The worst part about having your heart broken in public isn't the heartbreak itself—it's that 2.3 million people watched it happen.
Emma Torres stared at her phone screen, watching the view count climb in real-time. Someone had already set the video to sad piano music. Another person added commentary in three languages. A third turned it into a meme with the caption: "When you're just trying to work on your logo design but life has other plans."
"Turn it off," Hannah said from across the tiny coffee shop table, reaching for Emma's phone. "Seriously, Em. You're torturing yourself."
Emma pulled her phone back, thumb hovering over the play button again. She'd watched it forty-seven times in the past three hours, and she still couldn't quite believe it was real.
There she was, sitting in her favorite corner of Brew & Bloom Café, her laptop open, wearing her ratty NYU sweatshirt and her hair in a messy bun that had definitely seen better days. She was so focused on the logo she was designing that she didn't even notice when he walked in.
Tyler Morrison. Her boyfriend of two years. Except, apparently, not her boyfriend anymore—though he'd forgotten to mention that part.
In the video, Tyler walked past her table without a single glance in her direction. Emma on-screen was completely oblivious, nodding her head slightly to whatever music was playing in her AirPods. The camera (belonging to some college student who'd been filming a "day in my life" vlog) followed Tyler as he approached a beautiful blonde woman sitting by the window.
Emma didn't need sound to know what happened next. She'd memorized every excruciating second.
Tyler got down on one knee. The blonde woman gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. The entire café erupted in applause—including, mortifyingly, past-Emma, who'd finally looked up from her laptop and started clapping along with everyone else, a genuine smile on her face because she loved a good proposal.
Then Tyler slipped the ring on the blonde woman's finger, and they kissed, and everyone cheered louder, and Emma-in-the-video was still smiling, still clapping, completely unaware that her entire relationship had just imploded in front of forty-two witnesses and counting.
The camera caught the exact moment Emma realized what was happening. Her smile froze. Her hands stopped mid-clap. She looked from Tyler to the blonde woman to the ring—the ring that looked suspiciously similar to the one Emma had casually mentioned liking during a window-shopping trip six months ago—and her face did something complicated that the internet had already turned into seventeen different GIF reactions.
"I think I'm going to throw up," Emma muttered, finally locking her phone and shoving it face-down on the table.
"Good," Hannah said firmly. "Tyler Morrison is a walking dumpster fire, and you're better off without him. Also, that blonde woman can have him. I give them six months before she realizes he still doesn't know how to separate whites and colors in the laundry."
Despite everything, Emma felt her lips twitch. "He ruined my favorite sweatshirt that way."
"Exactly. He's the worst. And now the entire internet agrees with me." Hannah pushed a large iced coffee across the table. "Drink. Hydrate. And then we're going to make a plan."
"A plan for what? Changing my identity and moving to a remote island?"
"Close." Hannah's eyes gleamed with the particular mischief that had gotten them into trouble since their freshman year of college. "Remember that Korean Cultural Exchange Program I told you about? The one my company is sponsoring?"
Emma's stomach dropped. "Hannah. No."
"Hannah, yes." Her best friend pulled out a tablet and slid it across the table, already open to an application form. "Three months in Seoul. Fully funded. Housing included. You'd be doing freelance graphic design work while experiencing the culture, learning the language, living with a host family—"
"I can't just leave for three months—"
"Why not?" Hannah interrupted. "You're a freelance designer. You can work from anywhere. Your lease is month-to-month. Your family is scattered across three states anyway. And let's be real, Em—what exactly are you staying in New York for right now?"
Emma opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. Hannah had a point. A devastatingly accurate point.
"Besides," Hannah continued, her voice softening, "when was the last time you did something just for yourself? Something spontaneous and exciting and completely unrelated to Tyler or work or playing it safe?"
Emma looked down at the application. The header showed a photo of Seoul at night, the city glowing with lights, traditional palaces sitting alongside modern skyscrapers. It looked like something out of the K-dramas she'd been binge-watching since college—beautiful, exciting, utterly foreign.
"I don't speak Korean," Emma said weakly.
"That's literally the point of a cultural exchange program."
"I don't know anything about Korea except what I've learned from Netflix."
"Again, that's the point." Hannah reached across the table and squeezed Emma's hand. "Look, I know you're scared. And I know running away doesn't solve your problems. But sometimes a change of scenery is exactly what you need to remember who you are when you're not trying to be someone's girlfriend."
Emma's phone buzzed. Another notification. Probably someone else tagging her in the video, or sending a sympathetic message, or worse—asking if she was okay in that performative way that really meant "give me the drama."
She looked at Hannah, then at the application, then at her phone with its relentless notifications.
"What the hell," Emma said, pulling the tablet closer. "I've already gone viral for having the worst day of my life. How much worse could it get?"
Hannah's grin was triumphant. "That's my girl. Fair warning though—the application deadline is tonight at midnight, and there are only twenty spots available."
"Tonight? Hannah, it's already seven PM—"
"Then you better start typing fast." Hannah stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I have to get to a work dinner, but I'll call you later to make sure you actually submitted it. And Emma?"
"Yeah?"
"Korea's going to be good for you. I can feel it." Hannah winked. "Who knows? Maybe you'll even find your own K-drama romance. Minus the tragic backstory and terminal illness, hopefully."
Emma laughed despite herself. "You've been watching too much TV."
"Says the girl whose Netflix 'Continue Watching' list is ninety percent Korean dramas."
After Hannah left, Emma sat alone at the table, staring at the application form. It wanted to know about her background, her interests, why she wanted to participate in the program. There was a section for housing preferences and dietary restrictions. Another section asking if she had any experience with Korean language or culture.
She clicked on the essay question: "What do you hope to gain from this experience?"
Emma's fingers hovered over the keyboard. What did she hope to gain? A new perspective? A fresh start? The ability to walk down the street without people recognizing her as "that girl from the viral proposal video"?
She started typing.
I want to remember what it feels like to be excited about waking up in the morning. I want to prove to myself that I'm more than just someone's almost-fiancée, more than a cautionary tale about paying attention to your surroundings. I want to eat food I can't pronounce and get lost in streets where no one knows my name and maybe, possibly, figure out who Emma Torres actually is when she's not trying to fit into someone else's idea of who she should be.
Also, I really love kimchi and I've always wanted to see cherry blossoms in person. Is that shallow? Maybe. But at least it's honest.
She paused, reading it over. It was probably too casual for a formal application. Too raw. Too—
"Screw it," Emma muttered, and hit submit before she could second-guess herself.
Her phone immediately buzzed with a confirmation email. "Thank you for your application. Candidates will be notified within 48 hours."
Forty-eight hours. In two days, she'd either be planning the most impulsive adventure of her life, or she'd still be here, watching her viral video climb toward three million views while eating ice cream in her sweatpants.
Emma gathered her laptop and headed for the door, purposefully avoiding looking at the corner where Tyler had proposed to someone who wasn't her. The barista—a college kid named Marcus who'd witnessed the whole thing—gave her a sympathetic nod.
"Hang in there," he called out. "That guy's an idiot."
"Thanks, Marcus."
Outside, the New York evening was doing that thing where it couldn't decide between spring and winter. Emma pulled her jacket tighter and started walking toward the subway, her mind already spinning with possibilities.
Three months in Seoul. Living with strangers. Working remotely in a completely different time zone. Learning a new language, eating new food, being somewhere where absolutely no one had seen her laptop-girl-at-the-proposal video.
It sounded terrifying.
It sounded perfect.
Her phone buzzed again, but this time it wasn't another viral video notification. It was Hannah: "Did you submit it?"
Emma smiled and typed back: "Yeah. I submitted it."
"AHHHH!! I'm so proud of you! Manifest that acceptance, bestie. You're going to Korea!"
Emma slipped her phone into her pocket and descended into the subway station. She didn't know if she believed in manifestation or fate or any of that stuff. But for the first time in three days—since Tyler had shattered her world without even noticing she was in the room—Emma felt something other than humiliation.
She felt hope.
And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit of excitement.
She had no idea that in exactly forty-one hours, she'd receive an acceptance email that would change everything. Or that due to a filing error, a cosmic mix-up, and one very determined grandmother, she was about to end up at completely the wrong house in Seoul.
But that's a story for tomorrow.
Tonight, Emma Torres was just a girl on a subway, dreaming about cherry blossoms and second chances, completely unaware that her real adventure was about to begin.