Tomi's POV
I couldn't sleep the night before my flight.
Not because I was scared or anything dramatic like that, but because my brain wouldn't just shut up. You know how everyone's like, "Pack early, rest well"? Yeah right. I packed and repacked the same box like four times, and I still had this weird feeling that I was forgetting something super important. My passport? Checked. Visa? Checked. Phone charger? Power bank? Varieties of dried packs of Nigerian foods my mom had taken a huge sum to get for me ? All checked. Yet, I was jittery. Like the type of jittery you get before WAEC results come out.
Mummy didn't sleep either. She sat in the living room, dozing off and waking up like someone on night vigil. I heard her praying under her breath at some point—normal Nigerian mum behavior. And when I came to sit beside her at like 3 a.m., she looked at me like I was still six years old, about to go to boarding school for the first time.
"You'll be fine," she said. "You're a strong girl. Just remember where you come from."
I nodded, but my throat was tight. I didn't want to cry. I already cried last week during the send-forth thing my friends did. If I cried again now, it would feel like I was being ungrateful. This was a blessing. A whole full-ride scholarship to study in South Korea—something I'd randomly applied for on a bored afternoon. And now it was happening.
Honestly, my body felt like it didn't even belong to me anymore. It was like I was floating through the morning. Aunties calling. Friends messaging. My little cousin asking if BTS would be my classmates. (Lol. I told her yes just to get her to leave me alone.)
By 7:30 a.m., we were at Murtala Muhammed Airport. I kept hugging everyone. My small suitcase felt too small. My neck pillow felt too dramatic. And my heart? It was pounding like I was about to write JAMB all over again. I sat at the departures until it was finally time to take off. I waved my family, Ayinke, mom and my Aunty who stayed in Lagos along with my best friend, Adejoke goodbye before leaving finally. I went through security procedures and all and finally boarded the plane.
By the time I found my seat on the plane, my edges were halfway gone. International airport wahala is not for the weak. One woman literally shouted at me because I accidentally bumped her bag while trying to adjust mine in the overhead bin. I apologized three times, but she just hissed and turned away like I stole her kidney.
Anyway, I got the window seat. Score. The girl beside me was quiet, probably Korean. She nodded politely when I smiled and immediately plugged in her AirPods. Okay o, vibes.
As we took off, I stared out the window. Lagos looked like scattered gold dust at night. I don't know why I suddenly started tearing up. Maybe it was the realization that I was actually leaving. For real. I was going to be in Korea for a whole year. A place where I knew nobody. A place where I didn't even speak the language.
My phone buzzed with a message from Ayinke before I switched to airplane mode:
"Safe journey jor. Go and find Oppa. We're waiting for pictures."
I laughed small. Trust Ayinke to bring K-drama into it.
The flight was long and uncomfortable. I tried to sleep, but between the cold AC and my nerves, I kept drifting in and out. The food wasn't bad sha, but that airplane jollof rice they gave was confused. Like, what are you really trying to be? I just drank juice and closed my eyes.
By the time we landed, I was so stiff and tired that I almost left my neck pillow behind.
Incheon Airport was bright. Clean. Almost too quiet. I kept expecting somebody to shout "Madam! Come this side!" like in Lagos, but everyone was calm. I felt out of place immediately.
Immigration took time. I had all my documents ready—passport, school acceptance, visa—but still, my heart was racing. The officer looked through them slowly, said something in Korean to a colleague, and then finally stamped my passport. I exhaled like I'd been holding my breath since the plane took off.
Then came the real stress—navigating a foreign country.
Nobody prepared me for the number of signs in Korean. I mean, I expected it, but seeing it in real life? I was lost already. I tried to follow the map my school sent, dragging my two heavy boxes behind me like punishment. Google Maps was trying its best, but it wasn't prepared for Seoul's train system either. I got on the wrong train, got off, then asked a guy for directions. He smiled and started speaking in fast Korean. I just nodded like I understood and said, "Kamsahamnida," which was the only word I'd memorized.
Eventually, I found the dormitory. The building was tall and plain, nothing fancy. The receptionist spoke a little English, thankfully, and gave me my room key and a welcome kit.
When I entered my room, I just sat on the bed and stared at the walls. Small. Plain. Quiet. It didn't feel real yet. My suitcase lay untouched. I should've unpacked, but my body was too tired.
I picked up my phone, switched to Wi-Fi, and messaged Ayinke:
"I'm here."
She replied almost immediately.
"Omooo 😭😭😭 Snap your dorm! Have you seen any cute boys yet?"
I smiled and dropped the phone. I wasn't ready to think about cute boys. I wasn't even sure I'd survive the next day. I lay down in my jacket and jeans, without even showering, and stared at the ceiling. Outside the window, I could see city lights. Not Lagos lights. Different ones. Softer. Colder.
I had no idea what I was doing.
But I was here. In Seoul. I must have dozed off for a bit because when I opened my eyes again, the sky outside had darkened. My jeans were sticky, my mouth was dry, and my neck was on fire from the awkward position I slept in. It took me a second to remember where I was.
Seoul, my dream country.
A knock came at the door.
I blinked, unsure if I imagined it. Then it came again. A bit more urgent.
I dragged myself off the bed and opened the door slightly, peeking out.
Three girls stood in the hallway. All smiles. It was then I noticed some suitcases at the corner of the room. I was oblivious to them before because I was too tired after the flight.
"Hi!" one of them beamed, a short brown-skinned girl with curly red-tinted hair and a nosy vibe. She had a hoodie tied around her waist and was balancing a tub of what looked like instant noodles. "You must be the Nigerian girl! I'm Sasha, from London."
"Uhh… yeah," I said, opening the door wider. "I'm Tomi."
Sasha pushed past me like we were long-lost friends and walked straight into the room.
"Don't mind her," the second girl laughed—a taller, soft-spoken one with round glasses and pin-straight black hair. Korean, maybe. She held a bottle of soda and a blanket. "She's dramatic. I'm Yuri. I stay across the hall, but we're always in each other's rooms."
"And I'm Nia," said the third girl with a deep American accent and a warm tone. She was tall, dark-skinned, and carried herself like a model. Her braids were long and neat, and her eyes scanned me like she was already forming opinions. "I'm your actual roommate. We're sharing this side of the room."
Oh.
Roommates. Plural.
"Wait, we're four?" I asked, blinking.
"Yup. It's like a double twin. Two bunks," Sasha said, already flinging herself on the top bunk across the room. "I claim this one, by the way."
"I'm not even fighting you," Yuri said, chuckling.
I still stood by the door, too overwhelmed to move. It was too much human energy after hours of dragging myself through airports, subways, and Korean maps. But somehow, they felt familiar. Like I'd seen them in a dream or something.
"You good?" Nia asked, dropping her stuff on the table beside the closet. "You look like you need water. Or sleep."
"Or food," Sasha chimed in. "You Nigerian girls eat spicy stuff, right? You're gonna love Korean ramen."
"Come," Yuri said, gently guiding me to sit down. "You'll be okay."
I didn't realize how badly I needed that simple touch until she did it. Like, someone acknowledging that I wasn't just okay because I made it here. That this whole thing was huge and weird and disorienting.
Over the next hour, they helped me settle in. Yuri handed me wipes and tissue and a warm canned drink from her little stash. Sasha gisted me about all the things I'd missed at orientation because I arrived late—lecturers, rules, dorm gossip, boys. Nia showed me where to keep my stuff and offered to help me find my way around campus the next day.
I hadn't even unpacked, but I already felt like maybe I wasn't as alone as I thought.
Later, while they argued over what K-drama to binge on the dorm's shared Netflix account, I just sat there, smiling quietly.
Three girls from different worlds.
But for some reason, fate put us in the same room.
I didn't know what was ahead, but I could already tell—they were going to matter. Somehow.
Morning came too fast.
The buzzing sound of my alarm slapped me back into reality. I had barely gotten five hours of sleep, and for a few seconds, I genuinely forgot where I was.
Then I opened my eyes and saw the top of Sasha's messy red curls hanging from the upper bunk. Nia's side of the room was neatly arranged—like she had been here for weeks already. Yuri wasn't even around; she must've left early.
"Orientation starts at 10," Nia mumbled from her bed, barely lifting her head. "You better not do African time."
I winced. "What time is it now?"
"8:43."
Crap.
I dragged myself out of bed and showered quickly. The dorm bathroom wasn't as weird as I expected. Clean, slightly echoey, and thankfully had hot water.
By 9:30, we were walking down the pathway to the main campus building. The sun was out but not too hot, the wind light and cool. Seoul smelled different. Fresh and sharp. And the sky felt too blue to be real.
We passed several other students—some walking in pairs, others with earpieces in. Some looked friendly, others… like they'd bite if you tried to talk to them.
I held my phone tight like it was a survival tool.
Sasha and Nia walked ahead, laughing about some TikTok boy who apparently looked like one of our lecturers. I trailed behind, trying to soak everything in. The language, the people, the signs, the style… even the way people walked here was different.
At the campus square, a crowd had gathered for orientation. A student volunteer handed us little bags with the university logo, booklets, pens, and free face masks.
We filed into an auditorium and found seats.
I sat between Yuri and Sasha, while Nia sat just behind us with some girls she knew already.
The dean came out to speak. Then a few heads of department. Then someone spoke in fast Korean and introduced the student cultural clubs.
I zoned out halfway through, honestly. My jetlag was still fighting me, and my brain felt like mush. But then…
"Excuse me," a voice whispered beside me.
I turned.
A girl I hadn't seen before. Light skin. Freckles. Holding a camera.
"I saw you earlier. You're the new Nigerian student, right? Can I take your picture for the international student newsletter?"
My first instinct was to say no.
But then Yuri nudged me. "You should."
I smiled nervously. "Okay. But… not a close-up, please."
The girl nodded and snapped a few pictures. "You're really pretty, by the way."
I felt my face heat up. "Thanks."
The rest of the orientation flew by in a blur. Afterward, our roommates took me to the campus cafeteria where I tried my first actual Korean meal—bibimbap. I struggled with the chopsticks for a bit until Sasha gave me a fork out of her bag like she knew this would happen.
Later that evening, after a walk around the dorms and a quick stop at the campus store for snacks, we all lay in our room, phones in our faces, chatting about home.
"I miss suya," I said randomly.
"Is that the spicy beef?" Yuri asked.
"Yeah. That smoky one that makes your lips tingle."
"I'm gonna need that," Sasha said, licking ramen from her spoon. "We should cook one weekend."
"Cook?" Nia raised her brows. "With what kitchen? This ain't no Airbnb."
We laughed so loud we got shushed from the next room.
That night, when I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the homesickness crept in a bit. Quiet, like a slow leak. I missed my mum. My siblings. The noise of Ibadan. Even the annoying neighborhood generator sounds.
But then I thought of Yuri's calmness. Sasha's chaos. Nia's quiet strength.
And I realized—I was already building something new here.
MIN-JAE
I didn't know why I kept waking up before my alarm these days. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the stress of trying to balance everything. Being twenty-one wasn't cute anymore. It just felt like a weird middle zone between youth and "you better figure your life out."
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The light from the window was dull but soft, filtering through my blinds like a lazy promise of morning. The birds outside were doing their usual overachieving. Singing way too loud for people who didn't pay rent.
My phone vibrated. Group chat.
Yohan [6:43 AM]: "Morning losers. Don't forget we have that script read-through at noon."
Jisoo [6:44 AM]: "Why are you awake this early."
Me [6:44 AM]: "Insomnia. Or depression. Idk."
I wasn't really depressed, but that's how we joked in our group. A mix of sarcasm and vague existential dread. Comforting, in a messed-up way.
I dragged myself up and walked to the kitchen. Mom was already gone — she had her early shift at the hospital, as usual. There was a note on the fridge:
"Eat something proper. Not just coffee. And don't forget your laundry. ❤️ – 엄마 (Umma)"
I smiled a bit. She always left notes. I kept a bunch of them in a little shoebox under my bed, even the dumb ones that just said "Buy more toothpaste."
My breakfast was... not proper. Just iced coffee and two leftover dumplings I found in the fridge. But hey, it counted.
After showering, I changed into a plain black t-shirt, ripped jeans, and my beat-up white sneakers that probably needed to retire last year. My hair was still damp when I stepped out, phone in hand, earbuds in.
The streets of Seoul were alive like always. Cars, bikes, buses — and people just rushing to places. Some in suits, some in pajamas and slippers. No in-between. I liked watching people on the subway, even though I hated actually being on the subway.
At the studio, I met Yohan first. He was already in one of the rehearsal rooms, tossing a rubber ball against the wall like a bored cat.
"You look tired," he said without looking at me.
"You look ugly," I replied.
"Fair."
We sat and waited for the others. The script was for a web drama we were filming in a few weeks.
I was the lead. Again.
Not that I wasn't grateful for always having lead roles. I just got too worn out most of the time after shooting.
The table read went fine. We laughed, joked, and stumbled through a few awkward lines. Our director, Ms. Bae, kept making notes and reminding everyone to "feel the moment." I didn't feel much except for hunger and the itch on the side of my neck.
By the time it was over, I was ready to crash.
"Wanna grab lunch?" Jisoo asked, packing up her stuff.
"Nah," I said. "Gonna head home. I need to fix my resume for that stupid modeling agency thing."
She made a face. "You're still doing that? Thought you didn't care about modeling anymore."
"I don't," I said. "But they pay. And I need some time off from movies and all.
Fair point.
At home, I did nothing for like three hours. Just laid in bed, scrolled through random videos, and then accidentally fell asleep. It was almost dark when I woke up again.
My stomach was angry. I opened the fridge and sighed. Empty. I didn't even have eggs.
So I threw on a hoodie and headed down to the corner ramen shop.
It was always warm in there, with this smell that felt like childhood — spicy broth, garlic, steam, and burnt soy sauce. The ahjumma who ran the place knew me by name.
"Min-Jae! Your usual?"
I nodded. "Yes, please."
She brought it over quickly. I didn't even look at my phone while eating. Just sat there, watching steam rise from the bowl, letting the heat soak into my face.
Sometimes I wished I had a twin. Or just… someone who really got it. The whole "being alive in your twenties with no clue what you're doing" thing. Yohan was cool, but he was mostly busy. He had more projects to work on. Jisoo was smart, and her life was somehow already organized. I wasn't dumb, but I felt slow. Not failing, just floating.
I finished my ramen, paid, and walked home through the night streets, disguised as usual. I couldn't walk freely while showing my face. I had to put on a wig, wear casual clothes and act like normal people. It was still warm, the air thick with leftover summer. A cat ran across the road. A couple was arguing in soft whispers near the convenience store.
I passed by a small travel agency. The window had posters of places like Paris, Tokyo, Cape Town... and Nigeria.
My eyes lingered on Nigeria.
I didn't know why. I barely even knew anything about Africa. But something about the picture — the colors, the way the sky stretched so wide — made me pause.
Funny how life feels full of quiet signs. Like someone up there's putting sticky notes in your path.
"Pay attention."
"Watch this moment."
"You'll remember this later."
I took a deep breath and kept walking.
That night, I stayed up past midnight editing a short film I'd shot on my phone last weekend. Nothing fancy. Just people walking, city lights, empty cafes. But it made me feel something. Something calm.
I didn't know what was coming next. I wasn't even sure what I wanted anymore. Acting? Directing? Just enough money to buy more dumplings?
But whatever it was, I hoped it felt real. Not flashy or perfect. Just real.
----------------
The script was staring at me again like it was offended I hadn't touched it since morning. I stared back, equally offended by its confidence. I had promised my manager I'd study the role today. That was a lie. Okay, maybe not a full lie—I had opened it. Scanned the first three lines. Then I got distracted by a noodle craving, then by a group chat argument about which ONE PIECE arc was overrated. Then by a nap. Honestly, it's like the script cursed itself.
I sat on my bed, legs folded, laptop half-open beside me like it was judging me silently. The new role was different. Less action, more psychological drama. A grieving son of a wealthy family. Very… slow-burn. That kind of quiet, sad intensity the director loved. But it didn't click for me yet. I wasn't emotionally there. Not today.
Today, I was still stuck thinking about a black girl I saw two days ago at a casting hall where I went for fun. She had long and thick wavy braids, big smile, and only speak in English. She probably didn't understand Korean. I just stared at her from afar, her fair-black skin was really nice. She wasn't fully black I guess, she had fair skin but I was sure she was African. She had an African accent. She was with some girls, her friends maybe. But she laughed loud, didn't try to sound soft like most people in the room. That stuck in my head. Anyway, she probably doesn't even live in Seoul. I scratched my neck, thinking of something to do. Something not script-related. My phone buzzed.
Eun-Byul: U still ignoring the universe? Come get coffee. I'm near ur building.
I smiled. My cousin Eun-Byul was a menace and a savior in the same body. She could drag me out of a funk faster than my manager could threaten me with another reality show appearance.
Me: What coffee place?
Eun-Byul: The weird one with the cats and neon chairs.
Me: That narrows it down.
Eun-Byul: Just come out. I'm waiting.
I pulled on an oversized hoodie, bucket hat, and shades—not because I was famous-famous. But enough that some high school girls might shriek at me and post my outfit on TikTok with "#OppaOOTD" in the caption.
Ten minutes later, I was at the café. Neon chairs