"Too much K-drama for you," Martha quipped as she barged into Naima's room without knocking, still holding a cup of instant coffee in her right hand. "Seriously, get a real job. Stop pretending to work just because your laptop's open while you're lying down."
Naima, who was half-lying on her stomach on the bed, turned her head lazily. Her hair was a mess, one side of her headset still hanging from her ear. "Hey, I am working! I'm a copywriter, okay? Everything's online now. My company saves money and lets us WFA — work from anywhere," she said, typing randomly on her keyboard to look busy.
Martha snorted, setting her coffee down on the small table near the door. "Work from anywhere, my ass. Every time I walk past your room, your screen's showing some Korean guy crying in the rain."
Naima's eyes widened. She quickly closed her drama tab. "That's research!" she said defensively. "I'm gathering inspiration for a romantic perfume ad. Not everything I watch is a waste of time, you know."
"Research," Martha repeated flatly, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, research on how to cry along with your oppas, maybe."
Naima sighed, then stared at her blank laptop screen. "Too bad my life isn't a K-drama. I'm not that 'ordinary girl suddenly loved by a rich, possessive CEO,' or the 'first love who used to be a dork but came back hot and hopelessly devoted' type..."
She stared at the ceiling. "Or the enemies-to-lovers type with a soft piano soundtrack in the background."
Silence filled the room, the only sound coming from the whirring fan.
Then Martha's mischievous grin appeared again from the doorway. "Can I just say... your life's more like one of those local sinetron azab shows?"
Naima squinted. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"The ending's always the same — broke," Martha said nonchalantly, bursting into laughter so hard she nearly spilled her coffee.
Naima instinctively threw a pillow at her. "Get out, you demon from the next room!"
The pillow missed but nudged Martha's cup just enough to spill a bit of coffee near the door.
Martha darted off, yelling, "Hey! You owe me a new coffee, Naim!"
Naima sighed again and looked back at her laptop. The paused K-drama still showed the male lead saying, "I'd give up everything, as long as I can be with you."
She stared at the line, then muttered softly, "Yeah, giving up everything… does that include Wi-Fi too?"
When Martha's giggles faded down the hallway, Naima was left alone again. The words "The ending's always broke" echoed in her mind.
She snorted, though a wry smile crept up her lips. "Broke, sure," she murmured. "But no need to broadcast it to the entire boarding house."
Her hands hovered over the keyboard, but her mind drifted elsewhere.
"I did meet a handsome guy once," she confessed quietly to the wall. "Not rich, but decent. And of course, he just saw me as a friend."
Her eyes shifted to the creaky fan. "Then there was the one who actually liked me… married. God, the universe really has a messed-up sense of humor."
She shrugged, smiling bitterly. "And worse, the ones who like me now make less money than I do. So what do I do? Pay for every dinner date?"
Naima flopped back onto the bed, closing her eyes. Her thoughts wandered to her old boarding room — the peeling BTS poster, the faint smell of instant noodles, and her senior, Mbak Fifi, who used to give her advice over late-night snacks.
"Mbak Fifi once said, 'Naima, when I hit twenty-five, I stopped looking for a boyfriend. I started looking for a husband.'"
Naima chuckled softly. "Funny… I'm almost twenty-five now, and every guy around me still belongs in the 'friend zone.' Or worse, the 'cute little brother but not dateable' zone."
She stared at the yellowing ceiling. "But whatever. Maybe God's just busy setting up the plot twist of my life. Like in a K-drama — only difference is, the male lead hasn't shown up yet."
---
That morning, the creak of a door woke Naima from a half-dream. She stretched lazily, squinting as sunlight slipped through the thin curtains.
Martha stepped out of her room, perfectly dressed — crisp white blouse, pastel skirt, hair neatly teased on top. Her perfume filled the narrow hallway.
"I'm off to church," she said, checking her reflection in the small mirror by the stairs. She patted her cheeks lightly. "What about you, Naim? More K-dramas today?"
Still curled up in bed, Naima barely lifted her head. Her hair was a disaster, her pillow still hugged tight. "Hmm... maybe... sleep," she mumbled drowsily.
Martha clicked her tongue, grabbing her bag. "You sleep too much. Your life's like airplane mode — only active when there's Wi-Fi."
Naima raised one lazy hand without opening her eyes, waving weakly. "All good. Full signal here."
"Zombie tenant!" Martha shouted with a laugh, her heels clicking tok-tok-tok as she went down the stairs.
When her footsteps disappeared, silence returned.
Naima stared at the ceiling, then pulled the blanket up. "Morning naps are the best…" she whispered before drifting off again.
The world outside was starting its day — but inside that small boarding room, the only things alive were the fan's hum and the steady breathing of a "work-from-asleep" copywriter.
Then her nose caught something — warm, savory, a hint of sweetness. Corn porridge.
Not just any corn porridge. The distinct aroma of the legendary fast food joint — Kaefce.
And there was only one logical explanation in the known universe: someone within five meters was having breakfast.
Naima shot up. Hair wild, oversized T-shirt, pillow marks on her face — but her ears perked up like a freshly activated radar.
A voice came from the window.
"I'm gonna leave this soup and garlic bread here. Have some sun and fresh air. The coffee shop downstairs opens at nine," said a man, his accent unfamiliar — not British, not American, not Australian. Somewhere European, maybe.
"Huh?" Naima blinked, brain still loading at 17%. Her eyes finally focused.
And there he was — a foreign man.
Fair skin, golden-blond hair with reddish tones that caught the morning light. Sharp jawline, but not harsh. Freckles dusting his cheeks, making him look real — and dangerously charming.
Naima froze. Who is this? A skincare model lost in Jakarta? Or a divine cameo in my dream?
Before she could react, the man stepped closer with calm familiarity, bent down… and kissed her lips.
OH MY GOD. Naima's brain screamed, but her body was too shocked to move.
He smiled faintly. "Don't overthink. Just rest," he whispered, then turned and walked out — closing the door softly behind him.
As if nothing extraordinary had just happened.
Naima gawked.
Seconds passed before her reflexes kicked in. She rubbed her eyes, looked around.
"Where... where the hell am I?" she muttered.
The room was bright and spacious — white walls, huge windows overlooking the city, a grey sofa, a minimalist dining table, and—was that a coffee maker?
She froze. Then, like a Wi-Fi signal reconnecting, realization hit.
"THIS IS A K-DRAMA APARTMENT!!" she screamed, clutching a pillow like a weapon.
"I'm dreaming! I have to be dreaming! There's no way I suddenly woke up in an apartment with a hot foreign guy who just kissed me good morning!"
But the corn porridge and garlic bread on the bedside table were real — steam still rising.
Naima stared at them for a long moment.
Then, softly, she said, "Okay, if this is a dream, at least let me eat before I wake up."
Her eyes drifted toward the white curtains. She turned her head slowly — and gasped.
"Oh my God…" she whispered.
"That's… that's really Seoul."
Beyond the window stretched a dazzling skyline — sleek modern towers glinting under the morning sun, clean streets, and a park bursting with cherry blossoms drifting like pink snowflakes.
The petals floated gently in the wind, landing along a quiet path where cars passed slowly.
Naima's jaw dropped. "That's Hangang Park! I know that place! Every couple fights or makes up there! Oh my God… this can't be real, right?!"