Mirror of Fate

Chapter 9 - Sanctuary in Friendship

Orla:

I found myself sitting on a cold, hard bench just outside of baggage claim, staring at my phone as I scrolled through endless lists of hotels and hostels. The reality of my situation was beginning to sink in, and it wasn't looking good.

With everything that had gone down—the wedding I'd just bolted from, the frantic escape to the airport—I wasn't exactly flush with cash. My savings were all I had left, and they weren't going to take me very far. I hadn't earned much of my own since being with Logan. He'd always given me an allowance, but the little I had saved was from before our relationship—and it wasn't nearly enough to keep me afloat for long.

An onslaught of messages had flooded my phone—my family, Logan—but I ignored them all. I couldn't deal with any of it right now. I just needed to find somewhere to stay, somewhere safe where I could figure out my next move.

I thought about Logan's credit card, still tucked away in my bag. But using it now? That would be a mistake. He could trace me in an instant, not that I figured he'd bother chasing after me at this point. But still, I didn't want to take the risk. I needed to keep my distance, both physically and mentally.

An hour passed as I searched, my options looking bleaker by the minute. Hostels were cheap, sure, but they weren't exactly where I wanted to spend my first night in Seoul. I needed somewhere safe, somewhere I could figure out my next move. But with my limited funds, nothing seemed quite right.

Finally, out of sheer desperation, I thought of my old college roommate. We hadn't kept in touch much over the years, and I was sure her old American number I had stashed in my contacts wouldn't work. But she was the only person I knew in South Korea.

I hesitated, scrolling through my apps until I found Messenger. Maybe, just maybe, she was still using it. Taking a deep breath, I typed out a quick message, explaining that I was in Seoul and could use a place to stay if she had any recommendations. Then I sat back and waited, hoping that she'd remember me and that I hadn't just made things even more complicated.

After sending the message, I tucked my phone away and looked around the terminal. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten anything since... well, I couldn't even remember. The fruits and croissant on the plane hardly counted, and the stress of the day had left me too wound up to think about food until now.

I spotted some vending machines across the way, and despite the absurdity of my situation—sitting in an airport in Seoul, still in a wedding dress—I figured a snack was better than nothing. I got up, gathered the ridiculous layers of fabric that trailed behind me, and made my way over.

The machine with the chips seemed old, the kind that probably jammed more often than not. But I was too hungry to care. I fished out a few coins from the bottom of my bag and fed them into the slot, pressing the button for a bag of chips. The text on the button was in Hangul, but I didn't care what flavor it was—food was food at this point.

Nothing happened.

I pressed the button again. Still nothing.

Frustrated, I jabbed the button a few more times, but the machine stubbornly refused to cooperate. That's when I noticed the coins I'd fed into the machine—American coins. No wonder it wasn't working.

With a sigh, I waited as the machine slowly spit the coins back out into the change slot. I gathered them up, feeling defeated, and was about to walk away when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.

I turned to see an older Korean woman standing beside me, her eyes kind and understanding. She must have noticed my struggle, because she reached into her purse, pulled out a few Korean coins, and fed them into the machine. A moment later, the bag of chips I'd been trying so hard to get dropped into the slot.