The morning light spilled like honey across the cobbled streets of the city. It was quiet, save for the rhythmic clink of a bicycle bell and the occasional chirp of sparrows fluttering past windowsills. Choen tugged her coat tighter around her shoulders as she walked briskly through the still air, the crisp scent of morning dew chasing her steps.
Her destination was clear: her mother's café. The place where warmth lived in the clatter of cups, the smell of cinnamon, and in the ever-gentle hum of hope. Today, she wasn't walking in just for a latte or a chat—she was stepping into her decision.
As she pushed open the café door, the bell jingled overhead. Her mother looked up from behind the counter, flour on her cheeks and hair pulled into a lazy bun. Her eyes widened the moment she saw Choen.
"You're here early," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "Didn't think you'd be up so soon after the party."
"I couldn't sleep," Choen admitted, moving toward the counter. She took a breath. "I thought about it all night. The tour."
Her mother stilled.
Choen looked at her hands, unsure why her fingers trembled. "I want to go."
The words hung in the air, fragile as spun sugar. But once they were said, something inside her settled.
Her mother blinked, lips parting in surprise. Then slowly, a smile bloomed across her face, radiant as the sun. "You're saying yes?"
"I'm saying yes."
She rushed around the counter and enveloped her daughter in a tight hug, flour and warmth and the scent of vanilla clinging to her. "Oh, sweetheart, you won't regret this."
"I still don't know if I'm good enough," Choen whispered into her mother's shoulder.
Her mother pulled back, cupping her face. "Listen to me, Choen. This isn't about being good enough. This is about grabbing the chances life throws at you. Not everyone gets them. You're one of the luckiest of the lucky."
Choen tried to smile, but emotion clung to her throat.
"You've always been fascinated by fashion—traditions, cultures, styles. This tour... it's a window into the world. You could collect inspiration from every country. Every stop will give you a thread to weave into your dreams."
Her voice softened, more mother than mentor. "Say yes not because you feel obligated, but because the world is waiting to see what only you can create."
"I want to try," Choen said. "Even if I'm scared."
"Then we'll make sure you're ready."
Without hesitation, her mother pulled out her phone and called Choel's mother, then Dokkaebi's. The news was delivered in excited tones, each woman responding with some version of "She's made the right choice." Even Dokkaebi's mother, who rarely betrayed emotion, sounded content.
As her mother chatted, Choen leaned against the café window and stared out at the street. A slow breath escaped her lips. It was November 14. The world tour began on the 23rd. Nine days. Nine days to pack up the version of herself she had always known, and unfold the version she was about to become.
But she wasn't wasting a second. After a quick breakfast, she slipped back into the autumn air and caught a cab to the downtown studio where her small but growing fashion business was taking shape. It wasn't much—just three rooms above an old bookstore—but it was hers.
As the cab rolled through the winding streets, Choen leaned her head against the window, watching people move in and out of shops. Life carried on. It always did. But today, the air felt… different.
The taxi pulled to a stop at a red light. A man crossed the street with a bouquet of sunflowers. A little girl pointed at the clouds, giggling. The world was ordinary—but a flicker in the corner of her eye made Choen turn sharply.
On the opposite sidewalk, half-shrouded by shadow and crowd, a figure stood completely still.
Not walking. Not moving.
Just watching.
It was brief—a second, maybe less—but Choen's heart skipped a beat. She couldn't see their face, just the dark outline of a hood, and the faint glint of what might've been glasses or… something else. But when she blinked again, they were gone, dissolved into the morning bustle like mist.
She shook her head. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she was just on edge.
But even as she arrived at her building and greeted her small team inside, the feeling clung to her—like a loose thread brushing her skin. She knew better than to ignore instincts. Something wasn't quite right.
Inside her design room, bolts of fabric lined the shelves—raw silk, printed cotton, embroidered lace. She ran her fingers along them, imagining which cultures she'd soon see, which markets she'd wander through, what fashion secrets lay tucked in corners of cities she'd never set foot in.
This was her heartbeat now.
Still, her phone buzzed.
1 new message.
It was from Dokkaebi.
"We need to talk before you leave. Just us."
She stared at the text, unsure what to feel. His words were simple, but they sparked something quiet in her chest.
She typed, paused, deleted, and typed again.
"Okay. When?"
His reply came fast.
"Soon. You'll know when."
She frowned. What did that even mean?
But before she could overthink it, her assistant called her to review new sketches. The day rolled forward, like the tide pushing toward a storm.
Outside the design room, across the street, a pair of eyes watched from beneath a hat. A faint smirk played on lips unseen.
The countdown had begun.
So had the unraveling.
A little heads-up from your story's sidekick:Hey, thanks for sticking around! 🎉 The story's just warming up, and honestly, the next twists and turns will surprise you. So, keep your eyes peeled 👀 and get ready for some serious excitement. Can't wait to share what's coming next — it's gonna be a blast! 🚀✨
Don't forget to vote, share, or drop a comment if you're loving the ride so far — it really helps keep the story alive! 🙌💖