"Artist"

Seoul - Chapter 1

The soft rustle of fabric drifted through the quiet room. Daphne sat perched on the edge of her bed, feeling the gentle texture of each item as she folded her clothes with almost reverent precision. The faint scent of lavender from her detergent lingered in the air, subtly grounding her senses. Tomorrow, she would be flying to Korea. The thought alone sent a warm rush through her veins, a mix of disbelief and bubbling excitement. For years, Korea had been a faraway dream, a place that lived in the glow of her computer screen and the rhythm of K-pop songs that had carried her through late nights and long days. After three years of saving every penny, of skipped outings and homemade lunches, the dream was no longer distant. It was here, tucked between neatly folded clothes and carefully chosen outfits, ready to be unpacked on the other side of the world. Lost in the whirl of her thoughts, Daphne didn't notice the door open until a soft shadow crossed the room. Her mother, Cristina, stood in the doorway, quiet and watching with a tenderness in her eyes that Daphne didn't see right away.

Cristina lingered in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the hallway light. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, as though holding herself together, and a furrow had carved its way deep between her brows. For a long moment, she said nothing—just watched her daughter move about the room with that focused, almost trembling energy that came from equal parts excitement and fear. "Are you sure you want to go all the way to Korea by yourself?" she asked at last, her voice quiet but carrying the weight of a mother's worry. The words hung in the air, delicate and fragile, like something that might shatter if Daphne moved too quickly. Daphne froze, a neatly folded sweater still clutched in her hands. She turned slowly, meeting her mother's gaze. There was love there—of course, there was—but it was tangled with anxiety, with the ache of a mother realizing her little girl wasn't so little anymore. "It's such a long way," she murmured, her tone softening even as her arms stayed firmly crossed. "And you'll be all alone." The words trembled at the edges, betraying the steadiness she was trying to project. Her eyes, warm and glossy, flicked over the half-packed suitcase, the passport lying on the nightstand, the travel guide with its worn cover. Each item seemed to make the truth harder to ignore—her daughter was really leaving.

As her mother spoke, Daphne's eyes flicked toward the doorway—and she noticed it. The way Cristina's fingers curled just a little tighter around the edge of the doorframe, knuckles blanching against the pale wood. It was such a small gesture, easy to miss, but Daphne knew her mother too well. That quiet tension spoke louder than words ever could. Beneath the calm tone and gentle phrasing, her mother was unraveling inside. For a heartbeat, the room felt heavy with everything left unsaid—the fear of distance, of change, of letting go. Daphne swallowed hard, her throat tight, and turned her gaze back to the open suitcase before her. The urge to comfort her mother tugged at her chest, but she also knew she couldn't let that worry tether her here. Not now. She drew in a slow breath, steadying herself, and continued folding her clothes with careful precision—fold by fold, stitch by stitch—each motion a quiet declaration of her resolve. When she finally looked up, her smile was small but sure, the kind of smile that spoke of courage rather than certainty. "I'll be okay, Mom," she said softly, her eyes bright with determination. "I promise." The words hung between them,

"Yes, Mom, I'm sure," Daphne said gently, lifting her gaze from the open suitcase. "I've got almost everything packed and planned out." Her voice carried a calm she didn't entirely feel, but she wanted her mother to hear confidence—to believe it, even if part of her still trembled beneath the surface.

Cristina's eyes softened, though the crease between her brows never quite disappeared. She gave Daphne that look—one she knew all too well. I'm worried but trying not to smother you, look. It was the same expression that had seen her through scraped knees, late-night fevers, and first heartbreaks.