Page 4 of When Worlds Collide
Pushing down the lump in my throat, I took my own bag out of the little cupboard and pushed open the pocket doors. I joined the other handful of First Class flyers – all looking far more ‘First Class’ than I did in my rumpled jeans, scuffed Vans, and hoodie – as we queued up next to the curtain segmenting us from the rest of the plane, where a pleasantly smiling flight attendant stood.
“We’re just waiting for the ground crew to attach the sky bridge before we can open the doors. It won’t be much longer.” She repeated (I assumed) the same information in Korean. Just as she’d finished speaking, there was a slight jolt to the plane, and then the loud clanking sound from beyond the curtain as the door was opened. She waited a brief moment before pulling open the curtain. I hadn’t noticed on the way up through the plane last night, but First Class was right next to an exit door, and we seemed to be exiting the plane first. Another plus ofbeing in First. My, how the other side lived. I snorted to myself, earning me a side-eye from the well-dressed gentleman in front of me.
Eventually though, we all deplaned and as a stream of weary travellers, we all filed onwards, to wherever our final destination was.
For me, it was navigating through the bureaucratic process of immigration before I could reclaim my meagre possessions in the form of my beat-up, borrowed duffel and other rucksack.
The look the immigration official gave me when I told her I was moving to Korea with no fixed address, no job and no family was… suspicious. I’d tried to tell her I had friends here, and that I was intending to get a job as soon as possible. Given that she’d had no formal reason not to, she begrudgingly stamped my passport, but left me with a stern, if polite warning that I had ninety days to either find a job and get a Visa, or – she’d said with a shark’s grin, “your friend could always marry you.” She said this as she stared pointedly at the silver and amethyst ring on my left hand.
I was too tired to have any other reaction than a slightly nervous chuckle, even – if I was really honest with myself – my heart had skipped a beat.
It was close to 5:00 am by the time I’d reclaimed my bags, and, finding the nearest bench out of the way of the morning parade of luggage wheels and polished loafers, I slumped down and pulled out my phone, powering it on for the first time in, what? Fourteen hours?
Unsurprisingly, my phone wouldn’t connect to a network, but Incheon had free Wi-Fi, so I connected to that. Immediately, several notifications from KakaoTalk – the Korean equivalent to WhatsApp – popped up, dragging a tired smile across my face.
Joon
Hey sleepyhead. I’ve just arrived. It’s so cold! Put a coat on before you leave the terminal, okay? Call me when you land. Sarangae.
Sent 00:48
He’d arrived nearly four hours before me. Surely he’s going to be asleep? I chewed on my bottom lip as I stared at his message, debating whether to go get something to eat just to pass the time until it was a more palatable time, but in the end, I decided to just call him.
Feeling inexplicably shy, I pressed ‘call’ on Kakao and waited as the call connected.
“Ky.” His sleepy voice, octaves deeper than normal, made me smile widely, still capable of making my heart skip a beat.
“Annyeonghaseyo,” I said carefully, wincing at my awkward pronunciation.
“Annyeong,” I could hear the smile in his voice. “You’ve been practicing.”
“It seemed rude not to.”
Jihoon chuckled, but it was more of a rumble and honestly, it kind of did things to me – toe curling, blushing things.
“Where are you?” I asked, suddenly breathless.
“Hmm, not far. Have you got your bags?”
“Yes. Is there a way I can call a taxi? I haven’t got any phone signal, only Wi-Fi.” I frowned, this newest inconvenience just another problem to add to the list I intended to solve.
“Go to the main arrivals exit. There will be a car waiting for you. A black SUV.”
“Have you sent a car?” That would make sense, and probably far less likely for me to end up in Busan, accidentally.
“Just head there now, jagiya. The wardens don’t like people to park there for too long.”
“Yeah, okay, hang on,” I stood up and looked around, scanning the signs that were helpfully written in Hangul and English until I spotted one that read ‘exit’.
“Okay, I’m on my way.”
It wasn’t a long walk, just long enough for me to regale Jihoon with every amenity I’d had in my little First Class cubby. He’d been particularly amused by my comparison of how I’d looked compared to the other passengers in First, all scruffy next to their neatness.
“They’d be horrified to see what we wear when we travel,” he laughed.
I frowned. “I’ve seen photos of you guys going to the airport, you’re all wearing immaculate, designer clothes. I think you’d fit in just fine,” I laughed.
“That’s what we wear to the airport,” he clarified, “we usually change on the plane into something more comfortable.”
