So this is what flying the nest is like, huh? Eight calls from your dad, an eleven hour flight, a four hour crammed train journey and, despite a year of studying the language, countless confused expressions on the faces of airport staff and taxi drivers. And they said leaving home is hardest for the parents.

***

"Yes Dad, I know. Yes but-. Yeah...Uh huh...No, Dad I'm not going t-...relax it's an all girls dormitory...I don't know her name yet...well because I don't. Yeah, I'll ring you when I get ther-...okay I'll wait for your call. Alright, love you too. Bye Daddy."

I sighed as my thumb tapped the 'end call' tab on the touch screen of my phone for probably the fourth time in the space of thirty minutes. I've said countless times before that my father worries about me too much, so much so that I've implored to be released from the shackles of his protection and to be set free to make my own mistakes. I needed my independence, a fresh start in a new environment, to find myself and do something worthwhile. Sort of like a journey of self-discovery, but without the hippy undertones.

With this mindset, I set myself a target to strive for college, which my father was overjoyed to hear in amongst a casual dinner conversation a few months ago. However, when I hesitatingly confessed the whereabouts of the very prestigious university I was readily accepted in, his face soon turned into that of resentment, tripping over his words as he ranted why I couldn't move six thousand miles away to a place I had never visited before.

Obviously I protested, getting into heated arguments whenever as soon as he came home from work until I finally put up a wall of silence and spent days in my fortress of solitude, my room, without speaking a work to him. I knew this was childish of an eighteen year old girl but I was well aware of the unfair advantage I had. Being the youngest child definitely has its perks.

The silence was broken when he said the words: "Alright you've proven your point, let's talk about it with without ripping each other's throats out," in front of my closed bedroom door on the third day of our period of silence.

So with that he finally agreed to let me go, with special conditions like having to follow the family trend in studying something business related. I protested against that at first but in the end we found a compromise. Honours in Fashion with Business Studies. Has a certain ring to it don't you think?

Twelve hours ago I was in LAX, teary eyed while being hugged to death by my older brother and sister and given words of advice from my equally teary eyed father. Now, I was in a brand new city, Seoul.

I set my phone down on the vacant seat next to me, there was no point in putting it anywhere that I couldn't answer in one ring, he always get's oddly suspicious if I don't.

My weary, jet lagged eyes drifted to the bustling city scenery I was just a pane of glass away from.  I yearned to be outside in the fresh air, inhaling the scents of Korean street food wafting in the pleasant summer breeze, not copped up in the humid train that was threatening my ability to stay awake.  

But whether I liked it or not, sleep was near impossible with special thanks to the little brat behind me, screaming his little throat raw and his oh-so-charming mother ignoring him as she had been for the past joy filled hour. Oh and not forgetting the icing on the delicious cake of all things wonderful, the sweltering heat. I really wished I took up dad's offer, well more plea, to get a private car pick me up from the airport. But me being me, I decided it would be "a way to apply my Korean language skills first hand" by using public transport. That was a stupid idea, a really stupid idea.

After I decided that the cons of throwing myself off from the moving vehicle outweighed the pros, after much in depth consideration, I sighed again into the heavy air, letting my head lull to the pleasantly cold surface of the window and let my weighty eyelids seal away the light of day. 

***

"Change for Bongnae-dong."

The sudden screeches of the speaker rung around the carriage, making me jump out of my skin. I rubbed my eyes groggily, wondering how on earth I managed to fall asleep with that racket earlier. I must've been beyond tired.

I yawned, relaxing further into the rock hard chair and stretched my legs out in the limited space provided, "All for change...?" I mumbled, not fully registering the language with my foggy mind.

"All change for Bongnae-dong."

Why is that word so familiar? I pondered, clueless, letting my gaze wander outside the window. That's when I saw it. The huge bold sign with the words "Seoul Station" printed in harsh black font.

"!" I cursed in my mother tongue, jumped onto my feet and rushed to the luggage holder like a mad woman. I was probably attracting unwanted attention but I couldn't care less. All I cared about was getting off at the right station, so I grabbed my shockingly pink suitcase and hurtled out of the doors, just in time it seemed because they sealed shut as soon as my converse hit the platform. I exhaled in relief before looking at my phone. Five missed calls? I am so dead. I can't remember if I said it out loud or in my head, either way I was definitely a dead woman. My thumb hovered over the 'call back' button but I hesitated. Actually no, he's gotta learn that I can't answer all the time. I'm a college student, not some call girl. Time to set some boundaries.

I smiled to myself, slipping the phone in my jean pocket, beaming with a sense of assurance as I strolled over to the rows of taxis. That's when confidence suddenly faltered. As if explaining my journey to the ticket lady at the previous station wasn't hard enough. Come on chicken, you made it here successfully so how hard is it to say "please take me to Seoul University"? Besides, they probably get loads of foreigners all the time...except you're not a foreigner; well you are Korean but not Korean-Korean. You're proudly American-Korean so go up there; speak Korean like a pro and get going. Simple.  Pep talks with yourself is not a good sign, Tiffany, remember that. With that, I boldly sauntered over to the taxi whose driver didn't look like he belonged to the Asian mafia, which was harder than it sounds.

Luckily I found my non-mob affiliated driver, sitting in a white Mercedes with his muscular arm hanging out of the open window, an un-lit cigarette held between his long middle and index fingers.

 "Where would you like to go, Miss?" He asked politely as I approached the vehicle, his voice surprisingly gentle for his stature.

You're up kid, your time to shine." Park Geun-hye hall of residence, Seoul University please." He nodded wordlessly, with a small smile, but I still gave myself a mental fist bump. The driver gets out of the car, tucking the cigarette behind his ear and offers to take my suitcase that was literally bursting at the seams.  What? I had to pack my entire life in one suitcase; did you expect me not to go a little overboard?  I watched him struggle a little as he lifts it into the trunk, not so macho then for all that muscle. I smirked to myself as I open the passenger door and climb in, watching him get into the driver's side and turn on the ignition.

The first few minutes of the journey remained hushed; only the gentle hum of the engine and the whooshing of cars as they passed us remain. I scanned the pristine interior of the car, the tan leather seats felt like heaven, the air-con felt like bliss and oddly enough all I could smell was the distinct scent of fresh linen. This wasn't your ordinary taxi. Well compared to the crappy yellow cabs they have back home, this was considered luxury.

 I noticed an ID card hanging on the rear view mirrored, swaying nonchalantly in the gentle breeze circulating through the window. Choi Siwon, if my Korean didn't fail me that is. Well at least he's licensed. My eyes narrowed, trying to get a better view of his photograph when my pocket suddenly vibrated, surprise and brief panic resonated through me.

My hand immediately retrieved the quivering slab of plastic, hitting answer before my embarrassingly cheesy ringtone blares out. I didn't have to look at the caller ID to know who it was.

"Hi da-yes I'm fine, I was on the train. I know...I'm sorry, I fell asle-Yeah, I won't...not yet I'm in a taxi...relax dad he's licensed...yes a he, guys can be taxi drivers too. Uh huh...I'll call you when I get there, okay? Bye,"

"Can't I not answer the phone for five damn minutes?" I mumbled, in flawless Korean, which believe me surprised me more than you.

"Not from around here, huh?" The dark haired man chuckled, eyes glued on the road. Crap! Okay so maybe it wasn't so flawless.

I glanced at him for a short second before I plucked up the courage to answer him, "N-no, I'm from LA but I live here as of today."

"I can tell."

I blinked at the casualness of his tone, "Is my Korean that terrible?" I asked, already disheartened at the possibility that I wasn't as good as I hoped to be.

"No, its fine but you do have a bit of an accent," I couldn't help but pout at the assertion, I let my shoulders slump a little in defeat which I think he noticed, "Don't worry about it, it's cute." He defended hastily, taking a quick glance at my sulking expression.

Cute huh? "Excuse me?" I squeaked probably a little louder than anticipated.

"Oh, errr...nothing, just ignore me. Long night on the roads and all." He sputtered excitedly, trying to laugh it off as he refused to meet my gaze.

And that is how far our exchange got, after that, neither of us spoke a word or even tried to spark up a conversation about the weather. So much for applying my knowledge. 

***

He dropped me off at the reception building of the dormitory I was staying at, he had asked among the silence just as we entered the campus before unloading my suitcase. I went to get my wallet out of my backpack but he waved it off, saying something along the lines of: "My treat, you know, because you're new here." And then he swiftly disappeared from my sight. Huh, I wonder if all Korean guys are that gentlemanly.

Mustering some strength, I dragged the massive case along with me as I ambled through the massive revolving doors and entered the lobby. I glided effortlessly on the polished marble flooring towards the desk situated in the middle of the massive hall-like room, dodging a random scattering of whom I assumed to be students along the way.

I hesitated a little upon eyeing the receptionist behind the computer screen. I expected a middle aged, greying woman with a hatred of students and detestation in showing kindness but what, or should I say whom, I laid eyes upon was actually the complete opposite. A petite, child-faced girl stood before me adorned in a casual summer dress. I couldn't be sure if she was actually real or a doll.

"H-hello?" I stuttered, suddenly nervous when this girl, with shockingly blue cropped hair met my creepy stare with her radiant smile, flashing her perfect teeth.

"Hi there, you must be Miss Tiffany Hwang." She beamed delightedly, thankfully unaffected by my stupid leering.

Wow she's good. "Yes, how did you know?"

"Not a lot of students come half way through the academic year with a giant suitcase and looking like a lost puppy." She grins almost cheekily, "I'm Sunny; I'm the resident receptionist in this dormitory," the petite girl explains, holding her dainty hand out to me.

I took it in a gentle grip because I felt as if her hand will break if I exert any amount of pressure, "Nice to meet you, I'm...err well you already know my name." God you're such a dork. I hope to god she finds dorky-ness cute because I'm exuding it out of every pore on my body right now and I can't stop it.

She caught me completely off my train of thought, leaning slightly across the desk and hushing her angelic voice to a mere whisper, "You must be nervous, huh?" I nod, speechless, aware of her inquisitive eyes surveying my every reaction. Thankfully, she returns to her previous stance once I gave her my minimal response.

"Don't worry; it's all first years in this dormitory. We were all like you when we first started." Sunny gave me a reassuring smile that could surely melt the toughest of hearts, "Suppose I better do the job I'm poorly paid for." She chimed, her smile unwavering as she reaches into a filing cabinet.

"Here are your key cards. This red one is for the library, this blue one is for the elevator, and the green one is for your room." She lists calmly, handing the flimsy pieces of plastic to me. She clicks a few times on the mouse; the screen she's focused intently on illuminated her face in a way that made her impossibly paler.

"Your room number is...303?"I saw a tiny grimace appear on her lips as she read out the number. What was with that look? Oh god, am I shacking up with a murderer?

Feeling the nerves had gotten the best of me, I swallowed the lump in my throat, "I-is there something wrong?" Please don't be a murderer. Please don't be a murderer. Oh god what if she's part of the mafia?

It was as if she could read my mind, brief panic flashed across her copper tinged eyes, "No, no, no nothing. Just ignore me; it's been a long day."

That was not a good sign."Oka-"

She quickly peered at my bulky suitcase sitting idly beside me, "Your case looks heavy; I'll get somebody to help you to your room."

"No, it's fine. I can handle-" I waved my hands in dismissive manner but she ignored them. Sunny stood on her tip toes and scanned the space behind me. It seemed she found what she was looking for because her eyes lit up in an instant.

"Yuri-ah! Can you come help me a sec?" I cocked my head in the same direction and I swore my jaw fell to the floor that second. A long haired tall beauty, emphasis on the tall and definitely the beauty, swaggered closer to us. Were all the girls in this college models or something? My uality is experiencing some serious questioning right now.  And it's only been ten minutes since you stepped foot on campus, good grief girl get a grip.

I felt the most awkward, clumsiest smile creep across my lips as this tanned goddess stops right beside me, my stare never leaving her.

"Wassup?" She says casually, whipping her lustrous black locks over her shoulder before presenting Sunny an affable grin.

Sunny gestures towards me with her beautiful almost childlike arms. "Please help our new student to her room."

She shrugs nonchalantly and turns to face me, giving me the once over. "Sure. What's your name beautiful?" At the corner of my eye I could see Sunny rolling her eyes.

"T-Tiffany." Yes, because stuttering is oh so attractive.

"Well Tiffany, you're gonna like it here. And I for one am gonna like it a lot more now that you're here." The way my name rolled off of her tongue like liquid gold had me shudder unintentionally. Did she just wink at me?

Luckily, Sunny interrupted Yuri's advances before I threw myself at her. "God Yuri, cool it with the flirting, she just got here. Don't freak her out like the last one." She drones, hands on her hips and shaking her head disapprovingly, her candy floss-like hair bobbing along with the motion.

"Gotcha." Came Yuri's half-hearted reply. Something told me she wasn't going to stop and a little part of me liked that, a lot.

Yuri straightened out her vest top, pulling on the hem and emphasising her perfectly flat stomach as the frail fabric clung to her torso. She took a firm hold of the luggage handle, "See you later, Soonkyu," she crooned, dragging the case with ease as if it were filled with helium. I witnessed Sunny flip Yuri off as I went to wave goodbye, even though Yuri was already three paces ahead of me with her back turned.

I ambled forward, trying to catch up with the giant strides she took."She hates it when you call her by her real name. Take note of it, it's hilarious seeing her all riled up." She says, smirking all the while. I smile as my response, my mind reeling with amusing images of an angered Sunny, her cheeks puffed up like a child in a tantrum.

Yuri whipped out a blue key card from her jean pocket and held it to the scanner until a beep resounded, the elevator doors slid smoothly open in rapid succession.

"What floor you on cutie?" She asked as we piled in, her limber fingers lingering on the key pad on the silver plated wall. 

Truthfully, I was excessively happy at being called 'cutie' but I kept my cool, barely. "Three please."

She hummed with...satisfaction? "Aha only a floor away from me then, what room?"

"303." I replied casually, expecting a flirtatious remark but when I glanced at her, she grimaced in the exact same way Sunny did as soon as the number left my lips. I'm rooming with a murderer hint number two. I was about to inquire what that worryingly common expression meant but the clunk of the elevator steered me away from the thought.

She hauled the case out for me and got back in, leaning against the wall like your typical bad girl, "Well when you get sick of her, I'd be happy to share my bed with you. I'm only a floor away beautiful, feel free to drop by anytime." As I watched the doors slide close, I certainly didn't miss the y little wink she flashed before they sealed shut. Did I just say y?

I quickly snapped out of whatever trance she had got me in after I realised I'd been staring at the elevator doors for longer than I'm proud to admit. Getting out the green card Sunny gave me, I strolled down the row of blue doors in the well lit hallway. 301, 302, here we go 303.

Deciding it was probably best to knock first before I waltzed in unannounced; I held up my fist to the wooden surface but woefully hesitated as a strong pang of butterflies filled my stomach, "Stop being such a scaredy cat, Tiffany."

A deep breath.

A short straightening of my shirt.

Another deep breath.

'Knock', 'Knock', 'knock'

-TBC-