Chapter 11.2

Chapter 11.2

The man, sitting with his legs naturally spread and arms crossed in a perfectly disciplined manner, seemed deep in thought, his eyes half-closed. His expression, etched onto his sculpted, handsome face, was so cold that Miran was hesitant to say a word.

His biceps, as thick as Miran’s thighs, stretched the sleeves of his shirt taut. Veins ran down his muscular forearms, which were exposed by his rolled-up sleeves, looking like gnarled tree roots. The contours of his thigh muscles were clearly visible under his pants, almost brushing against Miran’s leg.

Why this big, intimidating man had obediently followed her remained a mystery.

With a hiss of the brakes, the bus stopped. As the door opened, Miran fell into deep contemplation.

‘Should I just run?’

But escaping meant getting past the man’s long legs. Before she could act on her wavering resolve, the bus doors closed again.

Miran sighed and leaned back in her seat. She had come too far to back out now. She had brought the man here for her own needs, and she couldn’t just abandon him on the bus now that she’d changed her mind.

But the man was the most silent person Miran had ever met. His heavy presence and the language barrier made her feel like she was sitting on pins and needles. Her only reference for Americans came from movies and TV shows.

A typical American, she thought, should flash at least sixteen gleaming white teeth and crack jokes with strangers even in a crisis.

But this man understood her clumsy mix of English and Korean and responded with short “yes” or “no” answers, making no effort to converse. Not that the silence was entirely bad.

“At least he’s not trying to talk to me in English.”

Miran rated her English skills as ‘average.’ Thanks to her college education, she could read and write, but her listening and speaking skills were poor.

It wasn’t entirely her fault. Even among her college-educated peers, fluent English speakers were rare unless they were from the Orange Tribe, who had special circumstances like growing up abroad or having private tutors from a young age.

Miran was no exception. She could convey what she wanted using gestures and a mix of English and Korean, but interpreting responses was another hurdle.

Explaining that she wanted him to help her practice her script seemed impossible. It might actually be easier just to say, “Enjoy one night, okay?” and jump him.

She briefly regretted following Jieun’s advice to come to Itaewon.

[This stop is Poi Crossing Station. The next stop is Sanho Mulsan. This stop is Poi Crossing Station.]

Startled, Miran pressed the square exit button beside the window. A red light lit up, indicating the bus would stop.

“My house is in Poidong. We get off here. Okay?”

“Okay,” André replied briefly. Miran tilted her head and muttered to herself.

“Can he only say ‘okay’ in English? No, he spoke well with his friend.”

Hearing her, André suppressed a laugh.

‘Deviant.’

There was no better word to describe tonight. He felt like he was in a daze. When he landed at Gimpo Airport and took a taxi, he never imagined he’d end up following a stranger to Poidong. He glanced out the window.

‘Where the hell is Poidong? D@mn you, Jared Hamilton.’

He was paying the price for doing something out of character. If he hadn’t impulsively gotten out of the taxi at Itaewon Intersection and instead went straight to the hotel, he wouldn’t have lost his bag. He’d be relaxing in the shower, unwinding from his journey.

Besides, he still hadn’t found a clear answer to the question that had been nagging at him.