By the time Zoya pushed open the door to her room, her shoulders felt as if they were carrying the weight of the entire day. She dropped her bag onto the chair and walked straight to the bathroom. The cold tiles shocked her bare feet — winter was beginning here, and the air was sharp, almost biting. Nothing like Pakistan.
Back home, summer heat clung to the skin like a stubborn shadow. Allah, it's so hot… and the electricity's gone again, she would often think. What can one even say about the people running this country? Sometimes she dreamed of moving somewhere with real winters, just to escape the endless sweating.
The thought slipped away as she changed into warm clothes and stepped back into the room. Hana sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through her phone.
"Where's Ruhi?" Zoya asked.
"She's outside," Hana replied without looking up. "Talking with some hostel mates. So… tell me. How was your first day at uni? Any ragging? You know it's a senior rule."
Zoya shook her head, a faint smile softening her tired expression. "No. Everyone was fine. I think classes started a month ago, so I'm already late. Not just me — there were other new students too. Two of them were in my class today. Minji, from Seoul, and Sophia, from Morocco. They're nice. But…" She hesitated. "Like you said, ragging is a rule. Some seniors gave us typing work — part of their 'fun.' I finished mine in two days. Honestly, it was hard. My own assignments plus theirs… the work felt never-ending. But still, it's better than the kind of ragging where students make fun or play humiliating tricks."
The door creaked and Ruhi stepped inside, rubbing her hands to warm them. "So," she said, closing the door, "tell me about your first day. Any ragging?"
Zoya told her everything.
Hana finally looked up from her phone. "Do you want to have lunch?"
Ruhi nodded immediately. "I'm ready."
But Zoya shook her head. "No, I'm not hungry. I just want tea."
The two left together, chatting down the hallway. Zoya filled the electric kettle, letting the rising steam warm her hands as she waited.
After finishing her tea, she went to the bathroom to make wudu, then spread her prayer mat and offered Zuhr. When she finished, she stayed seated, raising her hands in dua, letting her thoughts spill into quiet whispers only Allah could hear.
Ya Allah… You know I am here, leaning only on Your support. I know You will never leave me alone. Here, every corner holds a new test, but if You are with me, Zoya can bear them all. Ya Allah, protect my loved ones, keep them safe in every moment. And please… fill his heart with the light of true faith. Protect him wherever he is. Keep him away from harm, and guide him to the path that pleases You.
Tears slipped down her cheeks. Ya Allah… please… protect him. Please… never let go of him.
After her dua, she made herself another cup of tea and sat by the window. The street below was busy, but her thoughts were louder.
Now, Zoya… your first priority is finding a job.
Then another thought followed: Wait — you still have some money from Pakistan. You need to open a bank account… and get a credit card. The kind you can use for everything — travel, shopping, anything.
She decided she'd ask Ruhi for help later. For now, she needed to call home. She had only called once since arriving and missed hearing familiar voices. She thought about the family members who never called back — even though she shared her new number when she landed in Busan. No one bothered to call. The thought hurt. Everyone is busy in their own life. No one needs Zoya. Her eyes grew wet again, but she forced herself to hold it together. There was no one here to wipe those tears.
In the evening, when Ruhi returned, Zoya waited until she set down her bag.
"Ruhi, I need to make a bank account," she said. "When you have time, can we go together? I also have some money to transfer… and I need to do some shopping. I don't have much won left — what should I do?"
Ruhi nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe we can go tomorrow after class. There's a bank near the main bus stop. I'll help you with the forms. Don't worry."
Her easy reassurance lifted some weight from Zoya's mind, but later she still counted the coins in her purse — just to be certain.
That evening, they all bundled up in warm coats, scarves wrapped tightly, the cold air stinging their cheeks. But when the heart wants to enjoy, it always finds a way. Zoya slung her small crossbody bag over her shoulder — just her phone and a little money inside — and followed the others outside.
The moment they stepped onto the main street, everything changed. It felt warmer — not temperature-wise, but with the energy of sizzling grills, steaming pots, and lively chatter.
Vendors stood behind bright yellow-lit carts, smoke curling upward from skewers. The smell hit them instantly — sweet, spicy, savory all at once. Thick, golden hotteok sizzled on griddles, their sugary filling bubbling. A man flipped long sticks of odeng in steaming broth, handing them to customers with cups of hot soup.
"Try this," Ruhi nudged, pointing toward a stall with dak-kkochi skewers brushed with thick red sauce. The ajumma behind the stall smiled warmly, her hands moving fast.
The street buzzed with laughter, chatter, sizzling oil, and the call of a vendor shouting the day's special.
Zoya stopped at a tteokbokki stall, watching the bright red sauce bubble like molten lava. Its spicy-sweet scent tempted her, but she stepped back.
"You're not going to try?" Ruhi asked.
Zoya shook her head. "I'm just… not sure about the meat or the sauce."
Ruhi's voice softened. "Don't worry. We'll find something safe. Remember the vegetable pancakes? And the sweet red-bean bread? No meat at all."
Still, Zoya's eyes wandered curiously to every stall. Even without tasting, she felt full — from the colors, smells, and energy alone.
They wandered further, sharing a paper cup of hot chestnuts, the shells cracking under their fingers, steam warming their hands. Somewhere, a portable speaker played soft K-ballads that blended with the breeze and the clinking of metal tongs.
Near a busy stall, Zoya spotted the new girls from class.
"Oh — Minji, Sofia," she said, "this is Hana and Ruhi, my hostel-mates."
Minji waved cheerfully. "Nice to meet you both!"
They ordered fish cakes, odeng broth, and a small box of tteokbokki before heading toward the university hostel, balancing the warm food between them.
After a few steps, Minji turned with a mischievous glint. "Hey, tell me — where are all of you from? I already know Sofia, but I want to hear from the rest."
She pointed dramatically at Ruhi like she was hosting a show.
"Let's start with you."
The group laughed, surprised at how quickly Minji treated them like long-time friends — they had only met her that morning.
"Look," Minji continued, lifting her fish cake stick like a microphone, "the five of us are meeting at this exact stall. It doesn't matter who met first — from today, we're friends. This moment is historic! I'll tell my children one day, so you all better remember this."
Sofia burst out laughing. "Children? We just came to Busan for studies."
Minji waved off the comment. "Details, details. Now — Ruhi, your turn. Hana, you're next."
They continued walking toward the hostel, chatting between bites, their laughter swirling with the evening breeze.
To be continued…
With love,
ZK 💌