“Thanks for coming with me,” I said, smiling over my cup of coffee. We were in a small café just outside the airport.

“This coffee makes me miss yours already,” the boy said quietly, trying not to earn the ire of the waitresses. He made a face and I snorted into my latte.

“I’m nervous,” I said, tracing the rough patterns on the brown paper towels. “Flying does that to me.”

“You can see the clouds though,” he said, sounding put out by my lack of enthusiasm. “And the birds…I’ve always wanted to see them up close.” He looked wistfully at my ticket.

“The birds seem so free, don’t they?” A few pigeons pecked at crumbs on the sidewalk outside.

“They’re only as free as we are,” I argued, watching the plump little birds fight over the leftovers of a croissant. “In the end, we’re all trapped on this earth.”

“How very optimistic and bright you are when you’re nervous,” he said drily, sipping his coffee.

“I try my best.” There was a lull in the conversation as we finished our coffee. As soon as I was done mine, I reached for my camera.

“Let’s take a picture,” I said, handing him the camera. Quickly, I ran my fingers through my hair. The boy made no protest and settled against me comfortably.

“Smile,” he said, and before I was ready, he took the picture. Before I could grab it out of the camera, he swiped it and placed it into his pocket.

“I wasn’t ready,” I protested, trying to take the photo away.

“That’s life in a nutshell,” he said. “You’re never prepared for anything.” He stuck out his tongue at me, and I sighed.

“At least take another one,” I said, exasperated. He complied and this time, I was satisfied. I the photo at him with a flourish.

“Name please,” I said, handing him a pen. He held the photo in his hand, and studied it thoughtfully. He scrawled something down and waved it in front of me.

“No looking until you get on the plane,” he told me sternly. I nodded, but he still didn’t give me the photo.

“I need to get going,” I hinted, eyeing the photo.

“Let’s go then,” he said, amused. “I wouldn’t want you to miss your flight.”

He stopped when we arrived at the entrance of the airport.

“I’ll be going now,” he said quietly. He handed me the photo.

“Goodbye,” I said, giving him a hug. He leaned down and kissed me softly.

“See you soon,” he whispered into my ear. Then, he moved away and I was through the glass doors.

When the clouds seemed close enough to touch, I looked at the photo.

“Next time you see me, call me by my name. Kim Jong In.”