Love Next Door

1

The Return

Yeji leaned her head against the cool airplane window, watching as the lights of Seoul flickered below like a sea of stars—only less magical and more... overwhelming. The city stretched out as far as she could see, a sprawling, glittering monster she had willingly flung herself toward. She sighed, a mixture of nerves and excitement bubbling under her skin. This was it. The moment she'd been talking about for months, ever since she'd stormed out of that wretched office back in New York, telling herself she would never let anyone treat her like that again. Yet here she was, just another woman trying to reboot her life by running away to the place that used to be "home."

The irony wasn't lost on her.

"I swear, if one more person says 'it's so brave of you,' I'm going to lose it," she muttered under her breath, then shifted in her seat, feeling the soreness in her back from the long flight. She adjusted her neck pillow for the fiftieth time, giving up immediately when it failed to provide the luxury support it promised.

Brave. As if. They didn't know. No one did, really. She'd let them believe what they wanted, painting her departure from New York as some grand, empowering decision. Sure, she had quit her job—"I'm finally pursuing my dreams!"—and left her husband—"We just grew apart, you know ?"—but it wasn't the heroic tale she let them all assume. She wasn't a phoenix rising from the ashes. She wasn't even sure she was rising at all. She was just... exhausted. Emotionally, mentally, physically. Exhausted from years of pushing herself in an advertising job where she was a token Asian in every boardroom, the exotic add-on to their diversity checklist.

Her stomach turned at the thought. They didn't even try to hide it anymore. "You're lucky to have this opportunity," they'd said when she asked why she was being passed over for a promotion. "You stand out." That had been the line they loved to repeat whenever they treated her like some foreign novelty. And for a while, she had convinced herself it wasn't so bad.

Then the bullying had started. It wasn't the dramatic, in-your-face kind; no one threw insults in her face or shoved her in the hallways like some high school bully. It was subtler, quieter. Her ideas were ignored in meetings. She'd walk into a room and feel the sudden shift in energy, the smirks exchanged over her head when she made a suggestion. And there were the little things, too. The jokes about her lunches, the constant questions about where she was "really from," the blatant eye rolls when she tried to contribute. It ate away at her slowly, piece by piece, until she barely recognized the person she'd become.

She sighed, resting her chin on her hand. What had her therapist called it ? Microaggressions ? Right. It all sounded so clinical, like a problem that could be solved with a few sessions and some affirmations. But it hadn't been that simple.

Then, there was Daniel. Or, as Yeji liked to call him, her "very soon-to-be ex-husband." The man she had once loved—or thought she did. It had taken her years to admit she was never in love with him, not in the way that mattered. He was safe, comfortable, predictable. It had been easier to say "yes" than to question why she was saying it at all. And Daniel, being the easygoing guy he was, never really questioned it either. They coasted through life like two roommates who sometimes had sex but mostly just shared a living space and the occasional dinner.

She'd stayed with him out of fear, not love. Fear of what people would think. Fear of being alone. Fear of starting over. It had been easier to lie to herself, to everyone, than to face the truth: that she was profoundly unhappy, stuck in a life that had been built on quiet compromises and pretending everything was fine when it was anything but.

The marriage ended long before the papers did.

She hadn't told anyone the full truth about why she left. The depression that had crept into her bones, the way she'd wake up some mornings and stare at the ceiling, wishing she could just sink into the bed and disappear. The anxiety attacks she'd had at work, shaking in bathroom stalls while trying to hold it together.

She didn't tell anyone how her job had crushed her spirit, how she'd felt like a foreigner in her own marriage, how the bullying and passive-aggressive racism had slowly stripped away every last ounce of confidence she had. Nope, she wasn't going to tell anyone any of that. Not her family, not her friends. They didn't need to know how broken she felt. She was Yeji—the funny, bold, always-has-it-together Yeji. And that's who she was going to stay.

The captain's voice crackled over the intercom, announcing their descent into Incheon. Yeji swallowed hard, forcing her attention back to the window. The plane dipped slightly, and her stomach dropped along with it. She sat up straight, trying to breathe deeply like all those meditation podcasts told her to do. One inhale, hold it, exhale. Yeah, that did nothing.

As the plane hit the tarmac with a thud, Yeji grabbed the armrests, bracing herself for whatever came next. She had no job lined up, no real plan, just the vague idea that going back to Korea would somehow fix things. It wasn't the best plan, but it was the only one she had.

"Well, here we go," she mumbled, rubbing her sweaty palms against her jeans. "Yeji 2.0, let's do this."

The door to the plane opened, and the stale cabin air was quickly replaced by the cool breeze of Seoul. She grabbed her carry-on, standing in the aisle and stretching her sore muscles.

The crowd shuffled forward, and she joined them, inching toward the exit. As soon as she stepped off the plane, the familiar smell hit her—humid air mixed with a hint of airport food and something she couldn't quite place but recognized as "home."

For better or worse, she was back.

The first thing she noticed was how bright everything felt. Even in the early evening light, the airport gleamed with the cold, polished efficiency that screamed "Welcome to Korea !" She squinted up at the signs, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, trying not to look as overwhelmed as she felt.

"Okay, Yeji," she whispered to herself as she joined the line at immigration. "Let's see if you can actually pull this off."

As she handed over her passport, her hands steadied. No turning back now.

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