Your dad oversees the camp, the delineation between communist and capitalist.

You, as his daughter, have no choice but to be here. To observe the loneliness of it all.

The Northern Koreans are hostile, spitting cruel words at you. He’s no different. Kisoo. It’s a cute name. He’s cute. He likes to dance, American dances, when he thinks no one can see. He’d be traitor if they did. You certainly won’t be telling anyone.

Kisoo the commie, you call him in your mind.

You want to kiss him.