The scent of garlic and sesame oil drifted through the small apartment, curling into every corner. The kitchen was barely more than a nook carved into the wall, its countertops cluttered with spice jars and mismatched mugs. A single window above the sink let in the soft, late afternoon sunlight, painting golden lines across the pale tile.
Sherri stood barefoot in front of the stove, humming a soft melody, the sleeves of Hyunjin’s hoodie pushed up her arms. The fabric swallowed her, sleeves constantly slipping down as she stirred the bubbling stew.
Behind her, the door creaked.
“Back?” Her voice lifted, and she turned slightly.
YoungBok’s head popped in from the entry, hair slightly tousled from the breeze outside, a bag slung lazily over his shoulder.
“Home,” he smiled. That one word made the room warmer.