Lost in Jeonju

Chapter 1 – Lost in Jeonju

The first thing Aleem noticed about Jeonju wasn’t the hanok rooftops or the promise of bibimbap the internet swore could change your life.

It was how quickly the city made him feel like a fraud.

He’d been to Korea enough times that even his passport looked tired of the stamps. Seoul had become familiar in a way that almost felt like muscle memory–lines of subway maps he could trace in his head, convenience store aisles he could navigate half-asleep, the rhythm of the language catching his ear like an old song.

But Jeonju?

Jeonju was the kind of place that didn’t care how many times you’d flown into Incheon or how many cafes you’d bookmarked on Naver Maps. It was quieter, older at the edges, and it wore its streets like it didn’t owe clarity to anyone.

And right now, with the winter sun hanging pale and indifferent above the windshield, Jeonju was winning.

“Bro,” Crystal said from the back seat, voice bright with the kind of confidence only passengers had. “Are you sure this is the right exit?”

Aleem kept his eyes on the road. His right hand hovered near the steering wheel, steady. His left thumb flicked the phone screen up, down, up–trying to make the map confess something useful.

“I’m sure,” he said. Then, after half a beat, corrected himself. “I was sure.”

Ivan, in the front passenger seat, didn’t turn his head. But Aleem could feel his gaze anyway, the quiet INTJ version of judgement–no words, just the presence of a human firewall.

“The blue line is… not aligning,” Ivan observed.

“It’s aligning,” Aleem insisted, as if saying it could force reality to comply. “It’s just… aligning differently.”

From somewhere behind, Isabelle let out a small laugh, more warm than mocking. “You mean we’re lost.”

“We’re not lost,” Aleem replied automatically.

The car’s navigation voice chose that exact moment to betray him.

“경로를 재탐색합니다.” Recalculating route.

“Ah,” Isabelle said, too innocent. “Recalculating. That’s comforting.”

Crystal leaned forward between the seats like she was about to host a talk show. “NAVEX specialist, huh? Singapore Army. Hardest navigation. And now Jeonju is your final boss.”

Aleem flicked her a look in the rearview mirror. “Don’t say NAVEX like that.”

“Like what?” Crystal grinned. “Like you’re supposed to be reliable?”

Ivan’s mouth twitched–barely. In their group, that was practically a laugh track.

Aleem exhaled through his nose. If he was honest, the teasing helped. It anchored the moment in something normal. It reminded him he wasn’t alone in this.

But he still hated it.

He hated the creeping sense that the city was slipping through his fingers. That every turn they made led to a road that looked like the last road. That the phone’s blue line had become less of a guide and more of an accusation.

He squinted at the map again, zooming in until the screen was a dense web of Hangul. His brain did what it always did when confronted with chaos: it tried to turn it into a system.

Okay. We came off the highway. We passed that bridge. There was a convenience store. There was… a sign. There was–

“Left,” the phone announced suddenly, too late. “Turn left.”

Aleem made the turn anyway, out of habit more than trust.

The road narrowed.

Then narrowed again.

Buildings gave way to low walls, the kind that looked like they’d been standing there before any of them were born. Somewhere in the distance, a cluster of bare trees scraped the sky.

The blue line on the phone spun, corrected itself, spun again like it was dizzy.

“This does not feel like an escape room entrance,” Crystal muttered.

Aleem held back a sigh. “It’s Jeonju. It’s… scenic.”

“Scenic,” Isabelle echoed, amused. “That’s one word for it.”

Ivan finally spoke again, tone mild. “You could… stop and ask.”

Aleem’s pride flared. Not because Ivan was wrong–Ivan was almost never wrong–but because Aleem had a deeply ingrained instinct to solve problems without involving strangers. Engineer brain. Systems. Logic. Control.

He had always been the one who moved first in scary escape rooms, who read the puzzle faster, who kept the group from spiraling. Being the leader didn’t come with applause–it came with the quiet responsibility of not failing.

And yet here he was, in a real city, genuinely lost.

Aleem’s jaw tightened.

Then he heard himself say, “Okay.”

The word fell out like a surrender.

He slowed the car and pulled over onto the shoulder of a wider patch of road. The engine idled.

For a moment, there was only the hum of winter air through the vents, the faint crackle of distant traffic, the soft clicking of Crystal’s nails tapping her phone screen.

Aleem unbuckled. “I’ll ask.”

Crystal leaned forward again. “Please do it in Korean.”

Aleem gave her a look. “I’m not here to perform.”

“I’m just saying. You’ve been to Korea so many times. This is your chance.”

Isabelle’s voice was soft, teasing but kind. “Be brave, NAVEX.”

Ivan didn’t say anything, but Aleem could almost hear the unspoken: You should’ve done this ten minutes ago.

Aleem stepped out into the cold.

The air hit him immediately, crisp enough to clean his lungs. The road smelled faintly of exhaust and something spicy–sweet, peppery, familiar in a way that made his stomach suddenly remember it was hungry.

He followed the smell.

A few meters ahead, by a low wall and a patch of bare winter grass, a small group of people were huddled together like they were sharing warmth. Someone had set a little tray down on the top of the wall–plastic containers, wooden skewers, red sauce gleaming thickly.

Tteokbokki.

Aleem blinked, mildly surprised by how casual it looked. No storefront. No sign. Just people eating on the roadside like they’d decided hunger mattered more than aesthetics.

They were laughing, shoulders close, hands moving as they talked. The kind of laughter that made the world feel briefly uncomplicated.

Aleem approached with the careful politeness of a stranger entering someone else’s small circle.

He raised a hand slightly. “Excuse me–죄송한데요…”

One of them glanced up. Another shifted to make room without even thinking about it.

Aleem’s Korean wasn’t perfect, but it was workable. He used it for ordering food, asking directions, being a decent human in someone else’s country.

He took half a step closer and tapped lightly on the shoulder of the person nearest the edge.

“저기… 혹시–” Um… maybe–

The person turned.

It happened in one smooth motion, like a page flipping.

A small face under a hood, hair tucked back, eyes sharp in the winter light.

Aleem’s brain stopped.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

Like someone had unplugged the part of him that translated reality into meaning.

For a second, he didn’t hear the traffic. He didn’t hear Crystal laughing in the car behind him. He didn’t even hear his own heartbeat, though it was there–suddenly loud, suddenly violent, like it was trying to get out.

Because the girl looking up at him was not just a random passerby.

She was–

No.

No, that’s impossible.

Jeonju is not– This is not– She would not–

His eyes flicked to the bridge of her nose, the line of her mouth, the shape of her gaze–familiar in a way that made something deep in his chest tighten.

He’d seen that face on screens. On stages. Under spotlights. Through camera lenses. He’d heard that voice through speakers, in earphones, in the kind of moments when you needed something beautiful to survive your own life.

He knew that face the way you knew a song you’d played too many times: by instinct, by memory, by the quiet devotion of repetition.

His stomach dropped.

His lungs forgot their job.

And then, because Aleem had survived enough embarrassment in life to develop survival reflexes, his body forced itself into motion again.

He blinked once.

Twice.

The world reconnected.

Her eyes widened slightly, then softened, as if she’d recognized the recognition.

Not in an ego way.

In a weary way.

Like this was a familiar shape of someone’s surprise.

Aleem swallowed.

His internal voice was screaming at him–That’s Mina. That is Myoui Mina. That is–

But his face stayed still.

He didn’t let it show.

He did not gasp. He did not freeze. He did not do anything that would turn her into a story she would tell later with discomfort.

He had always prided himself on control. On not being easily shaken. On being the one who kept his composure.

So he did the only thing he could do.

He made his panic smaller.

And he spoke.

“Hi,” he said in English, because his Korean had suddenly evaporated from his brain like it had been deleted.

Then, realizing how stupid that sounded, he added quickly, “Sorry. Um–hello. I… I’m a bit lost.”

The girl stared at him for a beat longer.

Then she smiled.

Not a stage smile.

Not a polished, camera-ready curve.

Something quieter. Human. Like she was amused by him, but gently.

“Lost?” she repeated, also in English. Her accent was soft, careful–but confident. Much more confident than he remembered from old interviews. It startled him in the best way.

Aleem nodded, forcing himself to breathe like a normal person. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Like the army taught you when you were trying not to die from your own adrenaline.

“Yes. We’re trying to go to an escape room.” He held up his phone, the map still spinning like it had no dignity. “But the navigation… hates me.”

One of her friends snorted. Another giggled into her sleeve.

The girl–Mina–leaned closer slightly, eyes scanning the screen. Aleem’s brain tried to malfunction again at the proximity, but he shoved it back down.

Be normal, he told himself. Be a person. Not a fan.

Mina’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. She pointed at the map with one gloved finger. “Ah… you’re here.” Her finger traced the route like it was obvious. “You have to go back. 조금… little bit. And then you take the bigger road. This one is… too small.”

Aleem stared at her finger on his screen like it was a lifeline.

He nodded fast. “Right. Yes. That makes sense.”

Crystal was going to lose her mind in the car. Aleem could already imagine it: the way she’d scream in silent disbelief, the way she’d grab Isabelle’s arm, the way Ivan would pretend he didn’t care while absolutely caring.

Aleem forced himself to keep his expression steady.

“Thank you,” he said, sincere. “Really.”

Mina’s eyes lifted back to his.

For a split second, Aleem felt like he was back in a concert crowd–except the world wasn’t shaking with bass, and there weren’t lights, and she wasn’t far away.

She was right here.

On the side of a Jeonju road.

Eating tteokbokki.

Looking at him like he was just some guy who needed directions.

It was ridiculous.

It was unreal.

And he refused to let himself ruin it.

He gave a small bow, reflexive, polite. “감사합니다.”

This time, the Korean came back, as if his brain had decided it couldn’t abandon him forever.

Mina’s smile widened a little. “You speak Korean.”

“A bit,” Aleem said. Then, because he was apparently incapable of shutting up when nervous, he added, “Not enough to not get lost.”

Her friends laughed again.

Mina’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’s okay. Jeonju is… confusing.”

Aleem exhaled softly, relief loosening something in his shoulders.

Then his hand moved before his brain could stop it.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small flower he’d bought earlier from a tiny shop near where they’d parked–something simple, a local bloom wrapped in thin paper. He’d bought it on impulse, telling himself it was “supporting locals,” the way he always did when he felt a little too tourist.

Now it felt like fate had been waiting for him to have it.

He held it out, carefully, like it was fragile.

“This is… random,” he admitted, voice low. “But I bought this earlier. To support the shop. And… you helped me, so–”

Mina blinked at the flower.

For a heartbeat, she didn’t move.

Her friends went quiet in that particular way people did when something unexpectedly tender entered the room.

Aleem felt heat crawl up his neck.

Idiot, his internal voice hissed. Why would you–

Then Mina reached out and took it with both hands, as if it mattered.

Her fingers brushed the paper lightly, not touching his skin, but close enough that Aleem’s heart tried to reboot itself improperly.

“Thank you,” she said. And there was something in her tone–soft, almost surprised–like gifts weren’t something she received without performance anymore.

Aleem nodded quickly. “You’re welcome.”

He took a step back, because he didn’t want to overstay. He didn’t want to be the kind of person who turned a favor into a moment.

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll go back and–”

He started to turn.

A small tap landed on his forearm.

Aleem stopped immediately, like his body knew before his mind did.

He looked back.

Mina had leaned forward slightly. The flower was still in her hand. Her eyes flicked briefly to her friends, who were murmuring to each other in Japanese and Korean, then back to him.

There was a short exchange between them–quick, playful, like they were deciding something on his behalf.

Mina listened, then sighed like she was pretending to be annoyed.

But her eyes were bright.

She turned back to Aleem.

“We’re going there too,” she said, nodding toward his phone. “Escape room.”

Aleem’s brain attempted to leave his body again.

“…You are?”

Mina’s friends grinned like they’d just pulled off a successful prank.

Mina lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “Yes. Same place. So…”

She paused, like she was measuring him. Like she was checking if he would make this strange.

Then she said, simply, “We can go together.”

Aleem stood very still.

Behind him, in the parked car, he could see Crystal’s silhouette pressed against the window like she was watching a live drama. Isabelle’s head was tilted, curious and delighted. Ivan’s face was turned slightly, eyes narrowed in that calm, assessing way he had when he sensed something significant happening.

Aleem swallowed.

His heart was doing that thing where it wanted to sprint, but his face remained calm. Controlled. The leader. The dependable one.

He nodded once, slowly.

“Sure,” he said, and the word came out steadier than he felt. “Yeah. Together.”

Mina smiled again, softer this time, as if she was pleased he didn’t make it weird.

“Okay,” she said.

And something about the way she said it–quiet, certain–made Aleem feel, for the first time since the map started spinning, like he wasn’t lost anymore.

Not really.

Not the way that mattered.

He turned toward the car, ready to walk back with a normal pace, a normal heartbeat, a normal life–

And failed at all three.

Because inside his chest, something was already fluttering, like a door had opened.

And Jeonju, the city that didn’t care about his experience, was suddenly holding a secret that felt impossibly, terrifyingly sweet.

He reached for the door handle.

Crystal’s face was already pressed against the glass, eyes wide.

“Aleem,” she mouthed silently. Who is that?

Aleem opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat like nothing had happened.

Then, in the calmest voice he could manage, he said, “We found directions.”

Ivan looked at him. Then past him. Then back.

“I can see that,” Ivan said.

Isabelle’s lips curved. “Aleem…?”

Crystal inhaled like she was about to scream.

Aleem started the engine.

And as Mina and her friends began walking toward them, the flower in Mina’s hand bright against the winter dullness, Aleem gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

Not because he was afraid of the road anymore.

But because he was afraid–quietly, privately–of how easily his life had just shifted without asking permission.

And he had no idea, not yet, what it would cost him.

Or what it would give him.

But he knew one thing with sudden, unmistakable clarity:

Jeonju was no longer just a city none of them had been to.

It was the place where something began.