Chapter Text
The late afternoon light slipped through the thin curtains of Momo’s room, landing across her desk. The paper beneath her pencil was already crowded with faint lines—sketches layered over sketches, erased and redrawn so many times that the page had begun to feel brittle beneath her hand.
Momo tilted her head, studying the figure she had drawn.
The model’s silhouette looked stiff. The draping looked recycled, something she's seen in a hundred magazines before. The proportions were off—subtle, but enough that it bothered her.
She clicked her tongue.
“Ugh.”
The pencil scratched across the page as she tried to fix it—adjusting the waist, reshaping the sleeve, adding folds to the fabric. She leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing as she evaluated the result.
Something still felt wrong. It looked uninspired. Unexciting. Unacceptable.
“Damn it.” She let out a frustrated groan.
She yanked the page free from her sketchbook, crumpled it into a tight ball, and tossed it toward the growing pile on the floor. It joined at least a dozen others scattered around her room.
Momo dropped her pencil on the desk and rubbed her face.
Another failure.
Momo had been stuck on this design for days.
“How do you even work in this mess?” Sana stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, staring at the disaster zone that was Momo’s room.
Fabric scraps in different colors and textures were draped over her chair and desk—silk swatches, cotton samples, pieces of denim with chalk marks on them. A measuring tape hung off the edge of her desk.
Her bed—just a thin futon mattress on the floor—was buried beneath pattern papers and fashion magazines. The small closet beside it stood half-open, clothes crammed inside and threatening to spill out.
In the corner, her sewing machine sat ready on a small table, surrounded by spools of thread and unfinished fabric pieces.
And everywhere—everywhere—were crumpled sketches.
Momo didn’t even look up.
“It's not a mess. I know where everything is.”
Sana stepped inside carefully, avoiding the magazines on the floor.
“You say that,” she muttered, glaring at the crumpled papers on the floor, “but this looks like your trash can exploded.”
Momo dragged a hand through her messy light brown hair.
“I have to submit a sketch by Friday,” she groaned. “If I don’t, I can't start on the actual dress. Then I can't meet the deadline and get demerits on the project.”
Sana sighed and bent down, picking up the cut up loose pieces of fabric on the floor and tossing them into the basket of fabric. “You’re going to trip on these and break your neck," her best friend scolded her like one of the little kids she taught in class.
Momo turned in her chair. “Thank you, mom. But can you leave me alone? You’re ruining my creative process.”
Sana snorted, gathering the crumpled pages into a neat stack.
“Momo, you’ve been stuck all week,” she said. “And I promise you it has nothing to do with the me cleaning up your floor.”
Momo groaned loudly and collapsed forward onto her desk, resting her forehead on the hard wooden surface. “I hate this."
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sound of Sana moving around the room.
Maybe Sana was right. Her head had been stuck in a ditch for the past week. Zero projects in all of her classes. She should stop avoiding her real problem and get in the right mindset again.
“Momo, what’s this?”
Momo didn’t lift her head. Instead, she lazily turned her face sideways against the desk, one cheek squished against the wood as her eyes drifted toward Sana.
Sana, standing near her bookshelf, held up a crumpled poster she must have picked up from the floor.
Momo blinked. Then her eyes widened. “Nothing.”
She jolted upright so suddenly her chair screeched across the floor.
But Sana had already read half of the poster.
“Oh no. Sana give that back!"
"Wait, I'm not done reading yet."
“Sana!”
Sana let out a surprised yelp as Momo lunged for the poster.
Instead of giving it back, she darted toward the door.
“Momo, stop!”
“You stop and give me back my stuff!” Momo shouted, chasing after her. “Satang, give that back! That’s mine!”
Sana burst out into the hallway, trying her best to out run Momo. In her haste, she ran straight into Mina. Mina had just stepped through the front door, still holding her bag from work when Sana collided into her.
“Oof!” Mina instinctively caught her by the shoulders before she could send them both tumbling to the floor.
“What is happening here?” Mina asked calmly.
Momo skidded to a stop in front of them, slightly out of breath.
“Sana took my stuff!”
“She’s hiding something!”
They both spoke at the exact same time.
Mina blinked. She raised one hand. “One at a time. Sana. You go first.”
Momo closed her eyes briefly.
Damn it.
Her secret was definitely out now.
Sana held up the poster triumphantly, handing it to Mina. “I found this in Momo’s room.”
Mina unrolled it slowly, scanning the printed text. Her eyebrow lifted. Then the other one. “Wow.”
She read further, her eyes widening. “Wow, wow.”
Mina looked up at Momo, impressed. “Momo, this is great. Are they sending you to this study abroad program? This is an amazing opportunity.”
The poster advertised a one-year international exchange program. Bunka University, the school she attended, would select one fourth-year fashion student to study in New York at Parsons School of Design for their final year. The chosen student would work alongside international designers, attend advanced design workshops, and build connections in the global fashion industry.
There was a rigorous selection process for the program, which involved tenured professors nominating one third-year student each. The nominated students had to submit several requirements, including a portfolio, and prepare for a final selection interview. This was a great opportunity, and Momo knew it—but there was one big problem.
"I was nominated but I'm going to decline." Momo sighed, crossing her arms defensively.
Mina frowned. “Why?”
“Because I’m not getting in anyway. One of the other nominees won a national design competition last year.” Momo avoided their gaze.
“So what? You’re good too. I’ve seen your designs—and I remember your project last semester. You said you were the only one who got perfect marks,” Sana said, trying to cheer her up.
Momo shook her head, reaching over and pointing to the bottom of the poster. “Even if my portfolio had a chance…”
“Ability to communicate in English, with a minimum IELTS score of 5.5.” Mina read the line out loud.
Momo slumped against the wall. “I’m terrible at English. Remember high school? I would've failed every test if it weren't for you and Sana." She groaned, gesturing helplessly. "And even if by some miracle I pass the exam, the interview panel will have representatives from Parsons and they’ll interview me in English. I can’t do that.”
Sana’s expression softened. “Is this why you’ve been down all week?”
Momo nodded quietly.
Before she could react, Mina wrapped an arm around one side of her shoulders. Sana immediately slid in on the other side, squishing her in the middle.
“Momoring, you shouldn’t give up before even trying.” Mina gently stroked her back.
“You’re talented.” Sana nodded firmly.
“In a class of one hundred twenty students, you’re one of the few that got nominated.” Mina added.
“You already beat most of your batchmates.” Sana grinned.
“So try your best.” Mina squeezed her shoulder.
“If the panel sees your talent and passion. There's no way they won't choose you.” Sana said firmly.
Momo looked up at them slowly. “Do you really think I could do it?”
“Of course!” they said at the same time.
A small smile finally appeared on Momo’s face.
“We should celebrate!” Sana clapped her hands.
“I’m ordering food.” Mina was already pulling out her phone. “Gyoza and yakitori?”
“And beer! Lots of beer!” Sana’s eyes lit up.
Momo laughed softly as the tension in her chest began to loosen.
Maybe…
Just maybe…
She could do this.
“That’s it for today." Professor Toda ended her presentation.
The room instantly stirred to life, conversations starting and chairs screeching against the wooden floor.
“For next class, read the section on textile manipulation techniques,” she announced, her sharp gaze sweeping across the room. “We’ll be doing practical exercises—pleating, draping, and fabric restructuring. You’ll need to understand the theory before we move to the studio.”
A few students groaned quietly.
Professor Toda ignored them. “If you come unprepared, you’ll waste your own time.”
That was the polite way of saying she wouldn’t help them.
“Class dismissed.”
Momo let out a quiet breath and returned her stylus back to the sleeve of her tablet. Around her, students were already packing their things, and rushing to leave the lecture hall.
She carefully placed the tablet into her bag, slung her bag over her shoulder, and stood, following the slow stream of students moving toward the door.
“Ms. Hirai.”
Momo stopped mid-step. Her shoulders stiffened slightly before she turned.
Professor Toda stood at the front of the room near a table on the corner. “Can I talk with you for a second?”
“Ah—yes.” Momo nodded quickly.
She stepped aside while the rest of the students continued filing out. The noise of their conversations slowly faded into the hallway until the room was mostly quiet.
Professor Toda walked over, folding her arms loosely. “Did you receive the email about the Parsons study abroad program?”
“Yes, I did. It was… a really big surprise. I didn’t expect to be nominated for something so prestigious.” She rubbed the back of her neck, nervous.
“I was the one who recommended you.”
Momo blinked. Then she bowed quickly. “Thank you, Professor.”
Toda waved it off almost immediately. “Don’t mention it. You earned it. Your final project last semester—the upcycled and sustainable streetwear collection—was the best one in the class. Possibly one of the best I’ve seen since I started teaching.”
Momo felt her ears heat up instantly.
That compliment carried weight. Professor Toda had a reputation throughout the fashion department. She was notoriously strict with grading and brutally honest during critiques. Many students finished her class with their dreams torn apart.
But her words mattered because she had the credentials to back them up. Before returning to Japan to teach, she had spent fifteen years working as the lead designer for a major fashion house in Paris, designing for million-dollar collections, fashion week runways, and A-list celebrities.
When someone like that praised your work… it meant something.
Momo remembered receiving her final project feedback. Three full pages of comments. She had cried while reading them. Then cried even harder when she reached the final line and saw the perfect score.
“This opportunity could help you significantly,” Professor Toda continued. “Studying abroad at a school like Parsons is valuable on its own. But more importantly, you would be exposed to different designers and creative philosophies. Every designer develops their identity through influence—through what they observe, what they absorb, and what they choose to reinterpret. Working with international designers forces you to see fashion from perspectives you might never encounter here. That experience will help you shape your own voice as a designer.”
Momo nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
Professor Toda adjusted her glasses. “The final selection will be handled by the dean and two representatives from Parsons. None of the faculty are involved. Since I nominated you, you’re free to ask me for guidance during the preparation process.”
“Thank you. Really… thank you.” Momo bowed again.
“Don’t thank me yet.” Toda gave a small amused huff. “Have you started working on your portfolio?”
“Yes. I’m compiling my best works from previous classes. I also want to include a few original designs I’ve been working on outside of school.”
“That’s good.” Professor Toda nodded approvingly. “You should also include new sketches.”
“New ones?”
“Yes.”
“Your portfolio shouldn’t just be a collection of past assignments or projects you had to made to fit someone else's requirements. It should present a cohesive image of who you are now as a designer. Your skills. Your design style. The direction you want to pursue in the future. Make them understand your identity.”
Momo nodded, committing that advice to memory. “I will.”
“Once you’ve assembled a draft portfolio, send it to me. I’ll review it.”
“That would help a lot."
“That’s all for now.” Professor Toda began gathering her things.
“Pro—Professor?” Momo hesitated.
“Yes?” Toda glanced up.
Momo fidgeted slightly with the strap of her bag. “My English… It’s not very good.”
She looked down at her shoes, avoiding her gaze. “And since it’s a requirement… I’m a little worried.”
“That’s understandable.” Professor Toda’s expression softened. “But don’t worry too much. You’ll primarily be evaluated based on your portfolio and design potential, not your eloquence in English. The language requirement exists because the classes at Parsons are taught in English. They don’t expect you to be the best speaker in the room. They only expect you to communicate well enough to participate in class discussions and critiques.”
Momo exhaled quietly. “That’s… good to hear.”
“If you’re concerned, consider enrolling in an after-school English class. Or hiring a tutor. But don’t neglect your portfolio.”
“Yes, Professor.” Momo bowed once more. “Thank you.”
She slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out of the classroom. The hallway buzzed with students moving between classes. Momo barely noticed them. She pulled out her phone as she walked. Her thumbs moved quickly across the screen.
English academy near Bunka University
The search results began appearing one by one. Momo stared at them for a moment. Then she whispered softly to herself,
I can do this.
The narrow alleyways of Koenji were quiet, but full of life and character. Small shops lined the street, their signs slightly faded from years of sun and rain. Some sold vintage clothes, others records, handmade jewelry, or old books stacked to the ceiling.
Momo walked down the familiar street, her bag slung over one shoulder.
“Afternoon, Momo-chan!” the elderly vendor from a vegetable stall called out.
“Hello, Tanaka-san.” Momo waved with a smile.
A few steps later she passed by a tiny ramen shop, the owner sweeping the front entrance.
“Good evening!”
“You finished school already?” he asked.
“Just now.”
Before starting university, Momo spent almost two years here working for her aunt. Most of the shop owners knew her by name.
She stopped in front of a small storefront with a faded wooden sign above the door.
Miku Alterations & Tailoring
The glass display window showed a mannequin wearing a neatly fitted blazer, alongside a few sample garments—skirts, trousers, and the school uniform of a nearby elementary school.
Momo slid open the door. The familiar chime rang softly.
“Auntie, I’m here!”
From somewhere deeper inside the shop, a voice answered. “Momo-chan, is that you? You’re right on time. I’m back here!”
Momo stepped inside. The shop was small but warm, filled with the comforting smell of fabric and steam from a recently used iron. One side held two sewing machines—one sitting idle, the other paused halfway through stitching a shirt. Nearby, a rack displayed clothes waiting to be altered, sleeves and hems pinned carefully with needles.
Momo walked past the displays toward the back corner of the shop, where a narrow storage area held stacks of folded fabric.
Her aunt, Miku, was bent over one of the shelves, tugging at a thick bundle of cloth wedged tightly between other bolts. It refused to budge.
“Let me help,” Momo said, stepping forward. She grabbed the edge of the fabric and helped pull it free. The folded material slid out of the stack with a soft thump.
“Ah—thank you,” Miku straightened up and brushed her hands together.
“Did Ichika not come to work today?” Momo looked around, searching for her cousin.
“She had a field trip today.” Miku shook her head. “Can you grab those two bundles too?” She pointed toward another shelf.
Momo followed her finger and pulled down two more neatly folded fabrics.
“Those too,” Miku added, nodding toward another stack.
Within a minute, Momo had her arms full.
She carried the fabrics to the worktable in the middle of the shop and set them down carefully.
“Good, good.” Miku gave a satisfied nod. Then she glanced at her niece.
“How was school?”
“Great,” Momo answered.
Miku hummed quietly.
She knew better than to expect long explanations. Momo had never been much of a talker when it came to her own life. The girl shared things when she wanted to—and stayed quiet when she didn’t.
Miku pointed toward a table by the wall. Several plastic bags were stacked there. “You can start with those. The measurements are inside each bag.”
Momo nodded.
“Oh—and Mrs. Nakano stopped by earlier. She wants to schedule a commission. She asked if you could make her a few custom Sunday dresses.”
Momo thought for a moment. “I might be free Wednesday next week. I can come by in the morning before my afternoon class.”
“I’ll let her know,” Miku replied.
Momo hesitated slightly before speaking again. “Auntie…”
“Yes?”
Momo rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly shy. “Do you think—can you give me more work to do?"
She didn’t really want to ask. These days, very few people ordered custom-made clothes anymore. Most customers who walked through the door only needed simple alterations—hemming pants, adjusting waistlines, shortening sleeves. Occasionally, a local business would request uniforms, or someone like Mrs. Nakano—who was a little old-fashioned—would ask for a handmade dress.
Her aunt was barely making enough to keep the store open, and still tried to give Momo a little work on the side so she could earn some money.
“I just… need some extra money for a project.”
Miku frowned slightly. “Not right now, dear. How much do you need?”
“It’s fine.” Momo waved her hand quickly.
Miku’s eyes narrowed, annoyed. “Don’t give me that. Spit it out.”
“There’s this… exchange program I’m applying to.” Momo sighed. “In the U.S.”
“Oh?” Miku’s eyes widened.
“It’s not final yet. So don’t tell my parents,” Momo said quickly. She shifted her weight awkwardly from one leg to another. “If I get accepted, the program is free… but I have to learn how to speak English. So I used my savings to enroll in an English academy.”
“That’s exciting!” Miku stared at her with excitement. “I already know you’re getting in.”
“Auntie…” Momo laughed nervously. Everyone had too much faith in her.
“I’m serious. If anyone deserves it, it’s you.” She placed her hand on her chin, thinking deeply. “I’ll ask around. I know a few sewing shops a few blocks down that are overwhelmed with work. Maybe they need someone to work part time.”
“Really?” Momo’s face brightened.
“Of course.” Miku patted her on the shoulder.
“Thank you, Auntie.” Momo hugged her tightly.
“Now stop thanking me and start working.” She pointed at one of the plastic bags on the table. “Those pants need to be shortened. The customer is picking them up tomorrow.”
“Yes, Auntie.” Momo opened one of the garment bags and pulled out a pair of trousers.
Then she grabbed the tape measure from the table, already slipping back into the calm rhythm of work.
The classroom was quiet except for the faint scratching of pencils and the occasional turning of pages. Momo stared at the test paper in front of her. Her temple throbbed. She rubbed it slowly with two fingers, letting out a low groan as she leaned back slightly in her chair.
Why…
She squinted at the page again.
How does she do this again?
It was only a placement exam. Just a test to measure their current English level before assigning them to the proper class. Nothing to worry about.
Except Momo could barely answer anything. It had been four, almost five years, since she graduated high school. Without practice, all that knowledge slipped into the drain.
She stared at one question again.
Choose the correct sentence:
a. I have lived here since three years.
b. I lived here since three years.
c. I have lived here for three years.
d. I living here for three years.
Momo blinked slowly.
Her pencil hovered over the paper.
Why are there so many ways to say the same thing?
She read the sentences again.
They all sound wrong.
She glanced up briefly. Around her, other students were quietly writing. Some looked relaxed. Others struggling like her. One guy near the window had already turned to the second page.
How?
Momo looked back down at her paper.
Choose the correct preposition: “I am interested ___ fishing.
a. in
b. on
c. at
d. for
Preposition?
What was that again?
Interested… on?
No.
Interested… at?
Maybe?
She pressed her pencil against her forehead.
Interested for?
Why do all four options seem correct?
English made no sense. English felt like a language that had decided to make rules just to see people suffer.
She moved to the next question.
Identify the correct article: “I bought ___ umbrella yesterday.”
a. a
b. an
Momo stared at the sentence. She remembers this.
An is for vowels. A E I O U
A for consonants.
She read it out quietly under her breath. “…An umbrella.”
Okay maybe she wasn't that hopeless…
Momo sighed and circled the answer with confidence.
Two questions later she encountered another one, stumbling block.
Choose the correct sentence:
a. I did a mistake.
b. I made a mistake.
Momo blinked.
What the fuck is the difference?!
Her pencil stopped moving. She slumped forward slightly in her chair. English wasn’t a language. It was torture.
“Okay, everyone.”
The instructor clapped lightly at the front of the room.
“Time’s up. Please pass your papers to the front.”
But she barely answered half of the question?
Momo reluctantly slid her test forward. She already knew the result.
Hopeless.
The instructor gathered the papers and stacked them neatly. “While the staff checks the results, we’ll begin with some basic exercises.”
“Let’s start with introductions.” The instructor smiled brightly. She pointed to the whiteboard and the written sentences.
My name is _____. I am from _____.
“We will say our names first, then where we live. Follow along."
“My name is Ms. Tanaka. I am from Hyogo, Japan." She demonstrated before gesturing to the first student. “Now you.”
“My name is Taiga. I am from Tokyo."
The introductions moved slowly around the room.
When it was Momo’s turn, she straightened slightly. “My name is Momo.” she tried her best to pronounce the words correctly. "I am from Kyoto.”
Ms. Tanaka nodded encouragingly. “Very good.”
The class moved on.
After introductions, they practiced simple questions.
What do you do?
What are your hobbies?
What's your favorite color?
What's the name of your pet?
Momo managed to answer some questions with great effort. After every minute and new word, her brain felt like it had reached its daily limit.
An hour later, the class ended.
“Great job today, everyone! Next class we will study about subject-verb agreement.”
Students began packing their bags. Momo stayed in her seat for a moment. She slowly leaned forward and rested her forehead on the desk. A long sigh escaped her.
She's doomed.
She lifted her head slightly and stared at her notebook. Half the notes didn’t make sense anymore. Momo slumped back in her chair. Her shoulders sagged.
How was she supposed to pass an interview in full English?
Momo left the classroom that evening feeling completely, utterly deflated.
The bar was already loud when Momo pushed the door open. Groups of office workers crowded around small tables, their laughter rising above the music playing softly in the background.
Momo shuffled inside. Her shoulders were slumped. Her bag hung loosely from one hand. She scanned the room until she spotted her friends in their usual booth near the back. Momo dragged herself over.
“Momoring!” Sana greeted brightly the moment she saw her, scooting to the side to make space. “You made it!”
Momo slid into the booth beside her. “Hi.” She offered a small smile that barely reached her eyes.
Sana immediately noticed. Her brows drew together as she studied Momo’s face. “Everything alright?”
Across the table, Mina had been quietly watching the whole exchange. She hadn’t said anything yet, but her eyes were fixed on Momo, clearly waiting for an explanation.
Momo looked between them. For a second she thought about lying. But these were the two people who had known her for most of her life. They’d see through that in seconds.
Instead, she reached for the nearest beer bottle on the table. She didn’t even check whose it was and chugged all of it in one go. Momo wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and set the bottle down.
“English sucks,” she grunted.
Sana winced sympathetically.
“Classes not going well?” Mina asked.
Momo leaned back against the booth and stared up at the ceiling, questioning her life decisions.
“I know how to introduce myself. I can ask for a glass of water. And I can name animals and colors. But actual conversations," she groaned. “Impossible.”
Sana chuckled softly.
Momo sighed heavily, rubbing her face in frustration. “The weekly evaluations came out today. I got less than half right. It’s been three weeks and I have two months before the IELTS exam. And I’m not even sure I’ll improve enough to pass.”
For a moment, neither of her friends spoke.
Then Mina leaned forward slightly. “You still have time. Language takes practice. Three weeks isn’t that long. You've barely started.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” Momo looked at her—not accusingly, just a little defeated and maybe envious. “You speak English and Chinese.”
“And a little French,” Sana added, raising a finger.
Mina rolled her eyes. “I was born in Texas. I lived there until I was ten. Of course I speak English.”
Momo grabbed Mina's wrist, leaning across the table. “Teach me.”
“What?” Mina blinked.
“You’re good at English. Please teach me,” Momo said, her voice more desperate this time. “You used to help me in high school, remember? You're the only reason I passed all those exams and graduated. Maybe you could help me again.”
“I would…” Mina sighed, moving her hand to hold Momo’s. She gave Momo an apologetic look. “I would if I could, Momoring. I promise. But I’m drowning in work right now. We have a major project, and I’ve been doing overtime almost every day. I barely even see you and Sana anymore. I don’t know if I can find the time to teach you.”
Momo understood, sinking back into her seat again. Mina had been busy lately. This was the first night this week she left the office in time. She couldn't add Momo's problems to her plate.
“But maybe you could get a private tutor, on top of your academy classes.” Mina suggested.
“I can barely afford the academy.” Momo laughed weakly.
"We’ll pay for it.” Mina waved her hand dismissively.
“No.” Momo immediately shook her head. “You two don’t even ask me to pay rent. I already feel bad enough about that.”
Sana tapped her chin thoughtfully. Then her face lit up. "I have an idea.”
Both of them looked at her.
“You should date someone who speaks English.”
“What?” Momo blinked in surprise.
“It’s the fastest way to learn a language,” Sana said confidently. “My friend in college dated a Spanish exchange student. She was speaking Spanish in a month.”
Mina snorted. “That’s a unique way to learn a language.”
“But it worked!” Sana insisted, turning back to Momo. “There must be foreign students at your university.”
Momo considered it for about two seconds. Then she shook her head violently. “I haven't dated in years. I see a pretty girl and I forget I can speak Japanese. How am I supposed to flirt in English?”
Mina leaned back, thinking. Then she snapped her fingers. “Oh.” She reached across the table. “Give me your phone.”
“…Why?”
“Just give it.”
Suspicious, Momo handed it over.
Mina quickly unlocked it and started typing. “There’s this chatting app that’s really popular in the U.S. right now. My cousins keep talking about it.”
She downloaded the app, handing Momo her phone back. “It’s anonymous. So you won’t feel shy talking to people. ”
Momo stared at the screen.
TwiceConnect
She hesitated. Then sighed. At this point, she was desperate enough to try anything.
Before she could think too hard about it, Sana suddenly clapped her hands.
“Alright! That’s enough depressing talk.” She grabbed her beer, raising the bottle dramatically. "It’s a Friday night. Let's not waste it. Cheers!”
Momo stepped back from the mannequin and stretched her arms over her head, her shoulders popping from bending over the work for too long.
She looked at the dress she’d been draping, studying how the fabric fell and folded. The bodice hugged the mannequin, while the skirt flowed in gentle layers, the different textures of the fabrics creating subtle movement.
She tilted her head, examining the way the materials interacted.
"Yeah.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “That’s good.”
She sat back on her desk, reaching for her phone. Her smile faded.
No notifications.
Momo groaned and dropped her head against the back of the chair. For the past three days she had tried using the app Mina installed. Almost twenty conversations. None of them lasted.
Every match fizzled out after just a few messages. Some got impatient as she stumbled over her words, struggling to keep the conversation going. Most only seemed interested in scoring a date, not actually talking.
One guy went even further, telling her to get off the app if she couldn’t speak English, throwing in comments that were borderline racist. Momo didn’t understand all of them, but she could feel the hostility, closing the app immediately.
She stared at the app icon again.
One more time.
If this didn’t work, she’d swallow her pride and ask Mina for a loan so she could hire a private tutor. Her stomach growled, breaking her thought process.
Right. Dinner.
Momo pushed her chair back and stood. She walked into the kitchen, tying her hair into a loose ponytail while pulling out ingredients for curry.
She opened the app again while chopping onions. The screen showed the matching button. Momo stopped thinking and just tapped it. The screen spun for a moment.
Searching…
Her heart beat a little faster for no reason.
Match found!
A chat window popped open. A message appeared almost instantly.
WatermelonPrincess21
Hello! I hope you're having a good day! 🍉
Watermelon Princess?
A woman?
Okay… Nothing to worry about yet. Just a simple hello.
She typed slowly.
PeachBarbie64
Hello. My day good. You?
The reply came quickly.
WatermelonPrincess21
Ah, it’s been… pretty uneventful, I guess. I was supposed to go out and surf, but instead I spent the entire day watching the rain ruin my plans… 😅 It’s 1 AM here and I couldn’t sleep, so I thought, hey, maybe I’ll log on and burn some time.
Momo stared at the screen. The message was long, full of words she didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Surf? Uneventful? Burn some time? Her head spun a little.
WatermelonPrincess21
…Are you still there?
I hope I didn’t scare you off with my rambling 😅
More messages came in and Momo froze, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Every sentence felt like a puzzle, and she had no idea where to start.
PeachBarbie64
Sorry… me not good English.
Momo sighed. This was usually how it went—she’d struggle to keep up and they’d close the chat, leaving her with nothing learned and a sinking feeling of failure.
WatermelonPrincess21
That's okay. Are you not from the US?
Oh. She's still here.
Momo’s shoulders relaxed a little.
US? She means America, right?
Momo stirred the curry absentmindedly while typing.
PeachBarbie64
No not America. Japan.
WatermelonPrincess21
Wow. Japan? That's far.
So why are you on TwiceConnect?
TwiceConnect? That’s the app name.
Is she asking why she's using it?
Momo frowned in concentration while typing.
PeachBarbie64
I need learn english. For scholarship. Study in America maybe.
WatermelonPrincess21
Scholarship? Wait are you still a student? How old are you?
Momo knew this one. They practiced it in English class.
PeachBarbie64
I am 23 years old.
WatermelonPrincess21
😮💨 Okay okay good.
I got scared you were like 15 or something.
15? Why is she afraid of 15 year olds?
PeachBarbie64
Sorry why?
WatermelonPrincess21
Never mind 😂
So Peach, what do you do?
Do?
Momo looked at the message.
Like right now?
She glanced at the pot bubbling on the stove.
PeachBarbie64
I cook dinner.
There was a pause.
Then—
WatermelonPrincess21
You're cute.
Cute?
Cute?! Her cute?
Before she could process it, another message appeared.
WatermelonPrincess21
I meant what are you studying in university? What's your major?
Momo tries to pick out the words she understand—university. She's not sure but she thinks Watermelon is asking her what she's studying in university.
How does she spell fashion design in English again?
Momo opened Google Translate, typing
PeachBarbie64
Fashion design. I draw clothes.
WatermelonPrincess21
That's interesting! I've never met a fashion designer before.
Also… I don't usually correct people's grammar. I promise. It's honestly fine. Kind of cute actually.
She called her cute again. Momo felt her ears warm up.
WatermelonPrincess21
But just for your learning… “I cook dinner” isn’t wrong, but usually when you talk about something happening right now, you say “I am”
Example: “I am cooking dinner.” It’s the same as saying, “I am 23 years old.”
Momo nodded, remembering her English teacher explaining the same thing. She tried applying what she learned.
PeachBarbie64
I am studying fashion design!
WatermelonPrincess21
Perfect! Great job, Peach! 🎉👏✨
Momo stared at the message, her cheeks turning into a soft pink. A strange flutter ran through her chest—she felt both nervous and… strangely proud.
Why did it feel so rewarding to hear a stranger online praising her?
Her phone buzzed again.
WatermelonPrincess21
You said you wanted to learn English. Why don't we practice? Ask me a question.
A question? Momo thought hard. She scrolled through their messages and tried copying Watermelon's messages.
PeachBarbie64
What do you do?
WatermelonPrincess21
My best friend and I own a guest house in Hawaii.
I also teach tourists how to surf.
Surf?
Momo looked it up on the internet and found a picture of a woman riding the waves.
That looked cool.
The chat continued like that. Momo read the words slowly and kept up one sentence at a time. Even when she took a second, Watermelon waited for her patiently, giving her tips to improve her English.
After a while, Momo asked.
PeachBarbie64
Why name WatermelonPrincess?
WatermelonPrincess21
"Why is your name WatermelonPrincess?"
Watermelon is a nickname my best friends used to call me when I was a kid.
Soobak. It's Korean for watermelon. I'm half Korean.
She's Korean.
Momo started forming an image of what Watermelon could look like on the other side of the screen.
WatermelonPrincess21
What about you? Why PeachBarbie?
PeachBarbie64
Peach in Japanese is momo. Momo is my name.
Fuck.
Her heart dropped straight into her stomach. The moment she sent the message, Momo realized what she had done. When she first downloaded the app, there had been a long list of rules she was supposed to follow. They were all written in English, and it had taken her hours to slowly translate them one by one.
One of them was a warning about giving out private information like exact addresses and real names.
What would happen if she broke the rules? Would Watermelon report her? What if she left the chat cause Momo broke the rules?
Her fingers scrambled over the keyboard.
PeachBarbie64
Sorry sorry I give name. Ignore please.
Please do not leave.
WatermelonPrincess21
Relax, Momo. Breath 😂
I'm here.
It's fine. I won't leave.
But Momo’s stomach still twisted.
PeachBarbie64
Sorry but rules. No names.
WatermelonPrincess21
It’s okay. That rule is mostly for privacy. Besides, you only told me your first name. There are probably a thousand Momos in Japan anyway.
PeachBarbie64
What?
Momo frowned at the screen, lost again. Too many words.
WatermelonPrincess21
My real name is Jihyo.
See? Now you know my name and I know yours. It’s fine nothing to worry about 😊
Momo slowly let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. So breaking the rule didn’t mean she would get kicked out of the app. It was okay.
Jihyo.
Before she could think properly, she typed.
Momo
Jihyo. Your name is pretty.
A new message appeared.
Jihyo
Thanks. 😊
Then another.
Jihyo
Momo is cute too.
And another.
Jihyo
You're probably cute in person too, Momo. 😊
Heat rushed to Momo’s face. Her ears burned, and she stared at the screen like it might explode.
Why did her heart start beating faster every time Jihyo called her name or called her cute?
“Momo?"
Momo jumped in surprise at the voice coming from behind her.
“Momoring, is something burning?” Mina asked from the doorway.
Momo looked up from her phone. Then sniffed the air.
“OH NO—”
She dropped the phone and rushed to the stove.
The curry had started burning at the bottom of the pan.