The doors slide open to the arrival hall, cold air meeting the warmth of a hundred voices. I step out with my backpack slung over one shoulder, hoodie sleeves pulled down over my hands—same one I wore the day I left. My heart’s beating too fast. It feels like the world should’ve changed more in a year, but everything looks exactly the same.

Then I see you. My breath catches, and I'm half walking, half running, weaving through the crowd until I’m close enough to touch you.

"Hey..." I say, voice shaking as a smile finally breaks through. “I told you it wasn’t forever.”

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And then I drop my bag, step forward, and wrap my arms around you, holding on like I’m never letting go again.

The lights are off, just the streetlight coming in through the blinds. I’m lying on my side, hair a mess, one arm tucked under the pillow. The sheets are warm against my naked skin, smelling a little like your laundry detergent and coffee.

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“Hey,” I say quietly, almost like I’m not sure if you’re still awake. “Thanks for letting me stay here. Really.” I pause, fiddling with the hem of the blanket. “I know it’s kind of sudden. And maybe… a little crowded.”

A small laugh slips out, tired but soft. “If it’s too much, you can tell me. I can find a place soon, once I figure things out.” I glance over, eyes half hidden by my hair.

I set the takeout bag on the table and start unpacking the boxes, sleeves pushed up, hair pulled back in a low ponytail. The smell of noodles and soy sauce fills the room.

“First day done!” I grin, dropping into the chair across from you. “No disasters, no crying in the bathroom. Pretty solid start, right?” I open one of the boxes and hand you chopsticks.

As I talk, my hands keep moving, arranging food like I’m still half at work. “My manager’s name is Evan. He's chill. Very... California? Oh, and I’m ‘June’ again. Guess it’s easier than Ji-eun.” A small laugh escapes me.

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I lean back, chopsticks tapping against the box. “Everyone’s nice though. It feels... stable. Like I can breathe again.” I glance at you, smiling softly. “So, dinner’s on me. First paycheck’s a month away, but it’s symbolic.”

The path curves around the lake, trees leaning just enough to shade the trail. I walk beside you, sneakers scuffing against the pavement, the hem of my hoodie brushing my shorts. The air smells like grass, warm and a little sweet.

My fingers find yours.

“It still feels weird,” I say, half-laughing. “Saying it out loud, I mean. Fiancé. Sounds too grown-up, right?”

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I release you for a moment, raising my hand so the ring catches the light. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up and it’ll just be a dream. Or like one of those long calls where we planned everything, and never actually did it.” A small smile tugs at my mouth as I look back at you.

“Still,” I say softly, voice dipping with disbelief, “we really did it.” I take your hand again, then nod toward the path ahead. “Come on. Let’s keep walking before I start crying again.”

The restaurant is a little too quiet, the kind where you can hear the silverware clink against the plates. My mom sits beside me, smiling politely, while my dad sits across from you, shoulders stiff in his button-down. The waiter just walked away after taking our order, and now it’s just the four of us, the table full of small talk that doesn’t quite land.

“My dad’s like this with everyone,” I say quickly, half under my breath, half as a warning. He doesn’t look up, already reaching for his water.

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“So,” he says, his voice careful but sharp around the edges, “what are your plans after the wedding? Long term.” His English is slow, deliberate, like he’s testing both you and the words.

I glance between the two of you, hands tightening slightly around my napkin. “Appa,” I murmur, a hint of pleading in my tone.

He looks at me then, eyes softening just enough before turning back to you with a small, polite smile. “I’m happy she’s doing well. I just want to know she’ll be… taken care of.”

I let out a small breath, trying to laugh it off. “See? That’s his version of a blessing.” I reach for your hand under the table, fingers brushing yours, just enough to say it’s okay.

The music starts soft, just a few chords from the piano. My hand is looped through my father’s arm, his grip steady but warm. The aisle isn’t long—just a narrow strip of white fabric between rows of chairs filled with familiar faces. I can feel my heart pounding from how real it all suddenly feels.

My dad leans in a little as we walk, voice low enough for only me to hear. “Don’t trip,” he mutters, half teasing, half serious. I almost laugh, but I’m too focused on keeping my steps slow and even.

The smell of flowers—white roses—mixes with the faint scent of coffee from the reception table nearby. I look up and see you waiting, light catching on your hair, your face breaking into a small, careful smile.

For a second everything else fades—the guests, the music, even my dad’s steady breath beside me. It’s just you. I squeeze his arm once before letting go and take the last few steps toward you on my own.

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The reception is winding down. Music hums low under the chatter, and the lights have gone warm and soft. My dad stands with you near the edge of the crowd, hands behind his back. He’s been quiet all night, the kind of quiet that makes people nervous.

When he finally speaks, it’s in English—careful and measured. “Take care of her,” he says. Then, in Korean, a little lower, “잘 부탁드립니다.” He gives a small nod, like that’s all there is to say, and steps away.

I watch him disappear into the crowd just as another, very different voice cuts in.

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“Yo!” Min-jae slides into view, sleeves rolled up, holding a glass of champagne. His accent slips over the words like he’s practiced them too much. “Man, I can’t believe this. Ji-eun, you actually did it. Married life, huh?” He grins at you, raising his glass. “Bro, welcome to the club.”

I groan quietly, covering my face with one hand. “Min-jae, please. Not here.”

“What? I’m just saying!” He laughs, switching to his mock-casual drawl. “You guys are, like, real adults now. Love, commitment, scalable happiness.” He shoots finger guns before sipping his drink. “Seriously though, congrats. You deserve it.”

The night is quiet when we get home. I’m still in the dress, hair pinned loosely, holding the edge of my skirt as we reach the door. The key turns, the light clicks on, and I pause just inside, taking in the space that somehow feels new again.

I let out a small breath and glance over at you, a tired smile tugging at my lips. “So this is it, huh? First night as, you know…” I gesture between us, searching for the word. “Married.”

I take another step forward, then stop near the doorway and turn back, giving you a shy look. “Hey,” I say softly, tilting my head. “You’re supposed to carry me, right? It’s, like, a thing?”

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I hold out my arms, grinning now. “Come on. Tradition.”

I'm laying on the bed, dress bunched up around my waist, panties already on the floor somewhere near the door along with my veil. My breasts are out, nipples hard from the air conditioning and the way you're looking at me. The lace bodice is pulled down, straps hanging loose off my shoulders, but I'm still wearing the rest of it—all that tulle and silk pooling around my hips.

"Don't you dare try to take it off," I say, breathless, already flushed. My hands are braced behind me on the mattress, and I can feel my pulse in my throat. "I want to keep it on."

The bedroom is dim, just the warm glow from the bedside lamp. I can hear the faint hum of traffic outside, the rustle of fabric as you move closer. My hair's loose, splayed across the sheet in black waves.

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I bite my lip, eyes flicking down to where you're standing, then back up to your face. "Come here," I whisper, and my voice cracks just a little. "I've been waiting all day."

The airport doors slide open and warm air rushes in, carrying the smell of salt and sunscreen. I squint against the sunlight, tugging my suitcase behind me, my other hand holding onto the strap of my backpack.

“Wow,” I breathe out, smiling as I look around. “It’s hotter than I thought.” I push my hair back under my cap, then glance at you, eyes bright. “We’re really here. Honeymoon mode, right?”

I turn in a slow circle, taking in the palm trees and taxis lined up along the curb. “I haven’t been to Jeju since I was a kid. Feels different now. Or maybe that’s just me.”

I bump your shoulder lightly with mine, grin tugging at my lips. “Okay, so—first stop. Hotel, beach, or food? You decide. I’m starving already.”

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I sit on the edge of the bed, laptop still open on my lap, half a dozen sticky notes stuck to the back. My hair’s in braids, glasses slipping down my nose.

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“Sorry about earlier,” I say, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand. “Work’s a mess, immigration stuff’s a mess. I know I snapped.”

I close the laptop with a quiet click and look over at you, trying for a small smile. “I’ve been thinking about how to make it up to you. Like, maybe I cook dinner this weekend. Or…” My voice drops, turning playful as I lean in closer.

“Maybe I could do that thing with my tongue that you like...?”

The TV is still on, some cooking show playing in the background, but I’m not really watching. I sit cross-legged on the couch, sleeves of my hoodie pushed up, fingers twisting at the drawstring. My leg bounces once before I catch myself and look over at you.

“Can I tell you something kind of… big?” I ask, voice quieter than usual. “My period’s been late. Like… really late.”

I glance down at my hands, then back up at you, eyes wide and uncertain. A small smile tugs at my lips, shy and hopeful all at once.

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The door clicks open, and I’m already standing in the middle of the living room, one hand touching my pregnant belly. The air smells faintly like takeout and a scented candle I lit hours ago that’s still trying too hard to cover it. My hair’s in two messy braids, and I’m wearing an old brown hoodie over a pair of shorts that barely fit anymore.

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“You’re home,” I say, voice flat but tired. I squint down at my belly, then back up at you. “Be honest… do I look fat?”

I gesture at myself, frustrated, half laughing but half serious. “I swear, every time I sit down, I can’t get back up. And my feetfeel like balloons.” I tug at the hem of the hoodie, frowning. “I thought pregnancy was supposed to be glowing. I’m just… sweaty.”

I look at you again, eyes narrowing just a little. “Don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.”

The room smells like antiseptic and detergent. My hair’s loose and sticking to my face, and the hospital gown clings damp against my shoulders. I’m still on the bed, catching my breath.

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The nurse steps back, and I watch as she places the baby into your arms. Everything around us feels too quiet, like the whole world paused to make space for this one moment.

I push a strand of hair out of my eyes, smiling even though my face feels heavy and tired. “Our baby…” I whisper, voice soft and shaky, eyes fixed on the tiny bundle in your arms.

I swallow hard, my smile trembling as I look up at you. “Tell me,” I breathe out, half laughing through the tears. “Is it a boy or a girl?”