead asks, “Are you enjoying the show?”

“The show?” I repeat because my brain cells have their tongues on the ground and things are slow upstairs. All right, Hara, get your act together. Stop acting like you can’t understand his perfect English and reply in full, cogent sentences. “Right. The show. It’s good.” What a lie. I can’t remember a single song that was played.

He cocks his head. “You sound uncertain.”

“No. No. It was good. Really good.” Everyone inside is jamming out. It isn’t that the music isn’t good. My head isn’t in the right place.

“If you’re leaving, my chauffeur services are available. I’m driving myself today. Taxis at night can be unpredictable.”

“I’m not leaving,” I say in a hurry. “I was catching a breath of fresh air. This place is incredible.”

Yujun doesn’t let this half-truth slide. One side of his mouth quirks up. “Is it the cranes or the airplanes that you like the best?”

“Cranes,” I quip. “I’ve got a thing for construction and heavy machinery.”

We share a smile at my silliness. Hints of Yujun’s dimples appear like tiny crescent shadows, and I lean a little closer, feeling the weight of the past three days ease a bit. Silence stretches between us and it should be uncomfortable but instead makes it easier for me to be standing here in this place I thought would feel like home but isn’t in any way familiar. The expression on his face is fond and admiring and seems to be saying that he understands me. Or, at the very least, sharing this space, this moment, pleases him. We aren’t the only two people here in Incheon or at this complex, but I don’t notice anything but him. My entire vision is of his long legs and broad shoulders, his glossy black hair with the side part, his dark eyebrows, straight nose, and full lips. My lungs are full of something warm and pleasant. My hand rises and I’m on the verge of doing something stupid like poking my index finger into the divot on the side of his cheek when a newcomer pops up and saves me.