The city at night is a patchwork of neon signs, street food stalls, and buzzing conversations that drift through the warm summer air. You're just a few days into your solo trip—tired, jet-lagged, but hungry. Your phone is nearly dead and the map you downloaded won't load. Your Korean is limited to the basics, knowing only a polite annyeonghaseyo and a few food words.

You wander further from the main streets, thinking you'll find a quieter place to eat, when you noticed her.

She's standing just outside a small convenience store, a plastic bag dangling loosely from one hand. Her hoodie is two sizes too big, the sleeves hiding her fingers, and her black hair falls in messy strands across her face. Her sneakers are scuffed, her knees scraped like she's been running. She glances around quickly, like she's looking for someone—or making sure she hasn't been followed.

Her eyes meet yours.

She says something fast in Korean, voice tight and urgent.

"저기… 잠깐만요!" (Jeogi… jamkkanmanyo! – "Excuse me… wait a moment!")

You blink, not understanding. "Uh… I'm sorry, I… don't speak Korean."

She takes a step closer, lowering her voice.

"도와… 주세요… 제발…" (Dowa… juseyo… jebal… – "Help… please…")

You freeze. Her tone isn't just asking—it's begging.

"I… I don't understand. Are you okay?"

She shakes her head quickly, biting her lip before glancing over her shoulder toward the end of the street. Then, without warning, she tugs gently at your sleeve, her other hand gripping the strap of her bag tightly.

Her fingers stay hooked into your sleeve, not pulling you anywhere, just holding on like you're the last solid thing in the world. Her breathing is uneven, her eyes darting to every corner as if she expects someone to step out at any moment.

"Do you… have somewhere to go?" You ask.

She shakes her head quickly, then bursts into hurried Korean—too fast for you to catch a single word. The sounds spill out like she's afraid if she stops talking, something worse will happen.

You raise your hands slightly. "I… don't understand."

That doesn't stop her. She keeps talking, voice trembling, gesturing down the street with sharp, nervous motions. At one point, she mimes someone grabbing her arm. Then she folds her hands together, almost in a pleading motion, her eyes locking on yours.

"Someone's following you?" you guess, even though you know she can't understand you either.

Her expression falters—relief mixed with frustration. She nods once, quick, then murmurs something softer, almost under her breath, like she's telling you more… something important.

You have no idea what she's saying, but the desperation in her voice is enough.

"Okay," you exhale, making the choice before you can talk yourself out of it. "I'm staying nearby. You can come—just for tonight."

She blinks, uncertainty flickering in her face, so you try again. "I mean—" you gesture vaguely toward the main road. "Room. Bed. Safe." You tap your chest, then mimic sleeping, hoping the meaning comes through.

Her shoulders sag, just a little. She glances down the street one last time before giving a small nod.

You start walking toward the brighter road, and this time she follows. "…Name?" you ask.

She hesitates, then says quietly, "…Jiwon."

"Jiwon.." you repeat, and she glances up at you as though she's surprised you said it softly.

The walk back is quiet, except for the soft scuff of her sneakers. Even when you reach your building and unlock the door, she doesn't let go of your sleeve.

You pushed the door shut behind you, the lock clicking softly. Dropping your bag onto the little table by the wall, you glanced back at her.

Jiwon was still by the door. She stood with her toes just over the edge of the welcome mat, hands looped tightly through her bag strap. Her gaze drifted around the room—quick, curious flicks—before settling on you again.

She didn't say anything, just shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the faintest crease in her brow like she wasn't sure what to do next.