It had, perhaps, been a mistake to take the last two days of class off to spend four glorious days in the mountains. Rubbing her face, the fair skinned woman snapped her notebook shut in annoyance as everyone around her stood and made their way out of the classroom. There was a distinct difference between she and them, falling into step with the crowd she joined in the hallway. Students streamed out of rooms, and her feet deftly took the stairs down to the main level. With one hand struggling to wrap a white scarf around her neck, the other juggled both her book bag and cell phone.

“Annyŏng haseyo?”

She stepped out into the winter wind, dark auburn hair blowing into her face. Distractedly, she brushed it off while breaking off from the crowd heading towards the Students Union building. Instead she joined the trickle of students making their way down the main street towards the Front Gate, waving as she passed an old roommate.

“Alex, you need to annunciate if I’m going to understand you.”

What had been lovely weather a few weeks ago had become a bitter, biting wind that stung her exposed cheeks and nose red as Hana carried on. On the other end of the phone Alex carried on in a manner she had never really heard, the man alternating between English and Korean so quickly her head almost spun. It was a brisk ten-minute walk to the Front Gate where she took pause, wedging the cell phone between her ear and shoulder while she dug out a pair of mittens.

“I’m sure it’s a big misunderstanding, sŏlt’ang. Your parents would never do that.”

Finally the light changed and Hana jogged across the 8-lane intersection, passing under the train bridge before she merged with the mob of shoppers in Sinchon. The city, and especially the districts around the universities, never seemed to be slowed down by a particularly nasty snap of cold weather. The usual vendors were out lining the sidewalks as she walked and talked; pulling two pieces of coin out of her jacket pocket, Hana paused to trade them for a hottŏk, nodding her thanks to the elderly man before crossing the street. It had been a daily exchange for nearly three years and she was effectively hooked on the brown sugar filled cake.

“Your parents wouldn’t arrange a marriage, Alex. That’s ridiculously old-fashioned.” She mumbled, cutting through a back alley off the main street.

Inside the alley it was warmer, Hana making her way through the thin layer of snow that blanketed the asphalt. Black boots that reached up mid-calf kept her feet warm, the fur-lined hood tickling her cheek as she dug around in her bag for a key, propping the screen door to the apartment complex open.

“Alex, I’m serious. Who arranges marriages these days?” she paused, “No, I am not being a gyopo! Even if they did, they can’t force you to. This is the twenty-first century, you know. People do not arrange marriages.”

The apartment building radiated warm air as she stepped inside, heels clicking against the metal stairs. The building was nice enough, even if the paint was beginning to peel in places, and some of the ceiling lights flickered horribly. The third floor was a quick walk, Hana coming to stand outside a worn wooden door where she bent down to pick up a Barbie that looked like it had been attacked with a pair of scissors, sighing.

“Alex, can I call you back later? I think the twins are home.”

She snapped the phone shut and turned the handle, stepping inside the brightly lit apartment. The noise hit her first; the sound of two high pitched screaming children made her eardrums ring instantly as she unzipped her boots and set her bag down. Stepping onto the hardwood floor, her stocking feet traveled away from the living room towards the sound- the bedrooms. Pulling an elastic from the pocket of her jean skirt, pale hands deftly pulled the long auburn hair into a messy ponytail. To leave ones hair down and loose would be murder as she had found out years ago.

“Kyung Mi? Min Hee? Apa?”

The door was partially opened already, Hana pushing it open with hesitation. Her father was sitting between the two children’s beds; a storybook on his lap while one hand ran through his graying hair. Her movement must have startled him for he looked to the door suddenly, his shoulders slumping upon sight of her.

“Hana.”

It was said with some sort of reverence, and it made the older girl smile as she stepped in and closed the door. It took another second for her to realize the screaming had stopped nearly a minute ago, and now two small raven-haired children looked up at her expectantly.

“Annyŏng.” She smiled.
“Annyŏng, Hana!”
“Iyagi?”

Even if she had wanted to, it was utterly impossible for Hana to tell the twins ‘no’, nodding a she took the book from her father’s outstretched hand. The two four year olds had her wrapped around their pink fingers since the moment she had arrived in Seoul two years ago. They were identical in every sense of the word, yet there were distinct differences about each girl that Hana took pride in being able to point out; differences she was fairly certain her father wasn’t aware of.

“Iyagi. And then sleep. Nay?”

Twenty minutes later she pulled their bedroom door shut with a soft click, and let herself lean back against the white wall. Silence had taken over the apartment, with the exception of clicking of computer keys from a closed door several down. Letting out a slow breath Hana pushed herself off the wall and headed towards the kitchen, grabbing her book bag and tossing it onto the counter, and snatching an orange as she passed the fruit bowl.

“Hana?”

She had almost set herself down in one of the western style chairs that surrounded the table when she looked back towards the doorway. Her father stood there, again rubbing his forehead as he often did when stressed. He looked old in Hana’s eyes, taking in the thinning gray hair and lines of age around his eyes. He had removed his suit jacket and loosened the blue tie, and from a quick gaze of her eyes, he had also undone the top two buttons of his pressed shirt.

If there was anything Hana knew about her father it was that he was a conservative man by most standards; he looked and dressed like a businessman of a high caliber, which he was. Yet beneath that image was a person who in his youth had lived on the wild side, and still did from time to time. In the two years she had lived in this apartment, it had become clear to Hana that her naïve childhood image of her father was not a bit like the person he really was.

After all, the two little girls she had just tucked in for an afternoon nap were living proof of that.

“Hana?”
“Apa?”

The pause was long and drawn out, the 60 something year old moving to sit while Hana remained standing, letting her elbows rest against the counter behind her. Sunlight flowed in through the window opposite her, taking the edge out of a chill that had settled upon her. Something about this whole afternoon, the twins being home early, her father’s appearance, and his seeking her out, left her feeling as if something was not right.

“Isabella phoned.”
“Oh.”
“I told her you were in class.”
“I was.”
“She wants you to come home for Christmas.”