The first 8 hours

1

I wonder which one is love. Hoping that you're worried about me like I am for you and wishing that you're pining for me like I do for you. Is this love? Or on the other hand, is it wishing that you won't be worried about me, that you'll forget about me and all the moments we've shared? Is that love?

He felt so different, and at the same time so familiar. His arms wrapped tightly around her felt like home, he was kissing her and saying something about the train, confessing his love, but she kept crying and smiling, unable to believe that this was happening. She's been waiting for so long.

Months spent searching for him in the crowds, so many times she dreamt of him walking down the street towards her, or calling her name in the darkness. An unfamiliar phone number flashing on her Galaxy screen and immediately she imagined it might be him trying to reach her, only to be disappointed a second after. She had dreams about their reunion at night, she daydreamed about it during boring meetings when her employees read sales reports and her thoughts drifted far, far away. 

She did not allow herself to think about the bad, only the good. He is alive, he is healthy. 

He will find her. 

She's thought of a hundred scenarios for their first meeting. Maybe at the airport? Maybe on that pier where the ferry docks, where he played the song for his brother? Maybe on the doorsteps of the Basel School of Music? Sometimes for some reason, she imagined him in a military uniform, surprising herself with that lack of reasoning. Why would he wear it in Switzerland? She brought his clothes from Seoul, just in case ... But it wasn't happening. 

First year. 

Second year. 

She had high hopes for the third year. North Korea has finally accepted the invitation and sent out a notice that their students will take part in the scholarship program she founded with her brother. Unfortunately, that was all the information they provided.

No lists, no names.
No dates. No flights.
5 students.
And that's all. 

Will he be among them? He wasn't a student anymore...

She arrived a week before the start of the program, just in case.

No return ticket, just in case.

She had everything thought out. Her entire life for the past three years revolved around the possibility that he might arrive. But he didn't, not yet, so she decided to shake herself up a little and go paragliding. For the first time since the day she flew with him.

And there he was. Right at the landing site. She laughed, tears rolling down her face, on the verge of hysteria. Her knees were giving way, and if it wasn't for his strong arms wrapped around her waist, she would have sunk to the ground right there, under the paragliders. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and everything around was in a fog from tears. He was so close and she could not stop touching his arms, shoulders, pulling on his sleeves. He smelled differently, something minty. Did he chew a piece of gum before?

Dressed up in a classy trenchcoat and a black turtleneck sweater, he looked more handsome than she remembered. His hair was styled the way they changed it in Seoul. Has he been wearing it like that this whole time? What has he been doing? Was he still in the military? Surely they won't allow this hairstyle there, she thought. So many questions bombarded her mind, and she asked him incessantly, without waiting for answers, just like she did when they met in Seoul. 

   - Why don't we go somewhere quiet and talk there? - he reasoned, letting go of her waist. He folded the paraglider (incorrectly, but she did not notice) and looked at her inquiringly, raising an eyebrow.