Apartment Scene – Korean Lunch
Minji had just returned from the laundry shop, her arms full of neatly folded clothes. In Korea, doing laundry wasn't a struggle — just drop your clothes into the automatic machine at the self-service shop, insert a few coins, and walk away. By the time you're back, everything's washed, dried, and warm.
She placed the pile on her bed and exhaled. Zoya, sitting on the couch nearby, looked up briefly, then went back to scrolling through her phone.
Two weeks had passed since their small misunderstanding. Everything seemed normal on the surface — polite smiles, short greetings — but Zoya still wanted to clear the air with Minji.
"Minji," she said softly.
Minji turned, folding the last shirt. "Hmm?"
"Can we talk? Maybe after lunch?"
Minji smiled gently. "Okay. Not here though. We have to buy groceries too — we'll talk then."
Zoya nodded. "Alright."
Minji went toward the kitchen, where Hana was already busy cooking.
Minji: "도와줄까?"
(Dowajulkka?) – "Need help?"
Hana: "괜찮아, 괜찮아! (Gwenchana, gwenchana!) It's okay, I got this."
Hana smiled, stirring the pan as the smell of sesame oil filled the small apartment.
Minji: "오늘 너무 추워. 밖에 눈 올 것 같아."
(Oneul neomu chuwo. Bakke nun ol geot gata.) – "It's so cold today. I think it might snow outside."
Hana: "눈? 아직은 아니야. 근데 바람 진짜 차가워."
(Nun? Ajigeun aniya. Geunde baram jinjja chagawo.) – "Snow? Not yet. But the wind is freezing."
Minji rubbed her hands together, blowing warm air onto her fingers.
Minji: "루희랑 소피아는 언제 올까?"
(Ruhi-rang Sofia-neun eonje olkka?) – "When do you think Ruhi and Sofia will come?"
Hana: "모르겠어. 그 사람들 쇼핑 가면 시간 다 잊어버려."
(Moreugesseo. Geu saramdeul syoping gamyeon sigan da ijeobeoryeo.) – "Who knows? Once they go shopping, they forget about time completely."
They both laughed. The sound of Korean words floated through the air like soft music.
Zoya lifted her eyes briefly from her phone — she could catch the rhythm of their voices but not the meaning. After a few seconds, she sighed and went back to scrolling.
"Even when they argue, it sounds like a lullaby," she thought, smiling faintly.
Minji: "오늘 점심 불고기 괜찮을까? 좀 달아서…"
(Oneul jeomsim bulgogi gwaenchanheulkka? Jom dalaseo…) – "Do you think bulgogi will be okay for lunch? It's a bit sweet…"
Hana: "괜찮아. 외국인들은 단 맛 좋아하잖아."
(Gwaenchanha. Oegugin-deureun dan mat joahajanha.) – "It's fine. Foreigners usually like sweet flavors."
Minji: "조야도?"
(Joyado?) – "Zoya too?"
Hana: "글쎄… 조야는 좀 다르지."
(Geulsse… Joyaneun jom dareuji.) – "Hmm… Zoya's a little different."
Zoya heard her name again. She looked up, smiled faintly, then went back to pretending she was deeply focused on her phone.
Lunch Scene
By the time Ruhi and Sofia returned, the table was set — warm, colorful, and smelling divine.
Hana had cooked chicken bulgogi, glass noodles (japchae), kimchi, rice balls, and miso soup — all halal versions she'd carefully arranged for them.
Everyone sat down.
Zoya stared at her plate. The food looked beautiful — golden, shiny, and definitely mysterious.
She picked up her fork, took a small piece of chicken bulgogi, and chewed carefully.
Her face changed like a silent movie — curiosity, confusion, and finally, polite survival.
"Oh God… they coated the chicken with chili, salt, and honey? How is this even possible?"
She swallowed with effort, blinking twice.
"Back home, we had saag(Mustard Greens) and aloo(Potato) gosht(Meat) with real tarka… and now, this sweet-salty miracle. My dream came true — I'm in Korea — but the sacrifice came with food."
Ruhi noticed her expression and quietly smiled. She had already adapted to Korean food, but Zoya looked like she was solving a puzzle with every bite.
Next came the glass noodles (japchae).
Zoya twirled them around her fork. The noodles sparkled under the light — almost like strands of glass hair.
She took a bite — and froze.
For a second, she didn't know if she was eating or performing a dare.
"These taste like… polished glass. I have no words."
She nodded politely at Hana, saying, "Nice!"
Inside, her mind whispered, "This is anything but nice…"
Kimchi came next. Thankfully, that worked. She actually liked the spicy, sour crunch.
"At least this one tastes alive," she thought, smiling with relief.
Then came the rice balls.
Zoya, tired of surprises, popped one whole into her mouth — and immediately regretted it.
There was no salt at all.
Her expression turned blank, her soul temporarily leaving her body.
"Did they forget? Or is this how it's supposed to be?"
She looked at Minji, who had also taken a bite — Minji suddenly frowned slightly and turned to Hana.
Minji: "하나, 혹시 소금 넣는 거 잊었어?"
(Hana, hokshi sogeum neonneun geo ijeosseo?) – "Hana, did you forget to add salt?"
Hana: "어? 진짜?!"
(Eo? Jinjja?!) – "Oh? Really?!"
Minji laughed, shaking her head. "It's okay, still good," she said in English to Zoya, smiling apologetically.
Zoya smiled back and quickly came up with a rescue plan. She broke the rice ball apart, sprinkled red chili flakes and salt over it, added a slice of kimchi on top, and said softly under her breath,
"Now this looks like something my heart can handle."
Finally, she looked at her miso soup. The spoon hovered mid-air.
Her stomach sent a final warning.
"No more experiments, please," she thought, lowering the spoon with silent surrender.
Across the table, Minji and Hana exchanged glances and giggled.
Minji: "조야 표정 봤어?"
(Joya pyojeong bwasseo?) – "Did you see Zoya's face?"
Hana: "봤어! 귀여워~"
(Bwasseo! Gwiyeowo~) – "I saw! She's adorable~"
Zoya looked up — she didn't understand their words, but their tone was full of warmth.
She smiled, shaking her head.
Inside, she thought,
"I might never understand their food… but I'm starting to understand their hearts."
The Weight of Unspoken Hearts
The café was quiet that afternoon — soft music floating through the air, the hum of the espresso machine blending with the muffled chatter of strangers. Snow had started to fall again outside, light and slow, like tiny white petals landing gently on the windowpane. Zoya sat by the glass, her fingers wrapped around the warmth of her mug, though her coffee had long turned cold.
Across from her sat Minji — her friend, her roommate, her silent puzzle. Minji's hands rested around her cup, fingertips tracing the edge as if avoiding the truth that hung between them.
Neither of them spoke for a while. The space between their breaths was filled with the low hum of the heater and the distant laughter of a group nearby.
Zoya finally broke the silence, her voice calm yet uncertain.
"Are you upset?" she asked, her tone careful, almost fragile.
Minji didn't look up immediately. She stirred her drink slowly, her eyes fixed on the swirling foam. "No, I'm not upset," she said after a pause. "But… if you had already called Jea — you should have told us. Maybe not right away, but later."
Zoya's gaze dropped to her hands. Her nails pressed lightly into the ceramic rim of her cup. "I know," she whispered. "But things were moving too fast. I didn't plan it that way. I just… acted."
Minji nodded faintly, still avoiding her eyes. "I understand. I also wanted Bamson to go back safely. I never meant to keep him either. You know that, right?"
"I know," Zoya said softly. "I never thought you'd do anything wrong. I just—" she hesitated, her voice catching, "—I wanted to help. Maybe I made it worse."
A stillness followed — a quiet that didn't feel heavy, just real. The kind that appears when both sides understand there's more behind the words than they can say.
Outside, the snow thickened. Tiny flakes drifted down, settling against the glass like frozen memories.
Zoya's eyes softened. "You're not upset because of Bamson, are you?" she asked, her tone deeper now. "It's something else. I can see it."
Minji froze slightly, caught off guard. Her fingers tightened around her coffee cup, and she tried to smile — a small, fragile thing that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"You always notice too much," she said with a weak laugh.
Zoya leaned forward. "It's not about noticing, Minji. It's about caring. You can trust me, you know. But only if you want to."
Minji's breath trembled as she finally met her gaze. "You know how it feels to love someone who doesn't even know what you feel, right?"
Zoya's heart skipped. She didn't speak — she couldn't. But her eyes flickered, betraying the quiet ache she'd been carrying alone.
Minji smiled faintly — not with joy, but with recognition. "You do know," she whispered.
The sound of her voice cracked slightly, and Zoya felt something inside her shift — like a small piece of glass being moved after a long silence...
After a moment that felt longer than a heartbeat, Minji spoke again. "I've known Jeon.J for a long time. Our families… they've been close friends for years. His mother and my mother worked together once — just old family ties. We met often in Busan when we were young. Not close enough to call each other best friends, but enough to remember birthdays, pets, and events."
Zoya blinked slowly, her mind trying to absorb each word. "So you know him personally?"
Minji nodded. "Yes. I never told anyone because I didn't want people to think I used that connection. And when all this happened with Bamson, it just… felt wrong to bring it up."
Zoya stayed quiet. Her mind flashed back to that day — the chaos, the crowd at the airport, the desperate look in Jeon.J's eyes when he was searching for his dog.
For a long time, Zoya didn't speak. Her heartbeat felt louder than the café music.
Finally, she whispered, "You know… one-sided love hurts, but hiding it hurts even more."
Minji's lips trembled into a sad smile. "Then maybe we both understand each other better than we thought."
The words hung between them — soft, real, and painfully honest.
Outside, the winter light faded into gray. Inside, two hearts sat across from each other — one filled with quiet guilt, the other with silent longing.
Minji took a deep breath. "I've known him for seven years," she said, her eyes drifting toward the window. "I saw him when he was still struggling — still trying to figure out what he wanted. Back then, he'd divide concert tickets among family friends and say, 'Please come watch our small show.' I'd take the tickets out of politeness, but I never went."
Zoya's brows furrowed. "Why not?"
"I didn't believe he'd make it," Minji said softly. "He was talented, yes — but it felt uncertain. I thought he'd become a football player or maybe go into business like my father, or work like his father. Singing seemed like a dream that could break him. But he… proved me wrong."
She smiled faintly, lost in memory. "Our families used to meet for small gatherings — birthdays, dinners, community events. Later, we moved to Seoul for my father's work. His parents stayed mostly in Busan, where their old home is. They worked hard — not rich, not poor — just simple, good people. Even now, when they have everything, they still live the same way. His mother works with an NGO that supports children with Thalassemia (a hereditary blood disorder in which the body makes an abnormal form of hemoglobin, leading to anemia) and his father spends most of his time gardening. They come to Seoul only when visiting Jeon.J. When they do, both families meet, talk for hours, laugh, and remember the old days."
Zoya's throat felt tight. Her chest ached at the thought of Minji belonging to that world — one step closer to him than she ever could be.
"But when I applied to Busan National University," Minji continued, "life brought me back here — to the same city where he grew up. Sometimes I wonder if that's coincidence or destiny. Because somehow, I keep finding myself close to the things I once walked away from."
Zoya looked at her — really looked. The way her eyes held both strength and sadness, the way her words trembled slightly when she spoke his name.
"You must be proud of him," she said finally.
"I am," Minji whispered. "But pride and pain… sometimes they live together."
Zoya's lips curved into a faint, broken smile. "So that's why Bamson was so comfortable with you. Dogs don't just stay with strangers."
Minji nodded softly. "Yes… maybe he remembered me. I used to feed him from my pocket money when he was little. He'd always follow me around the garden."
Zoya laughed faintly. "That explains why these past few days, he started staying closer to me instead. Looks like your old friend ditched you for a new one."
Minji giggled. "He didn't ditch me, Zoya. He just got attached to you."
Zoya tilted her head playfully. "Attached? No, no. He was just trying to repay me for the two packs of biscuits I fed him. That's why he pretended to be all innocent."
Minji burst into laughter. "You really think he was pretending?"
"Of course!" Zoya said dramatically, raising an eyebrow. "He used those puppy eyes to melt me so I'd feed him extra — my food portion too. Bamson's smart. He knows guilt marketing."
Minji laughed so hard she covered her mouth. "You can never forget those two packs of biscuits, can you?"
"Never," Zoya replied proudly. "That was my investment — emotional and financial both."
Their laughter echoed softly in the small café. For a moment, everything felt light again. But beneath Zoya's smile, there was something else — a quiet ache she couldn't hide.
Her gaze drifted toward the window again, watching the snow swirl. The flakes blurred her reflection — just like her feelings, scattered, melting before they could settle.
Zoya's smile lingered for a few seconds after their laughter faded. She stared into her half-empty mug, tracing the rim slowly, as if trying to hold on to the moment before it vanished.
Then a thought crossed her mind — the letter.
The one she'd written for Jeon.J, hidden carefully inside Bamson's tiny sweater pocket before sending him back.
Her heart tightened. Should I tell Minji?
For a moment, she watched her friend — Minji was lost in her own thoughts, her finger absently running along the coffee cup's edge, her mind miles away.
Zoya's conscience wrestled silently. No, she told herself. I shouldn't. She'll think it's silly. Or worse… she might tell someone.
Her lips curved into a faint, secretive smile. And anyway, I wrote it in Urdu. He can't even read it. He'd probably throw it away, thinking it's some random note.
The thought made her heart sink and smile at the same time — that quiet contradiction she'd come to live with.
Just then, Minji's voice broke her thoughts.
"You called Jea that day, right?"
Zoya blinked. "Hmm?"
Minji leaned forward slightly. "When Bamson was found — did you talk to Jeon.J directly?"
Zoya shook her head. "No. I didn't even know who I was talking to at that moment. There was so much noise… I just told them Bamson was safe. Later I realized the one who came to pick him up was Jea — his manager. I only knew because the crowd kept shouting his name."
"I see…" Minji said softly, sitting back. She looked as if she wanted to ask more, but instead, she quietly picked up her bag. "We should probably go now. It's getting late."
Zoya nodded, though her eyes stayed on her coffee mug. She felt like something had just ended — or maybe, something had just begun.
Minji stood up first. Her movements were calm, collected. But when Zoya looked at her face, she caught a flicker — a brief shadow of something unsaid.
As they began to leave, Zoya suddenly spoke. Her voice was low, but clear.
"If Jeon.J ever liked someone else… what would you do?"
Minji froze mid-step.
Her fingers clutched the handle of her bag a little tighter.
Zoya continued softly, "Or if someone else started liking him?"
The air between them shifted — heavier now, thick with things that could no longer be unsaid.
Minji didn't turn around. "Let's go," she said quietly.
Zoya stayed seated, her eyes following her. "You wouldn't feel bad?"
Minji stopped, this time exhaling slowly before turning to face her. "If you were in my place, Zoya," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "what would you do?"
The question hit harder than Zoya expected.
She looked up, startled — Minji's eyes weren't angry. They were just… tired. Full of emotions that had been sitting too long in silence.
"Tell me, Zoya," Minji said softly. "If you were me?"
Zoya opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her throat ached with all the things she wanted to say — and all the things she couldn't.
Minji gave a small, broken smile. "Exactly."
She picked up her bag again and turned toward the door.
Zoya sat frozen for a moment, watching her leave. Then, gathering her things quietly, she followed her out of the café.
The mall was quieter than usual — weekday evenings often were. Warm yellow lights reflected off the marble floor as people strolled past, their arms full of shopping bags, their laughter echoing softly.
Minji and Zoya walked side by side — close enough to look like friends, but far enough that their silence stood between them like a third presence.
They stopped at the grocery section. Minji reached for a basket, while Zoya began scanning her list.
Bread. Milk. Eggs. Instant noodles. Soap.
They moved through the aisles wordlessly — their focus only on the shelves.
Minji: "Should we get rice too?"
Zoya: "We still have half a bag left."
Minji: "Oh, right."
Their voices were polite, mechanical — stripped of the warmth they once carried.
When they finally reached the checkout counter, Zoya glanced at the time. 7:00 p.m. The sky outside was already dim. The glass walls of the mall showed the faint glimmer of falling snow — soft and unhurried.
They paid, packed their groceries, and stepped outside.
By the time they reached the bus stop, evening had folded into night. The snow fell thicker now, blanketing the roads in a quiet calm. Streetlights glowed in hazy halos, and the faint hum of the city sounded distant — like a lullaby fading into winter.
Zoya and Minji stood beneath the shelter, their bags resting by their feet.
The cold air bit against Zoya's skin, but she didn't move. Her breath came out in soft clouds as she looked ahead — at the snow, at nothing.
Minji stood beside her, arms crossed tightly. Neither spoke. The silence was different here — not awkward, just heavy.
Zoya finally broke it. Her voice was quiet, trembling slightly.
"You know…" she began, her gaze fixed on the snow-covered street. "I ask Allah for him — not once or twice, but again and again. I ask with all the ways I know how… with tears, with smiles, with hope. Sometimes I pray (dua) to Allah, sometimes I beg, sometimes I just whisper his name in prayer."
Her eyes glistened, catching the glow of the streetlight. "And I don't stop until something inside me feels lighter — like maybe Allah heard me. Maybe He's planning something I can't see yet."
Minji said nothing. She just listened — her breath slow, her heart quietly breaking for the girl beside her.
Zoya smiled faintly, almost to herself. "And when He finally gives him to me… I won't ask him to be my boyfriend. I'll ask him to marry me."
Her voice trembled, but her words were sure. "I'll look into his eyes and say — 'Will you marry me and become the man I prayed for?'"
Minji stared at her — silent, stunned, unable to speak.
The world around them blurred. The sound of buses, the cold wind, the chatter of strangers — everything melted into a stillness that only their hearts could hear.
Zoya didn't realize tears had escaped until she tasted salt on her lips. She wiped them quickly, smiling through the ache.
"I don't know why I said that," she murmured, embarrassed. "Maybe because… sometimes love makes you lose the line between madness and faith."
Minji watched her — really watched her. The way her eyes shone with unshakable sincerity, the way her voice trembled yet carried strength.
For the first time, Minji saw that Zoya's love wasn't ordinary. It wasn't infatuation or fantasy — it was devotion.
The kind that kneels before God before ever reaching for a man.
Minji's eyes softened. "You really love someone, don't you?"
Zoya smiled gently. "No," she whispered. "I don't just love him. I believe through him."
The bus arrived, its headlights slicing through the snow. They both blinked as the light hit their faces.
Neither moved immediately.
Then, wordlessly, Minji picked up the grocery bags and stepped forward. Zoya followed, her heart still caught in the words she'd just spoken — words that had come not from her mind, but from somewhere far deeper.
They boarded the bus and sat together, their bags resting between them.
Through the frosted window, Busan drifted past — small lights, snow-covered streets, people hurrying home.
Minji leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes.
Zoya watched the city outside, her reflection faint in the glass — a girl who had crossed an ocean only to find herself praying for someone who didn't even know her name.
Yet she wasn't sad anymore.
Because even if her love never reached him, it had already reached the One who could do all things.
And somehow, that felt enough.
When the bus stopped near their apartment, both girls stood, quietly gathering their things. The snow had softened outside, blanketing the ground in white peace.
They stepped out together, their footsteps crunching softly on the frozen road.
For the first time that day, Minji spoke without hesitation. "You know, Zoya," she said quietly, "sometimes the miracle isn't getting what you pray for. Sometimes it's how praying changes you before the miracle even arrives."
Zoya turned to her, smiling faintly. "Then maybe I'm already living my miracle."
They walked the rest of the way in silence — two girls, side by side, carrying groceries and secrets under the same falling snow.
Behind them, the bus pulled away, disappearing into the mist — leaving only the soft sound of winter and two hearts learning what faith in love truly means.
To be Continue....
Regards
ZK💌