Destiny | KTH

Chapter 5

I stand on the stage, smiling as I accept my master's degree. The applause is thunderous, but one clap stands out among the rest—my dad's. Of course, I am his daughter. His pride is palpable, and it warms my heart.

As I walk off the stage, I head straight to my dad, holding out my degree for him to see. He beams, his eyes shining with pride. "Congratulations, sweetheart," he says, enveloping me in a hug before handing me a money envelope. It's a tradition in our family to give a monetary gift for such achievements. I bow to him respectfully and accept it with both hands.

I slip my hand into my pocket, feeling the familiar weight of my phone. I pull it out and glance at the wallpaper—a picture from my bachelor's degree celebration. Sohee, Minie, and I are all smiling brightly in the photo, arms around each other, our faces flushed with joy and excitement. I remember that day vividly.

Sliding up to unlock the phone, I navigate to my contacts and pause as I see their names. Sohee and Minie. I had unblocked them a week after our falling out, but they hadn't reached out. It's been more than two years now, and there's been no contact from them. I tried calling them once, but they didn't pick up. I haven't tried again since. It's a matter of self-respect, I tell myself. I can't keep chasing after people who don't want to be in my life.

"Are you okay?" my dad asks, noticing my momentary lapse into silence.

I smile and nod. "Yeah, just reminiscing."

He nods, understanding in his eyes. "They'll come around eventually. People always do."

The late afternoon Parisian sun slanted through the expansive windows of my office, casting a warm glow across the polished mahogany desk. Dust motes danced in the golden light, highlighting the meticulous order I maintained – a testament to the relentless pace I'd set for myself. Two years. Two glorious, grueling years at Celine Paris, and here I was, Director YN Kim. The weight of the title settled on my shoulders, a comforting pressure that spoke of sleepless nights, endless cups of coffee, and a singular, unwavering ambition.

Glancing at the framed cityscapes adorning the wall opposite me – the Eiffel Tower bathed in golden light, the Seine winding its way through the heart of the city – a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. This, this was the life I'd dreamt of since I was a wide-eyed teenager, pouring over fashion magazines in my tiny Seoul apartment. This was a world away from the anxieties and uncertainties of those days, a world where my name held weight, where my decisions shaped the very fabric of Celine's upcoming collections.

A soft chirp from my sleek, titanium-hued laptop jolted me out of my reverie. It was an email notification from Mom. My heart did a little skip – our bi-weekly video chats were my lifeline to Korea, a chance to catch a glimpse of her familiar face, a taste of the life I'd left behind. With a click, I minimized the spreadsheet I was working on and opened the email. It was short, just a line about a new shipment of Korean snacks on its way – the ones I always devoured with childish glee, a reminder of simpler times.

As promised, the doorbell chimed precisely at 6:00 PM, the pre-arranged time for the delivery. Pushing back from my desk, I stretched, the satisfying pops echoing in the otherwise silent office. The air outside was crisp, a welcome change from the stale air-conditioning. The cobblestone streets glistened with the remnants of a recent rain shower, reflecting the warm hues of the twilight sky.

A young man, no older than twenty, stood on the steps, a wide cardboard box cradled in his arms. "Mademoiselle Kim YN?" he inquired, his French heavily accented.

"Oui, c'est moi," I replied, a smile spreading across my face. Relief washed over me; the familiar red and white packaging peeking out from the top of the box was a beacon of comfort. "Merci beaucoup," I added, handing him a crisp ten-euro note.