All right, hope this satisfies y'all!

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You slam the apartment door behind you as you rush out into the hallway, briefcase in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any traffic today. Of all the days to be running late, why did you have to pick the day you were first chairing your very own case? You jam your finger against the elevator button, cursing fluently under your breath as the numbers on the floor panel slowly tick up.

“Yes,” you shout as the elevator finally reaches the penthouse floor. Before the doors even open, you’re shouldering your way inside, burning hot coffee spilling over the rim of the cup. “Yeowch!”

You nearly scrub your hand against your shirt but stop at the last moment. While it’s one thing to be a bit late, it’s another thing entirely showing up in a soiled suit. Your case partner told you that the judge assigned to this trial was a stickler for decorum. But before you’re completely in the elevator you realize it’s actually full, for the first time in months.

“Um, hi, sorry!” you mumble as you step aside and let the primly dressed real estate broker and his client exit. The broker simply huffs and doesn’t give you a second look, but the client, a slim woman wearing oversized sunglasses and a grey fitted dress stops and stares at you. You can’t tell what she looks like underneath her sunglasses, only that it gives you the creeps when she doesn’t stop looking your way.

“Er, can I help you?” you stammer, one foot in the elevator, arm with the briefcase holding open the doors. But at your question, the woman shakes her head and breezes after the broker. You let the doors slide shut and start the descent down seventy floors to the ground. When the doors chime open, you rush out.

“Hey, Louie, are there finally buyers looking at the other apartment on my floor?” you call out to the front desk manager as you walk into the gorgeous foyer.

“Yeah, some famous art collector from Korea is interested. I think she’s actually up there right now, with her agent,” he cheerily says from behind a newspaper.

“Oh, interesting. Do you know her name?”

He peers at you over the top of the paper, his brow wrinkled. “Hm, it was foreign sounding,” he puckers up his forehead, trying hard to remember. “Something with a ‘s.’ It sounded like Susan? Sujun? Sorry, I could look it up for you though and have it emailed later if you’d like?” He sounds apologetic and you wave him off.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ve gotta run, first case today!”

“Aye good luck! Go show them why you’re New York’s best lawyer!” he yells after you, a fist raised in the air for support. You grin and flash him a thumbs-up before throwing yourself through the rotating doors and hailing a cab.

--

The case finishes smoothly—you weren’t even late. The judge granted your motion to dismiss the entire lawsuit because the other side didn’t state their claim. Your client gave you a huge bear hug and promised to retain your law firm for the foreseeable future. The managing partner of your firm called you after and congratulated you on handling your first trial. And best of all, your favorite burger place gave you extra caramelized onions free of charge after you flirted a bit with the hot waitress.

What a wonderful day.

I made it, you think to yourself on the ride back home. The thousands of lights in New York City seem to sparkle extra brightly tonight, and you find yourself in an almost delirious sort of happiness. Twelve years ago, you had left your home and tried to make it in New York. After many ups-and-downs, you managed to get into law school, graduated, and worked insane hours to make it to partner level. You’re the highest billing partner, and there were whispers at your firm and across other firms that you had the biggest book of business in the city. With your money, you were able to take care of your family and friends, start a scholarship for kids back at your local high school, and also treat yourself. Somehow, luck and hard work paid off for you.

The cabbie lets you off in front of your building and you tiredly climb out. All you’re looking forward to is a hot bath in your infinity tub overlooking downtown Manhattan. You can see the Statute of Liberty from your bathroom through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The thought of relaxing with a nice cup of hot chocolate makes you quicken your step and you push your way through the doors and to the elevators. Louie’s off duty now, replaced with an unfamiliar face but you politely nod as he lets you through the locked glass doors to the elevator bank.

While you’re waiting for the elevator, you pull out your phone and scroll through the news. Behind you, you hear the glass doors hiss open as someone else steps in to wait for the elevator. Two pointy black shoes enter your field of vision and you absentmindedly wonder how anyone’s feet could fit into heels that narrow.

“Hi,” a shy voice says.

You look up.

Instantly, it’s as if you’re twenty-two again, and you’re looking at the most beautiful girl you've ever seen, the same one who gave you that encouraging smile from across the dance floor all those years ago.

“I’m your new neighbor,” she quietly informs you.

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Your lungs aren’t working properly anymore, and you can’t draw in a breath. But it’s okay because she’s the one walking toward you with the exact expression you're feeling on her face. And from how she throws her arms around your neck and buries her face in your shoulder, you know she’s happy too. 

“Welcome--welcome home, Krystal.”

--

Fin.