Three Days Earlier
Maya had imagined this moment a thousand times.
Standing in Incheon International Airport, her carry-on slung over one shoulder and her portfolio clutched against her chest like a shield, she'd pictured herself calm. Collected. Professional.
Instead, her hands were sweating.
"Welcome to Korea," the immigration officer said in English, sliding her passport back across the counter.
"감사합니다," Maya replied automatically. Thank you.
The officer's eyebrows lifted slightly — surprised, maybe impressed — before waving her through.
She exhaled. Three years of Korean lessons, countless nights watching dramas with subtitles she didn't need anymore, hours practicing pronunciation until her tongue stopped tripping over syllables. All of it for this. For here.
The arrival hall was chaos. A beautiful, overwhelming chaos of families reuniting, tour groups gathering, and overhead announcements in four languages. Maya wove through the crowd, her eyes scanning for the driver her company had promised to send.
A man in a black suit held up a sign: MAYA SHARMA — ELYSIAN DESIGNS.
She raised her hand. "That's me."
He bowed slightly. "Welcome, Miss Sharma. The car is ready."
As they walked toward the exit, Maya couldn't stop staring. Everything felt surreal. The glossy floors, the K-pop playing softly through speakers, the way even the airport shops looked like something out of a magazine spread. This was it. She was really here.
Seoul. The city she'd dreamed about since she was nineteen and stumbled across a Korean period drama at 2 AM, unable to sleep before her final design exam.
She'd fallen in love that night. Not with the actor — though he'd been beautiful — but with the clothes. The layers of silk, the embroidery that told stories, the way fabric moved like water and poetry combined.
From that moment, she knew: she wanted to blend her Indian heritage with Korean aesthetics. Create something that had never existed before. A bridge between two worlds.
And now, finally, she had her chance.
The car slid through Seoul's streets like a knife through silk. Maya pressed her face to the window, drinking in everything. The towering glass buildings that reflected clouds, the side streets crammed with tiny restaurants and glowing signs, the mountains rising in the distance like sleeping giants.
"First time in Korea?" the driver asked in Korean.
Maya answered in the same language. "Yes. I've wanted to come here for years."
He smiled at her through the rearview mirror. "Your Korean is very good."
"Thank you. I practiced a lot."
"What brings you to Seoul?"
"Work. I'm a fashion designer. I'll be collaborating with Elysian Designs on their new collection."
The driver whistled low. "Elysian? That's impressive. They're very selective."
Maya's stomach flipped. Selective was an understatement. Elysian Designs was one of the top luxury fashion houses in Asia. Their CEO, Jonathan Kang, was known for being brilliant, ruthless, and impossible to please.
She'd sent her portfolio on a whim six months ago, never expecting a response.
But they'd called. They'd wanted her vision — the fusion of Indian textiles and traditional Korean silhouettes. They'd flown her out, put her up in a hotel in Gangnam, promised her a creative freedom most designers would kill for.
It was everything she'd worked toward.
So why did her hands still shake?
The hotel was sleek and modern, all marble and gold accents. Maya checked in, hauled her suitcase to her room on the eighteenth floor, and collapsed onto the bed.
Her phone buzzed. A message from her mother in Mumbai:
Did you arrive safely? Eat something. Don't forget to video call your father.
Maya smiled, typing back quickly: I'm fine, Mumma. Will call tonight. Love you.
Another message, this one from her best friend Priya:
BABE. YOU'RE IN KOREA. SEND PICS. FIND A HOT OPPA. LIVE YOUR DRAMA LIFE.
Maya laughed, sending back an eye-roll emoji.
But as she stood and walked to the window, looking out at the sprawling city below, Priya's words echoed strangely.
Live your drama life.
The skyline glittered under the afternoon sun. Somewhere out there was the Elysian headquarters. Tomorrow, she'd meet Jonathan Kang face-to-face. Tomorrow, her real work would begin.
Tonight, though, she had a few hours to explore.
Maya changed quickly — jeans, a light sweater, comfortable shoes — and headed back downstairs. The concierge recommended a nearby street market in Insadong, famous for traditional crafts and antiques.
"Perfect," Maya said.
She needed to clear her head. Ground herself.
And maybe find some inspiration.
Insadong was exactly what she needed.
Narrow streets lined with shops selling everything from handmade pottery to intricate knot work. The smell of hotteok — sweet pancakes — drifted from a street vendor. Tourists and locals mingled, browsing, bargaining, laughing.
Maya wandered slowly, her designer's eye catching on details. The texture of hanji paper. The precise stitching on a pojagi wrapping cloth. The way light played off lacquerware.
Then she saw the shop.
It was smaller than the others, tucked between a tea house and a calligraphy studio. The sign above the door was faded, written in old-style Hanja characters she couldn't fully read.
But something pulled her inside.
The shop was dim, cluttered with shelves of jewelry, trinkets, and oddities that looked like they belonged in a museum. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight cutting through the window.
And at the back, behind a low wooden counter, sat an old woman.
She looked up as Maya entered. Her face was a map of wrinkles, her eyes sharp and black as obsidian.
"Welcome," the woman said in Korean. Her voice was soft but clear. Ageless.
Maya bowed slightly. "Hello. I'm just looking."
"Of course." The woman smiled. "But you're looking for something specific, aren't you?"
Maya blinked. "I... no, just browsing."
The old woman's smile deepened. She reached beneath the counter and pulled out a small wooden box. Inside, nestled on faded silk, was a ring.
Silver, tarnished and dull. A red stone that looked almost black in the low light.
"This," the woman said, "is yours."
Maya stared. "I don't—"
"You've been dreaming of a man, haven't you?" The woman's eyes glittered. "A man with a crown."
Maya's breath caught.
She had been dreaming. The same dream, three nights in a row. A palace. A man in royal robes. Eyes that looked at her like they knew her soul.
"How did you—"
"5,000 won," the woman interrupted gently.
Maya's hands moved on their own. She paid. Took the ring.
Slipped it onto her finger.
It fit perfectly.
"Remember," the old woman whispered as Maya turned to leave. "Love knows no time."
Maya glanced back.
The shop was empty.
The old woman — gone.