Lost in your lens - Minji x M!Reader

Ch. 0 - Prolouge

The thing they don't tell you about studying abroad is how the excitement of landing in a new country lasts exactly until you're standing alone in your dorm room, jet-lagged and completely lost about what to do next.

I'd spent the last year preparing for this moment - countless Korean language practice sessions, hours of cultural research, endless paperwork. But somehow nothing had really prepared me for the reality of being here, in Seoul, staring at my SNU student ID and wondering if they'd made a mistake accepting me.

"You've got this," I told my reflection in the tiny dorm mirror. The guy staring back at me looked about as convinced as I felt.

My phone lit up with messages from home:

*"Mom: Did you arrive safely? Remember to eat!"*

*"Sister: don't embarrass the family name lmao"*

*"Dad: Your sister means good luck. Proud of you, son."*

The orientation week schedule on my desk seemed to mock me with its long list of social activities. "Making Friends Across Cultures!" one event proudly proclaimed, like friendship could be manufactured in a two-hour window with icebreaker games and awkward small talk.

My Korean was decent enough for classes - at least according to the language proficiency test - but there was a world of difference between answering grammar questions and trying to make actual friends. The casual, comfortable Korean I heard in the hallways felt like a completely different language from what I'd learned from textbooks.

The first day of classes was a blur of trying to find the right buildings, bowing at slightly wrong angles, and attempting to decode professor's jokes that the Korean students somehow found hilarious. I'd chosen a seat somewhere in the middle of my Contemporary Literature class, not too eager to seem like a try-hard, not too far back to seem disinterested.

"Today we'll be discussing modern narrative techniques," Professor Kim announced in rapid-fire Korean. "Please form groups of four."

The sound of chairs scraping across floors filled the room as Korean students effortlessly formed groups with their friends. I sat there, frozen, watching the careful dance of social connections happening around me while I remained stranded on my island of solitude.

A girl eventually waved me over to their not-quite-full group, more out of obligation than welcome. The next hour was an exercise in nodding along, catching maybe every third word, and trying to look like I was contributing while actually understanding very little.

"Good input," one of my group mates said afterward, in careful English. The kind tone almost made it worse.

Lunch was its own challenge. The campus cafeteria was a maze of unspoken rules and social circles. I ended up eating my bibimbap alone, pretending to be very interested in my phone while surrounded by the happy chatter of friend groups.

By evening, exhausted from a day of navigating cultural and linguistic mazes, I found myself in a small coffee shop near campus. The barista took one look at my hesitant Korean and switched to English, which was both a relief and a small defeat.

"First day?" she asked kindly, writing my name on the cup with only minor misspelling.

"That obvious?"

"You have that look," she smiled. "Like you're trying to memorize how to be a person in a new language."

I ended up at a corner table, watching groups of students drift in and out. They all seemed to know exactly what they were doing, who they were, how to exist in this space. Meanwhile, I was still trying to figure out if I was supposed to bus my own table or not.

My phone buzzed with a message from the university:

"SNU International Office: Don't forget tomorrow's Cultural Exchange Mixer! Make new friends and explore Korean culture together! 🎉"

I sighed, already dreading another round of forced socialization. A year had seemed exciting when I applied for this exchange program. Now it felt like an eternity.

Outside, Seoul's evening was coming alive with neon signs and bustling streets. Students walked in pairs and groups, their laughter and chatter creating a soundtrack of belonging that I wasn't part of yet.

"Just get through the first month," I muttered to myself, gathering my things. "It has to get easier."

The coffee shop's door chimed as I left, its warmth giving way to the cool evening air. Somewhere in this city of millions, there had to be people who'd get me, who'd make this place feel less foreign.

I just had to find them.

Or maybe, though I didn't know it yet, they'd find me.