Three Ways to Lose My Heart

The subway doors closed with a soft hiss, like they were closing a trap. Mila stood behind the yellow line, one hand on the stainless pole, the other around her phone as if the screen could keep her safe. Seoul lights bounced on the glass window. Her return flight was in about a week. She had planned everything for that week. She had planned herself.

She tapped her translation app again, even though she already knew the words. The comfort came from doing something with her hands. She scrolled her hotel booking and stared at the address like it was a charm. Then the train lurched forward and the crowd shifted.

A shoulder bumped her. A bag brushed her elbow. For one second, Mila thought it was just noise, just packed travel. Then her phone was not in her palm anymore.