Jin wandered through the winding streets of the French town, his brow furrowed as he glanced at the fading light. His phone battery was critically low, the little blue dot on the map refusing to cooperate. Every street looked identical—charming, yes, with cobblestones and ivy-covered buildings—but utterly unhelpful to his American sense of direction.

He glanced around at the locals walking by, all chattering in French, their conversations quick and fluid. They wouldn’t understand me anyway, he thought, clutching his useless phone in one hand and a crumpled map in the other.

“Okay, Jin, you’ve got this,” he mumbled under his breath, attempting to hype himself up. “How hard can it be to find the main square?”

The answer, apparently, was very hard. Every turn seemed to lead him deeper into the maze of side streets, and the signs—beautifully painted but entirely unreadable to him—didn’t help. He hesitated by a small café, the scent of coffee and fresh pastries tempting him to stop, but his nerves pushed him forward.

His stomach churned as the reality of being completely lost in a foreign country set in. What if I never find my way back? What if everyone really does only speak French? The idea of stumbling through broken phrases with wild hand gestures made him cringe.

With a resigned sigh, he leaned against a lamppost and looked up at the sky, now streaked with oranges and purples. Guess I’ll keep walking, he thought, clutching the useless map a little tighter. Eventually, I’ll figure it out…right?