Page 80 of Heart and Seoul (Seoul 1)

“Pretend like you’re sick and distract them for me,” I tell my friend.

“No. I can’t do that. Wait, Hara, please.”

But I’m determined. I draft behind another employee, and when the woman swipes her badge and the acrylic gates part, I slide in behind her.

I hear the male voices, presumably from the security guards, call out something, but I pretend I don’t hear them. It’s not like I understand what they are saying anyway. The woman in front of me hesitates and looks over her shoulder. I walk by, pretending like nothing out of the ordinary is occurring, straight to the elevators. I’m going to IF Group and nothing is stopping me. I jab the up button and silently urge the doors to open. Hard footsteps slap against the ground, growing louder as they near. Out of the corner of my eye, I see two uniformed men walking toward me. The two men almost reach me but the doors of the elevator car slide open. My escape! I leap forward and run smack dab into a wall of human chest.

“Hara?”

I look up from the blue cotton shirt and smart blue tie with the tiny polka dots to see Yujun smiling crookedly down at me, his hands on my shoulders so I don’t fall.

“Yujun,” I croak.

“You’re . . . here?” He’s surprised.

I am, too, but not in a good way. Not in any good way. My skin feels clammy and that cold wave that washed over me at the café returns. I sway and he tightens his grip. “Are you not feeling well, Hara?”

“Are you . . . Is this . . .” The question sits on my tongue like a rotted piece of fruit that I can’t swallow. I have to get it out but it’s stuck there. I grab the paper from my pocket and shove it into his chest. “Is this your mother?”

With one hand still on my shoulder, he takes the sheet and scans it. “Where did you get this?”

“Is this your mother? Your eomma? The one who taught you not to stutter anymore.” The one you adore, who gave you all this self-confidence, the one you’re so proud of because of all the good she’s doing in the world. Is this your mother? I scream silently. I want him to say no. I need him to deny this.

“Yes. Choi Wansu is Eomeo-nim. I was going to text you that I was inviting her to dinner with us tonight so you could talk about your search, but you’re here. Would you like to come up and meet her now?”

My eyelids flutter shut and I gulp down a rock that would fill the Grand Canyon before nodding. “Yes. I would.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I barely register the other people in the elevator.

“Do you know me?” I blurt out.

Yujun smiles down but he looks confused. “Yes. I do.”

Maybe I’m reading the confusion into his face and voice. Maybe I’m seeing what I want to see, because if this has all been a setup from the beginning and he’s been pretending to like me the whole time . . . well, the mix of anger and humiliation swirling in my gut is an awful concoction. I want to throw up on his shiny shoes and then punch him hard enough that the dimple becomes a permanent dent.

“Did you know me before I came? Did you purposely meet me at the airport?”

“No.” He shakes his head. He’s still smiling lightly but the questions are growing. “But I am glad that we did meet.”

“Why? Why did you drive out of your way for me? I was a stranger. I mistook you for someone else.”

“Hara.” He reaches up and touches my shoulder again. I didn’t realize I was trembling. “Are you okay?”

“Tell me,” I demand.

His smile fades away entirely. “I saw you come through the exit. You went and rented an internet modem and struggled a bit until you realized they all spoke English. I had stepped forward to help you but you were able to complete the transaction. When you looked for your driver and didn’t find him, I thought I could not allow such a pretty girl to have a bad first day in Seoul.”

I want so desperately to believe him. “But the other night, you said you knew I was here to find my birth parents.”

“I suspected, yes. When we met at the airport, you said you were not visiting family and that you were adopted.”

I rub clammy hands over my face. Was it luck, then? Or coincidence? Seoul is such a big city. There are millions of people here. It seems big, but it’s small. Everyone’s connected, Jules had said that day when we ran into a coworker of hers in the subway.

“I think we should get you something to eat. You’re shaking, Hara.” He turns to someone in the elevator and says something in Korean. Bap? Rice?

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