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May woke before the alarm because her body had already decided what day it was.
Not in a dramatic way. No racing heart, no cinematic sitting up in bed. Just that pre-travel tension set into the hinges of her—jaw, shoulders, the small muscles around her eyes. She lay there for a minute with her eyes open, listening to the building hum, and pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth like she could smooth the nerves down.
Sydney was still dim, holding that soft early blue that makes everything look clean and forgivable. The blinds threw thin stripes of light onto the floor like a calendar that didn’t care what she was about to do.
Her suitcase sat open by the door, a flat mouth waiting. May stepped around it carefully, barefoot, as if it might snap shut out of spite. She’d already started the piles the night before: clothing on the bed, electronics and adapters on the desk, toiletries lined up with the honesty of an airport tray. She didn’t like clutter. She didn’t like what clutter did to her head, how it made her thoughts feel crowded.
In the kitchen, she made coffee and drank it leaning against the counter. The cup warmed her hands, she kept switching it from palm to palm like the heat was a small tether. She wasn’t savoring it. It was the ritual. Proof she was awake. Proof she could start.
Outside the window, a couple of students walked past with backpacks and easy steps like their lives weren’t split across oceans.
She checked her passport. Put it back in the same pocket of her backpack. Checked again anyway. Habit, not fear. Still, it felt like an argument with the universe: yes, I have the document. yes, I’m allowed to move.
Her phone buzzed.
Ai-oon: u awake
Ai-oon: grandma asked what time u land and then she stared at me like i failed an exam
Ai-oon: i think i’m getting graded
May’s mouth lifted before she could stop it. Ai-oon had that way of pulling a breath out of her without asking.
May: I’m awake.
May: You are getting graded.
May: I’ll resend the details. Don’t panic.
She forwarded the flight info. Times, terminal, the kind of specificity that calmed her because it gave the day edges. Her thumb hovered before the next line, like softness needed permission.
May: How are you?
A pause. May pictured Ai-oon hovering between her desk and the kitchen, trying to be normal and failing gently.
Ai-oon: i’m fine
Ai-oon: (lie)
Ai-oon: i’m excited and nervous and i spilled water on my notes
Ai-oon: my notes are stressed too
May laughed, actual sound, quiet in the early apartment.
May: Why are you like this?
Ai-oon: i’m talented
May folded a shirt into a tight rectangle, pressing the seams flat with the heel of her hand. She placed it into the suitcase like she was stacking something important. In another life she might’ve been someone who threw clothes into a bag and ran. But May didn’t run at chaos, she domesticated it. She made it small enough to carry.
May: Don’t go to the airport insanely early tomorrow.
Ai-oon: why not
Ai-oon: i will be there
Ai-oon: i will stand
Ai-oon: i will wait
Ai-oon: i will—
May pinched the bridge of her nose, smiling.
May: You will melt.
May: And you’ll be hungry and grumpy by the time I come out.
Ai-oon: i won’t be grumpy
May: You will. And then you’ll try to hide it and that’s worse.
Ai-oon sent a voice note. Bangkok came through first, traffic, dishes, a radio somewhere. Ai-oon’s voice slid into the noise like she belonged to it.
“Okay,” Ai-oon said, mock-serious. “I accept your criticism. I will arrive like a normal girlfriend. Not like a person camping in the airport. But I’m still picking you up, and you’re not allowed to argue about it.”
May’s chest warmed at normal girlfriend. Not romance. Just the role being claimed like it was obvious.
May: I won’t argue.
May: Call tonight?
Ai-oon: yes
Ai-oon: i will try to study today so we can be responsible together
Ai-oon: don’t laugh
May: I’m not laughing.
May: I’m smiling. Different.
She kept moving. Cables. Charger. The ridiculous small bottles, because airports didn’t care about love, airports cared about volume limits.
When the suitcase was full, she zipped it halfway, sat on it, and pulled. The zipper complained, then gave in. A small mechanical yes.
She looked around the apartment. Clean counters, folded laundry, the stubborn plant on the windowsill. Everything looked ordinary. That was the strange part: the room didn’t know she was leaving.
May grabbed her keys and walked out into the day like the day wasn’t loaded.
Campus was bright in a way that felt almost rude. Sun on concrete. People laughing like the world had no consequence. Air-conditioning turned hallways sterile, like learning required dryness.
May sat through class and took notes even as her mind drifted to concrete images: the bite of a suitcase handle into her palm, the first shower back in Bangkok where the water pressure would be familiar and imperfect, Ai-oon’s hands on a steering wheel. She didn’t do fantasy scenes. She did logistics. Logistics were safe.
Between classes she ate quickly. Something bland, something that wouldn’t argue with her stomach later. Her body was already preparing for disruption.
Her phone buzzed.
Ai-oon: grandma packed snacks
Ai-oon: she said “May will say she’s not hungry”
Ai-oon: and i said “yes”
Ai-oon: and grandma said “exactly”
Ai-oon: i’m losing every argument in this house
May stopped near a bench. The sun warmed her arm through her sleeve. For a second she could almost smell Bangkok through the screen—oil, garlic, humidity.
May: Tell your grandma she’s terrifying.
May: And thank her for me.
Ai-oon: she said “good” to terrifying
Ai-oon: and “of course” to thank you
May smiled and felt something soften. Not sentimentality. Relief. Being cared for by extension.
Later, her phone buzzed again.
Ai-oon: i cleaned my room
Ai-oon: by cleaned i mean the closet is now suffering
Ai-oon: i found ur hair tie under my bed AGAIN
Ai-oon: explain this mystery
May: My hair tie has free will.
May: Keep it.
May: Also—eat today. Don’t live on nerves.
Ai-oon: ok mom
May laughed for real.
May: Don’t call me that.
May: I’m your girlfriend who doesn’t want you to get a headache.
The reply came slower, like Ai-oon read it twice.
Ai-oon: ok
Ai-oon: girlfriend noted
Ai-oon: i ate already
Ai-oon: grandma watched me like a guard
May pictured Ai-oon at the table, pretending she didn’t care, her grandmother seeing straight through her anyway.
May: Good.
May: I’ll call tonight.
Back at her apartment she cleaned in short bursts. Wiping, folding, taking out trash, checking the stove even though she hadn’t used it. The suitcase waited by the door, quiet and accusing.
Night came and the quiet arrived like a question.
She called Ai-oon.
Ai-oon answered quickly. Cross-legged on the floor, back against her bed, hair half tied, eyes too bright.
“Hi,” Ai-oon said. Not teasing. Just there.
May felt her shoulders loosen like her body recognized safety.
“Hi,” May said. “You’re awake.”
“I’m always awake,” Ai-oon said. “Bangkok doesn’t let you be peaceful.”
May smiled. “How was today?”
“I tried to study. I failed. I cleaned. I pretended cleaning is studying. Grandma cooked. I ate. I paced like a nervous dog.”
May’s smile widened. “That’s a lot of activity.”
“It’s not productive,” Ai-oon admitted. “But it’s real.”
May nodded. “I get it.”
Ai-oon watched her, steady. “How are you really? Don’t give me the campus version.”
May exhaled slowly. “I’m tired.”
Ai-oon waited. That waiting always made room.
May continued, because the room was there. “Not upset. Not scared. Just… my body knows it has to do the airport thing. I hate the airport thing.”
“You hate being processed,” Ai-oon said. “Like you’re paperwork.”
“Yes,” May said, relief flashing across her face. “Exactly.”
Ai-oon leaned closer. “Okay. Tomorrow you don’t have to be charming. You don’t have to be ‘fine.’ You just do the steps. And I’ll be on the other side.”
May squinted. “Don’t make it sound like you’re rescuing me.”
Ai-oon grinned. “Not rescue. Logistics. I’m good at logistics when it’s you.”
May laughed quietly. “Are you?”
Ai-oon counted on her fingers. “Car. Water. Home. Food. Grandma. That’s five logistics.”
May’s face softened. “Thank you.”
Ai-oon’s grin faded into something more serious. “Can I tell you something?”
“Okay.”
Ai-oon picked at her shirt, then stopped. “Sometimes on the phone I feel like I can’t fully reach you. Not because you’re cold. Just because you’re holding yourself together. I understand. But sometimes I worry you’ll arrive and you’ll still be far away inside yourself.”
May didn’t get defensive. She just got honest.
“I’m not far from you,” May said. “I’m far from everything. That’s different.”
Ai-oon’s shoulders lowered.
“When I’m tired, I get quiet,” May said. “It’s not you. It’s my brain trying not to snap at the world.”
Ai-oon nodded. “Okay.”
May hesitated, then chose softness on purpose. “But I’ll try to show you I’m still here. So you don’t have to guess.”
Ai-oon’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to perform.”
“I’m not performing,” May said. “I want you included.”
Ai-oon smiled like she wanted to keep that sentence somewhere safe. “Deal.”
May glanced toward her suitcase. “What time are you leaving for the airport?”
Ai-oon’s face went innocent. “A respectable time.”
May laughed, affectionate. “Define respectable.”
“Early enough I don’t panic,” Ai-oon said. “Not so early I become a dried fish.”
“Good.” May paused. “And please don’t hold a sign.”
Ai-oon looked wounded. “You hate fun.”
“I love fun,” May said. “I hate being a spectacle.”
Ai-oon nodded solemnly. “Okay. No sign.”
A beat.
“Just my face,” Ai-oon added. “Unfortunately.”
May’s smile lingered. “I like your face.”
Ai-oon froze.
May noticed and added quickly, almost embarrassed, “Don’t make it weird.”
Ai-oon laughed softly. “I won’t. I’m normal.”
“You’re not,” May said, fond.
They talked longer than necessary. Traffic routes, food, whether May wanted a shower first. Ordinary talk that made the distance feel like a solvable problem.
When May finally said she’d sleep, Ai-oon didn’t tease.
“Text me when you land,” Ai-oon said. “Just landed. That’s enough.”
“Okay,” May said.
“And May?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m really happy you’re coming.”
May didn’t dress it up. “Me too.”
The airport was cold and bright and full of people pretending they weren’t fragile.
May moved through it with practiced calm. Check-in, security, shoes off, laptop out. The tray swallowed her things like a small tax, your watch, your belt, your dignity. She watched strangers hug goodbye, watched someone cry silently into a hoodie, watched a couple argue and then hold hands anyway. Everyone performing “fine.” Everyone failing in human ways.
There was an absurdity to it. This massive machine of lights and rules, and inside it people carrying their private lives like contraband.
At the gate, May drank coffee that tasted like obligation. Her hands were dry from sanitizer; she rubbed her thumb over her knuckle absent-minded, like friction could keep her in her body. She texted Ai-oon once.
May: Boarding soon.
May: Sleep. Don’t stress.
May: I’ll message when I land.
Ai-oon: ok
Ai-oon: grandma says safe flight
Ai-oon: i say don’t get swallowed by the airport
On the plane, time turned thick. Broken sleep. Plastic water. A stiff neck. The flight map glowing like it meant something.
When they landed, relief came first, physical. Bangkok air hit her as soon as the doors opened: warm, humid, alive. It wasn’t poetic. It was just real. Her skin remembered it.
Immigration took forever. Baggage claim took longer. The carousel turned like it didn’t care about anyone’s urgency.
Finally, signal.
Ai-oon: i’m here. take your time. no rush.
May exhaled and walked toward the doors.
The arrivals hall was a living thing. Wheels, voices, bright lights that made everyone look a little unfinished. People held flowers. People held signs. People held their breath.
May walked out with her travel face still on, neutral, slightly blank, saving energy. Her eyes swept the crowd automatically.
And then she saw Ai-oon.
Not in the center where the loud reunions happened. Slightly off to the side near a pillar, like she’d tried to choose a calm spot and failed to look calm anyway. Her posture gave her away. Alert, waiting, trying to keep it together by standing very still. One foot kept tapping lightly against the floor.
Ai-oon saw her and her whole face changed, relief first, then something softer that made her look younger.
“Hi,” Ai-oon said, careful, like she remembered May didn’t like being rushed.
May’s voice came out rough from the flight. “Hi.”
Ai-oon laughed, quiet and shaky, like it wasn’t a joke—like it was air leaving her lungs after hours of holding it. “You made it.”
“Barely,” May said. “My brain is delayed.”
“Delayed is fine,” Ai-oon said immediately. “Delayed is still you.”
May blinked at that. Her mouth lifted. “How long have you been here?”
Ai-oon’s eyes darted away. “A normal amount.”
May raised an eyebrow.
“Okay,” Ai-oon sighed. “Slightly non-normal. But I didn’t suffer. I just watched strangers reunite and pretended I wasn’t jealous of strangers.”
“That’s extremely you,” May said, and it came out warmer than she expected.
Ai-oon nodded, accepting it like praise. “Yeah.”
Then Ai-oon’s gaze flicked over May’s face, quick and concerned, like she was checking for cracks. “How are you?”
May could’ve said tired and left it there, but she saw Ai-oon’s hands—how they hovered like they didn’t know what was allowed yet. So May chose to be braver.
“I’m tired,” she said, “but seeing you helps.”
Ai-oon’s shoulders dropped. “Okay.”
Ai-oon reached toward May’s bag slowly, offering, palms open like a question. “Can I?”
May hesitated out of habit, then let go. “Yeah.”
“Thank you,” Ai-oon murmured, like she meant more than the bag.
May stepped closer. The space between them shrank to nothing, and it wasn’t dramatic, it was instinct, like her body recognized home before her brain did.
Ai-oon didn’t grab her. She asked, low, “Hug?”
May nodded once.
Ai-oon wrapped her arms around her and held her like she’d been waiting all day to make contact. Not a quick airport squeeze. A real hold. May’s hands hovered for half a second, then settled, one palm firm between Ai-oon’s shoulder blades, the other hand catching at the fabric of Ai-oon’s shirt like she needed proof it was real.
Ai-oon’s breath hitched once against May’s shoulder, then went slow.
May didn’t pull away quickly. She stayed. Let herself be held. Let herself press her forehead briefly to Ai-oon’s hair, eyes closed. The world kept moving around them; someone’s suitcase wheel rattled past; an announcement echoed. It didn’t matter.
When they finally separated, Ai-oon kept one hand lightly at May’s elbow, not gripping. Just there, like a steady rail in a crowd.
May looked at her properly, close enough to see the small tiredness under Ai-oon’s eyes. “Did you sleep?”
Ai-oon made a face. “A little.”
May’s thumb brushed Ai-oon’s wrist once, absent-minded, a small check-in. “Eat?”
Ai-oon’s mouth twitched. “Grandma made me.”
May’s eyes softened. “Good.”
Ai-oon shifted like she couldn’t hold something back anymore. “Okay. Confession.”
May’s eyebrow lifted. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do it,” Ai-oon said quickly. “But I almost did. And then I did a smaller version.”
May narrowed her eyes. “Ai-oon.”
Ai-oon reached into her tote bag like she was pulling out contraband. She produced a folded piece of cardboard—small, not the huge embarrassing kind—kept low at waist level so it didn’t announce itself to the whole terminal.
She opened it just enough for May to read:
METAVEE (DON’T RUN)
in smaller letters underneath: I’M HERE.
May stared at it for a beat.
Then her mouth twitched, and she had to look away to hide the smile that came too easily.
“You’re unbelievable,” May said.
Ai-oon looked instantly guilty. “I know. I’m sorry. I told myself no sign. And then I thought, okay, tiny sign. Private sign. Like… for us.”
May took the cardboard from her hands and held it for a second, fingers tracing the marker lines like it was something she could keep.
“You wrote ‘I’m here,’” May said softly.
Ai-oon shrugged, trying to play it off. “Because you hate speeches.”
May looked back up at her. Her eyes were tired, but warm. “I do.”
Ai-oon swallowed. “So… too much?”
May shook her head. “Not too much.”
Ai-oon’s face softened, relief flickering again.
May folded the sign and handed it back. Their fingers touched, and this time May didn’t pull away immediately. She squeezed once—small, deliberate.
Ai-oon went still for half a breath, like that squeeze landed somewhere deep.
“Okay,” May said, practical again because she needed it. “Let’s get out of this place before I start hating everyone.”
Ai-oon laughed quietly. “Yes, ma’am.”
They started walking. Ai-oon carried the bag with one hand and kept her other hand near May’s, close enough that it was obvious what it wanted. May glanced at it, then slid her fingers into Ai-oon’s like it was the simplest decision in the world.
Ai-oon’s hand tightened gently, like she was trying not to show how much that mattered.
May leaned slightly toward her as they moved through the crowd, shoulder brushing shoulder. It wasn’t performative. It was just how you walked when you didn’t want space anymore.
Ai-oon didn’t make a joke this time. She just lifted their joined hands and pressed a quick kiss to May’s knuckles, fast, small, like a punctuation mark before the world could look too hard.
May’s eyes widened, then softened. “Ai-oon.”
Ai-oon looked guilty again. “What? It was tiny.”
May shook her head like she was annoyed, but her thumb rubbed once over Ai-oon’s fingers. “You’re lucky I missed you.”
Ai-oon grinned. “I know.”
A car horn sounded somewhere. A family shouted happily nearby. A luggage cart clattered. Life kept moving.
Ai-oon squeezed May’s hand once. “Come on. Car’s this way.”
May nodded, still holding on. “Okay.”
They moved through the sliding doors and into the heat. Bangkok hit like it always did, humidity, exhaust, the messy brightness of daylight bouncing off concrete. May’s skin went damp almost immediately. Ai-oon adjusted her grip on the bag, angled her body to shield May from a passing trolley without making a production of it.
At the curb, traffic crawled in that controlled-chaotic airport way. Drivers leaned on horns like it was a language. Ai-oon led her to a small sedan tucked into the pickup lane, then opened the passenger door with the quick, practiced motion of someone who’d rehearsed this in her head.
“Water,” Ai-oon said, like it was the most important thing. She leaned in and pulled a bottle from the cup holder. The cap made a small crack when she twisted it open—sharp, clean, satisfying.
May took it with both hands and drank. The water was cold enough to feel like a reset. She swallowed slowly, then again, and the tightness in her throat eased a little. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been dry.
Ai-oon hovered for half a second, then stopped herself, stepping back so May could get settled without feeling watched. But her eyes stayed on May anyway. Quiet, careful.
“Seatbelt,” Ai-oon reminded her, automatically.
May huffed a tired laugh. “Yes, officer.”
Ai-oon grinned, relieved at the sound. “I’m serious.”
“I know.” May clicked it in. The belt pressed across her chest, firm and real, like the world finally holding her in one place.
Ai-oon shut the door gently, not slamming it like the airport air had made her impatient. She walked around the front of the car, and May watched her through the windshield. The way she moved fast but tried to look calm, the way she checked for oncoming cars twice, the way she glanced back like she couldn’t help it.
When Ai-oon got in, the cabin filled with the cool breath of the A/C. The door thumped closed and, for the first time all day, the noise outside dulled.
Ai-oon put the key in, started the engine. The radio flickered on. Some announcer voice, too cheerful, and Ai-oon turned it off immediately.
“Sorry,” Ai-oon said. “Too much.”
“Good choice,” May said, and her voice sounded more like herself now. Less airport.
Ai-oon rested her hand on the steering wheel, then looked over at May properly, like she was checking one last time that this was real.
“Still okay?” Ai-oon asked.
May took another sip of water. She rolled her shoulders once, slow, letting her muscles unclench. Then she reached over and placed her hand on Ai-oon’s forearm, just a brief contact, warm skin on warm skin, a quiet yes without fanfare.
“I’m okay,” May said. “I’m here.”
Ai-oon’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Okay.”
She pulled the car forward into the line of vehicles, inching toward the exit. May watched the arrivals doors slide open and shut in her side mirror, people spilling out into the heat with their own luggage, their own faces tight with waiting.
Ai-oon signaled, merged, and the airport loop began to fall away behind them.
May exhaled, long and unforced this time, and leaned her head back against the seat. The seat felt solid under her shoulders. The A/C hummed. The city waited outside the windshield like it always did, indifferent and familiar.
Ai-oon kept one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over to rest on May’s knee for a second. Light pressure, then a small squeeze like punctuation.
May turned her head, looked at her.
“You’re really here,” May said, not amazed, just steady. Like she was reminding herself.
Ai-oon’s mouth lifted. “Yeah,” she said. “I told you.”
And then, because Ai-oon was Ai-oon, she added, “Also… don’t run.”
May’s laugh came out soft and tired, but real. “Drive.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ai-oon said, and the car carried them out into Bangkok traffic like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.