Remember

Ashes

New York, 2016.

Settling into university life has been much more challenging than I anticipated. Being here as a scholarship student makes it even harder to adapt to the new routines of college. Most students seem to prioritize fun over academics, living carefree lives that I simply cannot afford to emulate. My scholarship barely covers my tuition, with only a small amount left to scrape by on basic living expenses. For me, there’s no room for distraction—failure isn’t an option.

This stark lifestyle gap has taken a toll on my social life as well. Since my first day here, I’ve struggled to connect with others. Most of my peers seem worlds apart, leaving me feeling isolated. The only person I can truly call a friend is Nam, whom I met during orientation. At first glance, she’s no different from the other privileged kids, comfortably funded by her parents while pursuing her degree.

But as we spent more time together—mainly because I often helped her with English—our bond grew into something special. Nam never treats me differently, despite the stark contrast in our circumstances. In her eyes, I’m just me, and that’s enough. She might be the one thing keeping me grounded, reminding me why I’m here and why I must keep fighting to achieve my goals.

At night, when most students are out partying, I often find myself seeking solitude, trying to clear my mind and stave off boredom by taking quiet strolls around the college area. Tonight feels no different, though I decide to wander a bit farther—to the downtown area near campus. The streets are alive with laughter and music, the air thick with energy I can’t afford to join. Instead, I settle for soaking in the atmosphere from the sidelines.

I buy a cup of instant noodles and a coffee from a corner store and find an empty spot on a public bench. As I sit there, savoring my humble meal and letting the buzz of the city wash over me, someone suddenly takes a seat beside me. Before I can turn, the scent of sweet flowers drifts toward me, delicate and captivating.

What an intriguing scent, I think to myself, caught off guard.

I haven’t yet seen the person’s face when a voice breaks the moment.

“Well, this is a sight I didn’t expect to see. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat instant noodles and drink coffee right in the middle of all this chaos—especially at night.”

The voice is feminine, amused, and carries a unique accent that reminds me of Nam.

Curious, I turn to look at her, and my breath catches in my throat. Under the glow of the New York moonlight, I find myself staring at a woman so stunning she seems almost unreal. Her face is ethereal, framed by long, silky black hair that shimmers in the dim light. She’s smiling at me, an amused curve of her lips that somehow makes her beauty even more striking. I feel the words catch in my throat, my lips parting uselessly as I struggle to find a response.

“Hey, did I scare you, Miss Cup Noodle?” she asks again, her tone playful, her smile teasing.

I blink, snapping out of my trance, and shake my head quickly. “No, I’m sorry. I think I just... got a little dazed.” The words tumble out before I can stop them, and I silently curse myself for sounding so ridiculous.

She laughs softly, a light, musical sound. “Well, I didn’t know I had that effect on people so quickly.” She winks, her playful tone disarming me further.

Did this gorgeous woman just flirt with me?

“So,” she continues, tilting her head, “what made you decide to enjoy your gourmet cup noodles here of all places?”