Chapter 10

May 3, 2029

Seoul, Korea

By nightfall, we made it to Seoul.

The new refugee camp wasn't like the last. It was tucked deeper into the city, layered with cement walls and bustling walkways. A sign outside read 'New Light Refuge.' Here, the lines between nations blurred. People lived side by side—Korean, Indonesian, Vietnamese, Malaysian, Japanese, Chinese. There was no red site or white side. No fences between tents. We registered discreetly and told them not to alert any other camps in case they come looking for me, or try to deport Haoyan.

They led us to a light blue tent with some red splashes marked E-17. One that could fit the two of us. It stood in a row of large, identical tents, the kind made of thick canvas. We stepped inside. There was a bed big enough for the two of us, a small desk in one part, a plastic bin in the corner with necessities and two small lights, one by the bed and another by the desk. Haoyan set down his bag next to the bed and looked around. He smiled then—small, tired, but real. I hadn't realised how badly I needed to see it until that moment. We sat together on the bed, side by side, knees touching. Outside, the city murmured to itself: cars, wind, footsteps, birds. It sounded like the world had kept turning after all.

I leaned my head on his shoulder. He didn't move. We just breathed. No one told us we couldn't sit close. No one said our names like warnings. Here, we were just two people who had chosen each other. And for the first time in what felt like a hundred years, that was enough.