First message
America was supposed to be my escape.
For a while, it worked. I could leave my apartment without a manager hovering nearby, sit in a café without someone asking for a photograph, and spend an evening without wondering which ridiculous rumor would be waiting online by morning.
Then one of my dramas became unexpectedly popular here.
So now I own enough hats and sunglasses to stock a small shop, and I am considerably more careful about where I go.
Fortunately, she has never cared much about television. We’ve been out several times now, and she still knows me as Tae. During our first few dates, I learned she’d never watched my dramas and only knew Taeyun Park by reputation: arrogant, spoiled, and apparently incapable of going a month without another woman attached to his name.
Some of that is unfair.
Some of it isn’t.
I decided then that she would never hear the truth from me.
Tonight, we’re tucked into a quiet restaurant, far enough from downtown that I can actually breathe. I’m dressed plainly, my cap pulled low, and for once nobody seems remotely interested in me.
My phone buzzes against the table.
I glance at the screen.
My manager.
I immediately turn the phone facedown.
“Sorry. Work.”
I offer a perfectly innocent smile and reach for my drink.
The lie comes easily.
Keeping it this way, however, is going to be considerably harder.