Chapter 1: Mina

There once was the sea which, if you didn't know was water, you'd mistake for an odd blue pavement. It was perpetually still—with soft, gentle waves rocking back and forth against the sandy shore.

***

Thankfully, the traffic isn't as horrendous today. With how smooth my commute went, I'd say I still have time to finish an episode while I'm having my breakfast. Forty-five minutes left before we clock in.

"I really can't seem to beat you, huh?" Carl, our Canadian graphic artist remarks as he plops his canvas bag onto his chair. His hair is still wet, which I assume is from bathing since summer's still a few months away. To be fair, I only live thirty minutes away from the office, while he's about an hour and a half from it. (A/N: Carl is an OC.)

I chuckle at my longstanding victory in our unspoken race of who gets to the office first. "Good morning," I mutter, offering my hash brown.

Carl shakes his head, his damp, brown hair barely moving. "No, thanks. Already ate. Plus, I'm trying to shave off a few pounds before the fitting," he says, patting his barely-noticeable pot belly.

"Ah, right. It's only...four months away, right?"

He nods and sighs, looking at his ring finger. It's hard to imagine that Carl, who I first pegged as a carefree and immature individual, would be the first to get married—his college sweetheart.

"And your parents are flying in...ninety-three days," I note before taking a sip off my iced caramel macchiato.

He hums in agreement. "You should've presented yourself as my wedding planner," Carl jests.

"You wouldn't be able to afford my services," I shoot back with a smirk.

The door swings open as our very frazzled department head, Jihyo, enters the room. Instead of a good morning, she immediately asks, "So, are we ready?"

Of course, leave it to Jihyo to pass her anxiety onto us first thing in the morning.

"Yeah, we double-checked everything last night, remember?" I turn towards her, legs crossed. She nods, staring at the floor, as if her thoughts are only half-present.

"Right," Jihyo affirms. "How about the—"

"Ji-I mean, sunbaenim...relax. We got it all covered," I assure her. Frankly, I can't recall how many times I'm tempted to drop the honorifics, since we're less than a year apart.

"Okay, okay. God, I'm so nervous," she says with a sigh before heading to her desk. Honestly, I can't blame her—this is the first project she'll be pitching without any help from the Marketing team. In other words, this pitch is a humongous step for the Creative department. "Just butt in if I manage to screw up," she adds.

Carl, being the relaxed person that he is, fails to read the room (most likely because it will only be me and Jihyo at the pitch later). "Okay, who wants to bet 5,000 won that Dahyun will be late again?" He shifts his gaze between Jihyo and me. "Come on, 5,000 isn't that much! You'll hardly miss it," Carl asserts.

"Count me in," I say, feeling optimistic that our video editor might be on time today. After all, she has about thirteen minutes and twenty-five seconds left. And, as Carl stated, 5,000 won is something you wouldn't miss.

***

"You know better than to participate in gambling," Jihyo comments as she turns on the engine. "You have the worst luck in that, so quit while you're ahead." I just shrug in response, even though it would've been nice to be 5,000 won richer. Guess I'll be having instant noodles tonight.

The car ride to the client's building is mostly silent, with Jihyo muttering the flow of our presentation and me correcting her if there are any mistakes. An hour and seven minutes left before we face the music. Thankfully, like me, Jihyo worries a lot about time.

As opposed to my earlier misfortune, the traffic isn't as chaotic as expected and we manage to make it to the destination with thirty-two minutes to spare.

Being a cosmetics brand, as I visualized, their office hits the right balance between corporate and posh. Almost everyone in the building struts in fashionable office wear—even those who look like they're just years from retirement. We make our way to the concierge, heels clacking on the creme marble tiles.

While Jihyo talks with the receptionist, I scan the environment—the ads adorning the walls of the lobby, a fountain with a statue of frolicking women right smack at the center, a slew of elevators beyond the concierge, and a courtyard straight out of a utopian movie on the other side. I wonder how much it costs to maintain this entire establishment.

My admiration of the interiors is put to a halt as Jihyo ushers me to come over, waving our ID badges.

Inside the elevator, it's just the two of us, headed over to the twentieth floor.

"Minari," Jihyo calls out. "Try not to intimidate the client, okay?"

I furrow my eyebrows at her. "What do you mean?"

"It's your stoic expression—try to look more approachable, okay?"