“Just buy a phone,” he pleads for the last time. “Let me buy you another phone to replace the one YG took.”

 “I can’t. I don’t want to maintain one,” I remind him like a broken record. “I can’t afford to.” “I’ll send you letters, I promise,” I tell Jackson as we part from our long, heartfelt hug.

“Do you really have a place to stay?” Jackson asks with a concerned etch on his forehead. “Can’t I help you with anything? Anything at all?”

“You can stay here, you know,” he reminds me earnestly. “There’s no problem.”

“You bought this place for your parents to stay,” I say, frowning. “I don’t feel right borrowing their place.”

“They’ll understand.”

“They’ll misunderstand,” I counter, shaking my head.

“It’s okay if they misunderstand, Youngmi.” He tilts my chin up so I am looking into his eyes.

I bite my inner lip to prevent myself from jumping on him and begging him to stay.

We talked about this yesterday at length.

I have savings in my account from the months that I have worked at YG entertainment. They might have kicked me out now but I definitely earned some money from them. It’s enough for me to find a room to live in while I search for a new job.

I promised him that I’d be fine without him as he continues his chase to achieve his dreams. I know how devoted he is to being an idol. I know how much he sacrificed for it. Why should I be the one preventing him progressing when all I want is the best for him? I don’t want to be a distraction to anyone.

He gazes at me, searching my face.

“It’s not fair.” He sighs in despair. “It’s not fair.”

“What isn’t…?” I ask, clueless.

“You can see my face anytime you want in the next few months but I can’t do the same. I’ll have our old photos but no new ones.”

“If I can be strong, you can too,” I assure him, rubbing his shoulder. I release a shaky breath, feeling my confidence break slightly at the skin contact. “Have a safe flight.”

***

I back away after seeing the mould growing on a large part of the wall.

This place might be too cheap for my liking.

I cross the room out of my list, frustration slowly building in me. I have a few more room left to check out but I’m getting more exhausted as the day passes. Jackson really spoiled me the past two days.

I head to a different hostel. It looks more premium to the ones before and I have high hopes that I might have found my temporary home.

“I’d like to rent a room,” I say to the woman manning the front desk.

She gives me a onceover.

“Do you have an ID with you?” she asks sternly.

Without thinking, I take out my ID card from my wallet before stopping short. She will see my age and know that I’m not yet of age.

“Is there an age restriction to stay here?” I ask hesitantly.

“I just need to check that you’re not a wanted criminal,” she clarifies uninterestedly.

If that’s the case… I hand over my ID card with less worry. She looks it over before typing something into the computer.

“Hmm.”

“Is there a problem?” I try to take a peek at the computer.

“There’s something wrong with this desktop. I’ll be back in a second,” she says, pushing back her chair and going into the office.

I look around the plain lobby area. There’s torn up sofas, plain cream walls and dusty curtains decorating the area. It isn’t that bad though. It is the homiest of all lodgings I have seen today. The owner at least tried to make it a proper place to live. I feel excitement rising, wanting to see the room.

The woman goes out of her office with a mug in her hand.

“I made coffee. Would you like some?” she offers.

“Er…” I am taken aback. She didn’t look hospitable but she’s pretty nice. “Sure.”

“Enjoy.”

This is great. I could be friends with her and we’ll talk every evening with two mugs of hot coffee helping us to fuel up for the tough days ahead. The thought of building a new friendship reminds me of Munhee.

How is she?

I close my eyes tightly, praying for her to be blessed with health.

A cold wind swoops in, giving me goosebumps. Was that a prayer being accepted?

I open my eyes and see two policemen speaking to the woman.

My first instinct is to run but as soon as I stand up, the policemen turn to me and instruct me to hold out my hands.

“You’re under arrest,” the policeman say before harshly handcuffing my hands.

“I’m not a criminal!” I yell at the receptionist but she shrinks back, avoiding my eyes. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”