Chapter Text
The girls rewarded themselves with a week-long vacation at a private resort in Saint Vincent and the Grenadines.
Each of them had a room with an ocean view. They admired the choice of furniture, the decorations, and the fake palm trees that tried to emulate the island’s native plants and the Caribbean vibe that had fascinated them the moment they set foot in the country.
Rumi heard someone tapping at her window. She glanced down at what she was wearing: denim shorts and a simple sleeveless shirt. Modest and presentable.
She touched the fabric of her shirt; it felt damp. The knocking came again.
Rumi walked out to the balcony and drew back the curtains. There was her date, smiling at her, wearing a ridiculous red shirt covered with yellow flower prints, paired with brown Bermuda shorts and leather sandals. He was also wearing white socks.
She blinked. He looked like a European tourist enjoying his retirement.
Rumi burst out laughing at how ridiculous Jinu looked.
—Why are you dressed like that? —she asked as soon as she opened the balcony door.
He glanced down at his outfit, confused. —What’s wrong with it? Everyone dresses like this.
—Middle-aged dads do.
He placed one hand on his hip, raised the other, and struck a pose to show off his outfit. —Ready for the adventure?
She smiled, searching for her sandals. Rumi crouched down to tie the straps around her ankles. —Where are we going?
—I can’t tell you, but you’ll like it.
—Should I bring a change of clothes? I don’t want to end up soaked.
—Not necessary, but bring a jacket. The night is cold.
Rumi pulled a sweater from her suitcase, walked to the corner of the room to turn off the lamp, and left the room with Jinu following. He went down the stairs to the first floor while Rumi made sure she had the room card tucked into her pocket before closing the door.
They walked slipping discreetly out of the hotel. Jinu led them to where two bicycles were parked: one pink with a wicker basket at the front, and another blue with chipped paint.
—Ladies first —said Jinu, pointing at the bicycles.
Rumi looked down at her shoes, then back at him.
—Do you really think I can ride a bike in these shoes? —she said, pointing to her platform sandals. —They’ll get tangled in the pedals.
But Jinu waved a hand dismissively. —You can fight in heels without losing your balance. This is nothing compared to your skills!
Rumi climbed onto the blue bike with little enthusiasm. Jinu tried to negotiate a swap, but she wouldn’t budge.
He was forced to resign himself to the bright pink one.
—All right, we’re heading to a restaurant near the beach. Follow me —Jinu said as he started pedaling.
They had gone four blocks when Rumi had to stop. Jinu’s sandals got caught in the pedals and he fell over onto the sidewalk. She stifled her laughter and waited until he climbed back on.
Neither of them had obligations or a schedule, and they both knew it.
So, Rumi diverted their uncertain destination, pedaling into the city park. She moved slowly, just enough to keep going but never picking up speed. Jinu trailed behind, muttering about the change in his plans. She turned her head for a few seconds and winked at him.
They had to stop again when Jinu crashed into a fountain.
This time, Rumi didn’t even try to hold back her laughter.
He took off his shirt, wrung out the water, and draped it over the basket to dry. A guard approached, asking for Jinu to put on a shirt or leave the park.
Rumi slipped off her purple sweater. On Jinu, it counted as a crop top, but it covered enough to make him look decent.
They continued on their way until they reached a local restaurant, with an atmosphere that felt far more authentic to the national cuisine. They walked in and sat at a table near the windows.
A luxury they couldn’t afford in Seoul. They opened the menu.
It was a faded, plastified sheet, barely legible. They decided to order whatever the waiter recommended.
Rumi stood up in search of the bathroom. She had to wait in line behind two other people, passing the time by observing the restaurant’s decorations.
When she stepped out the bathroom, one of the cooks whistled at her. Rumi stopped, looking around.
The woman handed her a tray full of dishes and pointed toward a table. And although Rumi tried to explain that she was a customer, the cook was already too busy preparing another order.
So Rumi walked to the table and set the dishes down. It was a family of five: the parents and three little girls.
They smiled at her and asked for plastic cutlery for the children.
Rumi nodded and returned to the kitchen to request it, just as one of the waiters finally noticed she was serving tables and hurried to apologize.
Meanwhile, Jinu had pulled a camera from his backpack and started snapping photos of Rumi playing waitress: Her smile as she handed the cutlery to the girls, and the way one of them asked if she could touch her hair.
None of them recognized her. After all, she wasn’t wearing her signature braid.
Without it, she was just another Asian tourist with striking hair.
She returned to the table laughing at the experience, and Jinu felt his heart warm at the sound of her laughter. Rumi shared the slice of cake the waiter brought them as a courtesy.
He was an older man with a kind face who came to their table four times: once to greet them, once to take their order, once to serve their food, and a final time, because he recognized the K-pop star.
But he promised to keep the secret, in exchange for a photo with Rumi for his granddaughter. Rumi agreed and posed for five photos that Jinu took.
Rumi understood why they had mistaken her. Two of the waitresses were wearing jean shorts even shorter than hers, with white tank tops. Jinu noticed too, and both of them smiled at the strange coincidence.
By eleven o’clock that night, they continued on their way. Jinu led them to a fair taking place in the town, something related to the fishermen.
Neither of them paid much attention to the event itself; they simply enjoyed the cheerful atmosphere and the snacks they were offered.
They heard drums, and an elderly woman singing with a surprisingly melodious voice despite her age.
Several young people and older couples improvised a dance floor in the middle of the street, moving to the rhythm of her song. In the center of the floor, a small circle formed where everyone took turns dancing.
Rumi usually preferred to watch, but that night she felt relaxed and took Jinu’s hand, pulling him onto the dance floor with her. At first, they stayed on the edges. Jinu proved clumsy despite being a musician, clapping, looking around, trying to copy the others’ movements.
Rumi, on the other hand, simply swayed her hips the way all the women did. She imitated the movement with the same focus she had when learning a new choreography from Mira.
She moved closer to Jinu’s body, just as she saw the others dancing with their partners, but pulled back when she noticed his flushed face; it was too much for him.
A woman came up to them, took them both by the arm, and pulled them into the center of the circle.
Jinu swayed his body while clapping. Rumi dance, carried the weight for both of them, and judging by the cheers of those around them, she had done it well.
It was Jinu, laughing, who finally took her hand and led her away before anyone could record them and, by bad luck, make them go viral on social media.
He was talking about a botanical garden he planned for them to visit in the morning when the pedals of his bicycle tightened.
He stopped, realizing that no matter how hard he pedaled, he couldn’t move forward.
The tire had gone flat. A nail stuck out from the rubber.
They both sighed, and Rumi checked the time on her phone.
It was four in the morning.
Jinu was trying to pull out the nail when a car pulled up beside them. It was the waiter from the restaurant, this time with a teenage girl in the passenger seat. The girl shouted something excitedly that they didn’t understand. Her grandfather asked if they needed help.
They thought about refusing but eventually accepted. The man lifted their bicycles into the back of the truck, and they climbed in as well. The cool air tousled Rumi’s hair, and Jinu tried to gather it with a hair tie; one that snapped in his hands.
The waiter dropped them off at their hotel. The couple thanked him for his help. They returned the bikes to the staff, who reassured them that accidents like that were common.
Rumi knew she would see a repair charge on her bill at the end of her stay.
Not wanting their time together to end, they walked along the beach. According to her phone, sunrise would come in less than twenty minutes.
They found a spot away from the benches and resort pools, sitting down on the sand.
Jinu wrapped his arms around Rumi, pulling her close against his chest. Their hands entwined.
Rumi rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
—The ocean sounds different here —she whispered.
Jinu smiled, gently brushing his thumb over her hand. —Different how?
—Softer. Peaceful. Like a dream.
He tilted his head, gazing at the horizon.
—I’m glad it isn’t a dream; I’ll make sure to take this chance for us.
Rumi let out a soft laugh. —Then you’re on the right path.
—Good —he said with a smile— because I don’t plan on losing you again.