before the sunrise.

prologue : 707.

sun kisses her skin, and winds bathe her in welcome. the air is salty on her lips, painted by the crystal blue ocean waves ebbing on golden shores. the sounds of children's laughter resonates. the caws of flying birds overhead wish her a good day as they disappear above a building.

her flip-flops clap on cement then on marble as she leaps up the front steps. her yellow surfboard hangs under one arm as an orange tote and red carry-on are wheeled behind her. without missing a chance to smile, to bask in the tropical vibes of the open layout lobby of the resort ample with small palm trees and island ferns, purple and magenta flowers, seulgi nears the front desk with pep in her step and amber brilliance dancing in her eyes.

"hello!" she dings the bell for no reason.

a blond concierge with his hair gelled away from his long and angular face whisks his gaze from the computer and attends to seulgi with a matching, hospitable grin. "hello, welcome to before the sunrise! i'm mark, and it's always a pleasure meeting a new face, i assume," he preens carefully, reciting an oath seulgi an tell he's said to numerous people before her that morning.

"you assumed correctly." her tongue clicks against the root of her mouth. a buzzer for a factual assumption. "actually, i'm seulgi, the new surfing—"

mark takes a moment to glance at the surfboard inclined against the dark wooden counter with a white marble top and finish. "instructor?" a knowing veneer dances on his lips. "my boss told me you'll be here shortly." his fingers rest on the keyboard, tap-tap-tapping away. "and she also said you'll be in room 707."

the rightful keycard is passed to her, and seulgi takes the plain white object with two polite hands and a polite yet casual bow. 707 is scribbled in the corner: golden yet simple.

"707," she repeats, tasting the numerals on her tongue. "sounds lucky."

mark says no more, but his smile doesn't waver. "dial zero if you ever need anything. i hope you enjoy your stay here, seulgi."

it isn't a stay. not really. like him and the hundreds of employees she imagines runs around such a grand, ostentatious resort, she works there. or she soon will be when her first official day starts: tomorrow. excitement skates up her arms, peppering them in goosebumps as she wades through an open elevator car, pressing the corner of the keycard onto the circular button with 7 etched in the centre. the small, square LED screen above the door counts up. her heart beat accelerates with each passed floor.

2; she traces the edge of the card with the pad of her dominant finger.

3; her lips purse, foot tapping on the floor to the beat of a random song from the radio on the uber ride from the airport.

4; the need to sneeze is quelled, the back of her hand rubbing her nose.

5; throat dry, seulgi gulps a wad of saliva, but it does little to quench.

6; she holds in her breath, lips tucking inwards between her incisors.

7; the chime dings, the silver door retreats open, and seulgi takes a cautious first step onto the landing.

pictures of the violet and orange sunset hang in frames on the wall. two wicker chairs with green and yellow striped cushions are nestled below. between them is a wooden round table, varnished in sandy paint, and a bamboo plant in a ceramic blue pot on top.

there are two arrows, directing odd from even numbers. seulgi makes a left, card clutching above her hammering heart. she's both nervous and ecstatic, eyes flickering with greed from one door to the next. she pays no mind to order when 707 beckons her forward. she complies quickly, the wheels of her carry-on crackling on the tiled floor.