The cost of coming home

Yura’s signature made the incident feel annoyingly real. Until then, I could keep the seat map in my head and call it instinct, nervousness, anything except proof. Now there are pages in my bag, and my hand keeps checking that they are still there like a paranoid person guarding a napkin from theft.

The worst part is not Yun. The worst part is that my mother heard about it and immediately offered the sensible exit. Come home. It sounded like care, and maybe it was. But underneath it, I heard the old question again: when will you stop choosing a life we cannot explain?

I wanted to snap at her. I wanted to say that coming home does not erase what happened, and flying does not make me irresponsible. Instead, I made a promise to think carefully, which is the most polished way I know to say I am afraid.

~~I almost said yes.~~

There. The private truth. For one second, the thought of Daejeon, familiar rooms, and no more jet lag felt like relief. That frightens me more than the statement. If home becomes an escape, I will let fear dress it up as wisdom.