Anya:

  As my arms close in on his sturdy frame, I’m simultaneously delighted that I had the guts to hug him, yet wondering what the hell I’m doing.

  This kind of public display of affection is so unlike me, especially—oh my god—with a stranger. But, for some unknown reason, I just can’t help myself. It was the only thing I could think of to thank him. Admittedly, I didn’t need to go in for the full-on hug, but now that I have, I’m pretty sure he’s going with it. And is it my imagination, or is he actually hugging me back? Is he enjoying this as much as me… OK, now how do I stop myself before things get weird?

  Luckily, he pulls away just before things get awkward, and he turns to me in surprise. I feel my cheeks burn again.

  “I’m so sorry! I—”

  “No apology necessary,” he says smirking, and it makes me blush again. He has the most amazing smile. I can’t help noticing that his lips have a prominent cupid’s bow and wonder what it would feel like to kiss them.

  Good God. Get a hold of yourself, Anya, I scream at myself.

  Am I totally losing it or I’m acting like a love-sick teenager?

  “I’m really not myself today. I’m sorr—”

  “Stop apologizing. It’s fine, really,” he chuckles.

  “Sorr—” I catch myself before saying it again. “I guess it’s the Canadian in me,” I say, laughing awkwardly.

  “Canadian? Yes, that does explain it.” He continues to smile while he grabs his luggage from the overhead compartment. “I haven’t met many Canadians but the ones I have encountered have the same habit. So that makes sense.”

  He pulls out a pristine white Saffiano leather carry-on and sets it down in the aisle. The man has a taste for the finer things in life, and I can’t help but gawk before introducing myself.

  “I’m Anya. Anya Harris, by the way.” I extend my hand to shake his as we wait momentarily in our seats for the plane door to open.

  “Anya. That’s a beautiful name. Dr. Taeho Kim, but Taeho is fine.”

  He takes my hand to shake but before releasing it he says, “Shaking your hand feels slightly pointless given how many times we’ve held hands during the flight.”

  He’s not wrong, but the heat radiates from my face once again. Now, I’m completely flustered, so I whip my hand out of his.

  God, how can you even come back from this now? I think. He clearly thinks you’re an idiot.

  “Don’t worry. I’m just joking,” he says chuckling, as if he could read my thoughts.

  I stare back at him for a moment, admiring his dimples, but at that moment the line of passengers starts to move down the aisle and someone bumps into Taeho. I see him moving towards me as if space and time have slowed, and as he gets closer his gaze falls onto me for what feels like an eternity. His eyes sparkle slightly as they gaze into mine— my heart flutters and my breath hitches.

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  After what feels like minutes, but is probably only seconds, an elderly woman clears her throat and signals to Taeho to go in front of her. Taeho looks away and clears his own throat before straightening and stepping out into the aisle. Our moment’s gone and the world comes back into focus.

  What the heck was that? I think.

  I slip in behind him and as we make our way down to the exit, I can fully take in his stature. He’s distinguished and confident. He’s definitely the whole package: gorgeous, tall, fit, and must be intelligent as he’s a doctor. But there’s more to him than that. Not many people would be so kind to a total stranger as he has been to me. And to think I spent most of the flight asleep when I could have been getting to know him better.

  I can’t help mentally berating myself: Way to go, Anya. You could have spent the flight talking to a hot guy and now he’s only going to remember you as the blubbering panicky woman he had to “save” on his flight home. God, you’re such an idiot.

  Taeho steps onto the jetway, but before I can say a proper goodbye to him, the flight attendant stops me before I can follow.

  “You seemed a little off-colour earlier, is everything ok?” she asks with that fake smile again.

  “Oh, yes, I’m fine. Thanks for the water by the way.”

  I try to turn away, but her next statement catches me off guard.

  “You’re welcome. Although you seemed in safe hands. It must be such a relief to have a husband like that to rely on.”

  I’m about to step out onto the jetway myself, but I pause when the attendant’s last words sink in.

  “Husband?” I’m obviously confused considering I couldn’t be any more single if I tried.

  “The guy sitting next to you said you were his wife when I got you your water?” Now, she’s just as confused as I am.

  He said what now? Why in the world would he say that? We sat next to each other for a few hours and he had the audacity to claim I was his wife! Who exactly does he think he is?

  Don’t get me wrong, that kind of arrogance makes me angry. But I feel I’m not as angry as I should be, and I have to wonder why. Maybe because the thought of being that total hottie’s wife doesn’t sound so… terrible.

  There’s nothing else to say right now though, so I thank her, apologize again for my ‘episode’, and disembark.

  As I walk through the long jetway, a single word is stuck in my brain.

  Husband.

  It’s funny. I was supposed to have one exactly a year ago today. But catching Lucas in the act with my best friend and maid of honor, Katie, was a teeny bit of a vibe killer. I’ll be honest, I’d expected to be able to laugh it off by now, but twelve months later and I can’t even think about it without becoming overwhelmed by feelings of hate, sadness and loss. That’s what’s driving me crazy.

  How ironic that on the anniversary of the day I was supposed to say “I do”, I gained a “husband” for a while. For the first time, the thought of having a husband, or maybe just Taeho as an imaginary husband, makes me smile. It’s a fleeting feeling, but it’s nice all the same.

  Names are being called on the airport speakers for departing flights and it pulls me back to reality. Once out of my gate, I make my way to baggage claim, and I’m reminded again that wherever I’m going, I’m going husbandless. No Lucas. No Taeho. Just me—on a marriage-free journey, and right now, I have to navigate my way through this busy airport.

  Despite this knowledge, there’s a little skip to my step and I crane my neck around the line in front of me to see if there’s any sign of Taeho up ahead. I should really thank him again before he disappears into the hustle and bustle of the airport. I know I already hugged him earlier but that was a knee-jerk reaction to landing safely. I could say a proper thank you with a little more poise this time, and maybe redeem myself a little.

  The trouble is I have no idea which direction he headed in. If he only had a carry-on, he wouldn’t have had to wait in baggage claim, like me. I scan the heads in front of me, but it’s no use. The airport is so crowded I wouldn’t even know where to start. I sigh and give up the hunt.

  I feel a pang of loss at the thought of never seeing him again. But if I’m honest, what else was there to say, really? He’s a doctor, after all. He probably doesn’t even actually care about me. He was just doing his job.

  I try to put a positive spin on my thought spiral:

  You’re not here for this. Just grab your damn bags and get to your bed-and-breakfast. Forget about him. You’re in South Korea for you, remember? Time to focus on yourself and get back to reality.

  ?Sky Mincharo