What If (What if I loved you)

Chapter 2

"The greatest danger in times of turbulence is not the turbulence; it is to act with yesterday's logic." — Peter Drucker

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After that conversation, I try to shake off the strange mixture of excitement and tension swirling inside me. It's hard to believe I'm actually here standing in the same room as the Lost Heirs. I leave the room, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I decide that I need a break to process everything and gather myself.

The office floor, where I'm going to spend most of my time, feels like a breath of fresh air. It's bright, minimalist, and stylish, a kind of modern chic that reminds me of every Korean drama I've ever watched. Big windows let the light pour in, reflecting off the polished floors and bouncing around the room, giving it an airy, open feel. It's an open space, but despite the stylish surroundings, I feel strangely out of place. Everyone seems to be talking to someone, interacting like they've known each other forever. The laughter, the conversations, the shared memories, none of which include me.

I try not to let it bother me as I wander around, doing my best to look like I belong. My desk is tucked into a corner, slightly separated from the others. It gives me a bit of privacy, but it also isolates me from the lively chatter around the room. I sit down and take a deep breath. The only things on the desk are a sleek computer and two keyboards, one in English and one in Korean. I run my fingers over the smooth keys, feeling the weight of what lies ahead of me. It's a simple setup, but the weight of the work it represents feels overwhelming.

It's all so surreal. I'm going to be translating for a group I've admired for years. I know it's going to take countless hours, long nights in front of the screen, combing through live broadcasts, events, interviews, and now, content from their YouTube channel. I'm not sure how I feel about that part. It'll be exhausting, but it's not like I have anywhere else to be. Making friends here seems... complicated. I haven't kept in touch with my friends back in London, and making new ones in this foreign city feels like an impossible task.

The office around me hums with low conversations, the tapping of keyboards, and the occasional ring of a phone. It feels strange to sit here, knowing no one and being known by no one. It's like I'm invisible in a room full of people. I close my eyes for a second, and in that silence, I can almost hear my own thoughts spinning. I didn't expect it to feel like this, to feel so... alone. It's not like I haven't been on my own before, but something about this place amplifies the loneliness, makes it heavier, more tangible. Everyone here seems to have their own world, their own rhythm, while I'm left adrift, trying to find where I fit in.

As I sit there, staring at the blank computer screen, I hear footsteps approaching. A small group of my colleagues stops by my desk. They seem friendly enough, smiling, curious. Sarah, the woman who appears to be the leader of this small pack, speaks first.

"Hey, you're the new translator, right? I'm Sarah. What's your name?"

I glance up, forcing a smile. "Kit. I'm Kit."
"Nice to meet you, Kit. Where are you from?"
"Uh, England," I reply, feeling a little out of place again as all eyes are suddenly on me.

Sarah nods, and a few others chime in with introductions. They ask me about my experience, how I ended up here, and I answer as best I can, though my mind is still stuck in that meeting room with the Lost Heirs.

"It's a tough job," Sarah says after a while. "But it's worth it. You'll get through it if you stick with it. Don't let the stress get to you. It's rewarding in the end."

Another colleague, who hasn't introduced himself yet, scoffs from the back. "If you make it that far," he mutters. "No offence, but I don't see it happening."

I look up at him, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. His expression is smug, and I can tell he's sizing me up, judging me before I've even started. An outsider like me in this world? It feels like a punch to the gut, but I keep my expression neutral.

Sarah gives him a sharp look. "Ignore him," she says. "Some people don't know how to welcome new faces."

I force another smile, though my mind is already racing. I glance down at the keyboards again, feeling the weight of expectations pressing down on me. I haven't even started, and it feels like I'm already being talked about, judged, doubted. I wonder if they're right. Am I out of my depth?
But then I remember why I'm here. I've worked hard to get this position, and no one, no smug comments, no doubts, is going to take that away from me.
I exhale slowly, settling in front of the computer, knowing that I have hours of work ahead of me. Hours that will take me away from the loneliness, away from the whispers around me, and maybe, just maybe, bring me a little closer to what I've been searching for all along.