Chapter 5 THE CALL
The rain had followed her home. It whispered against her window, steady and small, the kind that asked for honesty. Lora sat on the edge of her bed with her dress still on, heels kicked aside like a confession. The card lay on her nightstand. His name looked simple printed in black. Steve Han. Two words that carried five years of questions.
She reached for it, stopped halfway, and let her hand fall.
No. Not yet.
Her phone blinked with a message from So-ra. Still awake? Tell me you called him already.
Lora smiled without answering. The city outside hummed like a faraway argument, and for a moment she listened — not to it, but to her own pulse. She could still feel where Zack’s gaze had rested on her, quiet and sure, like he’d known she would come.
She stood, restless, walking to the small table by her window. Her apartment was a box filled with careful order: stacks of folders, framed client photos, color-coded tags that promised control. It felt too still now. She wanted movement. She wanted noise.
Her fingers brushed the card again. The texture of the paper was heavier than it should have been, like it knew its power.
She took her phone, opened the dial pad, typed the first three digits. Then stopped.
What if he didn’t mean it? What if that look was habit — the kind men in tailored suits gave out of politeness? What if she had imagined all of it again?
The thought landed heavy, and she sank into the chair. Across from her, a plant she’d nearly killed twice leaned toward the windowlight. It kept trying. Maybe that was bravery too.
A knock broke the quiet. Lora startled. It was almost midnight. She crossed the room and peered through the peephole.
So-ra. In pajamas and slippers, holding two cups of steaming something.
“You’re impossible,” Lora said as she opened the door.
“So are you,” So-ra said, brushing past her. “I brought rescue caffeine. You look like you’re in negotiations with a ghost.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re avoiding,” So-ra corrected. She handed her one of the cups. “What’s stopping you?”
Lora stared at the steam curling up between them. “What if I’m wrong again?”
So-ra sat on the couch, tucking her legs under herself. “You won’t know until you’re not.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It’s not meant to be. It’s true.” She tilted her head. “You’re scared of hope, not him.”
Lora laughed softly. “You sound like my therapist.”
“That’s because she’s right.” So-ra leaned forward. “You don’t have to leap. Just step.”
The words reminded her of the Chairman. Timing. Bravery. The rhythm of both sounded the same when spoken aloud.
She looked at the card again. Her thumb ran over the name until the ink warmed under her touch. Then she tucked it into her phone case, right behind the glass. A secret against her palm.
“I’ll think about it tomorrow,” she said.
“Coward,” So-ra teased.
“Yes.” Lora smiled faintly. “But a coward who will sleep.”
So-ra laughed, standing. “Fine. Tomorrow. And if you don’t call, I will.”
When the door clicked shut behind her, the apartment settled again. Lora undressed, hung her gown, and slid into bed. The sound of the rain softened into something like applause.
Sleep came in pieces. Every time she drifted close, his voice threaded through her dreams. If they don’t book it, find a reason to call.
By morning, the city was washed clean. Lora woke with the taste of resolve in her mouth. She made coffee strong enough to count as breakfast, tied her hair, and went straight to the office.
At the agency, the air smelled like printer ink and lavender sanitizer. Her desk was a collage of deadlines, notes, and the faint echo of last night’s courage.
“Morning, hero,” So-ra said, dropping a stack of client sheets beside her.
“Morning,” Lora replied.
“You didn’t call.”
Lora glanced up. “You’re early.”
“I’m committed.”
“So is gravity.”
So-ra rolled her eyes. “You’re overthinking again.”
“Thinking is my job.”
“Lying is too, apparently,” So-ra shot back, but she was smiling.
Lora’s computer chimed. A new event request had landed — high profile, embassy level. She opened it, scanning the email. Foundation gala, Seoul International. Her breath caught. Han Foundation Winter Gala — primary coordination requested.
Her heart kicked hard enough to make her blink.
She reread it. Then again.
So-ra leaned over. “What’s that face?”
“Nothing.” She clicked save, voice even. “Just another event.”
But it wasn’t. It was the event. The one he’d mentioned.
“Hey,” So-ra said, suspicious now. “What’s the client name?”
Lora shut her laptop a little too fast. “Confidential.”
“Oh no. Oh no no no.” So-ra grabbed her own tablet, searching through the team’s inbox. “You got him, didn’t you?”
Lora didn’t answer. Her hands were shaking.
“Lora,” So-ra groaned. “The universe is practically texting you.”
“It’s a coincidence.”
“Coincidence my foot. Call him.”
Lora shook her head, voice soft. “Now it would look like I’m excited.”
“You are excited.”
“That’s the problem.”
They went back and forth until the office noise swallowed their words — the hum of phones, chatter of planners, clatter of boxes. Lora tried to work, but the edges of her focus blurred.
At lunch she stepped out, walking without direction. The winter air smelled like exhaust and pine. Her fingers itched toward her phone again and again.
She stopped in front of a crosswalk, the light red, the crowd pressed tight beside her. In her head, Chairman Simon’s voice whispered: Ask yourself which one lets you be braver.
The light changed. She stepped forward.
Her phone buzzed. An unknown number.
She froze mid-stride, cars sighing past her ankles.
A message appeared on the screen.
This is Steve Han. I hope I’m not intruding.
Her breath caught. The world tilted slightly, every noise thinning into distance. She read it again to make sure it was real.
Then a second message came.
I realized I didn’t ask how you got home last night. Safe, I hope?
Her reply hovered under her thumb — something simple, something safe. But her fingers didn’t move.
Instead, she watched the screen, pulse hammering, waiting for something she couldn’t name.
A new bubble appeared before she could answer.
Also... I may need your help sooner than I thought.
The text ended there. No explanation. No smiley face. Just that.
Lora looked up at the gray stretch of sky and felt her heart switch from steady to sprint.
“What does that mean?” she whispered.
Her phone buzzed again.
Can we meet tonight?
The rain began again, light but certain, dotting her coat sleeve like a promise.
She typed one word. Where?
The typing bubble appeared — then vanished. Appeared again. Vanished.
Then nothing.
The screen stayed blank.
And that was when she realized someone across the street was watching her — not Steve. Someone else.
The light turned red again, and she couldn’t move.