Enemy Territory
1206 Words
The sound of a rooster crowing jolted Yuna from uneasy sleep. For a moment, she forgot where she was until she saw the unfamiliar wooden ceiling, the rough wool blanket, and the faint scent of pine smoke in the air.
Then it came rushing back.
The crash.
The soldier.
The truth she had tried to ignore.
She wasn’t lost in some remote countryside.
She was trapped in North Korea.
Outside, the mountains loomed like dark sentinels, their peaks still wrapped in mist. Captain Ryu Jun was already awake, dressed in his olivegreen uniform, methodically sharpening his survival knife by the window. The slow, rhythmic sound made her heart pound.
“Good morning,” she murmured, trying to sound steady.
He glanced at her briefly, eyes shadowed with thought. “You didn’t sleep much.”
“It’s hard to, when you realize you're in an international accident,” she said, forcing a halfsmile.
His lips twitched the ghost of amusement, gone too fast. “You’re more than that.”
She tilted her head. “What does that mean?”
Jun didn’t answer immediately. He set the knife down, turned toward her, and said quietly, “It means you’re someone who shouldn’t exist here. And someone who could get us both killed.”
The words struck like cold wind. Yuna set her jaw, but fear prickled beneath her skin.
“So, what happens now?”
He crossed his arms, leaning against the wooden table. “Now… you stay alive. And I will make sure no one finds you.”
“And after that?”
“When the storm passes, I’ll find a way to send you south.”
Yuna studied him for a long moment, the firm line of his jaw, the quiet intensity in his eyes. There was no hesitation in his voice, only the certainty of a man used to obeying orders even when they tore him apart inside.
Later that morning, Lieutenant Kim Hana returned with a ration pack, setting it down on the table. “Breakfast,” she said crisply. “If that’s what we’re calling it.”
Yuna blinked at the grayish stew. “What… is it?”
“Flour and potatoes,” Hana replied dryly. “Welcome to the North.”
Yuna forced a polite smile. “I’ve had worse.”
Hana arched an eyebrow. “I doubt that, Miss” She stopped herself, glancing at Jun, who gave her a subtle look of warning. Hana smirked slightly. “Right. The nameless villager.”
Despite the teasing tone, Yuna noticed the faint respect in Hana’s gaze or maybe curiosity. She couldn’t tell.
After Hana left, Yuna turned to Jun. “Your people don’t believe your story.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, placing the ration pot back on the stove. “They believe me.”
There was quiet power in that, not arrogance, but earned loyalty.
As the day wore on, Yuna grew restless. Through the cabin window, she could see the soldiers training Daeho barking orders, Corporal Minjae fixing his rifle, Private Sunwoo sneaking extra rations into his coat. It was a world of discipline and quiet hunger.
When Jun wasn’t watching, she stepped outside, limping slightly on her bandaged ankle. The air was sharp and clear, the smell of pine needles thick in her lungs.
Daeho spotted her first. “You shouldn’t be out here, ma’am,” he said cautiously.
“I needed air,” she replied.
He hesitated, then lowered his voice. “The Captain’s risking a lot for you. You must’ve fallen from a very high sky.”
She met his kind eyes, worn by the cold. “You have no idea.”
Later, Yuna found herself helping Minjae repair the old radio on the workbench. The young corporal grinned shyly. “You’re not from around here,” he said.
“No,” she admitted softly. “I guess I’m from… somewhere the wind can’t reach.”
Jun appeared in the doorway just then, expression unreadable. His gaze lingered on her, not unkind, but filled with quiet warning.
“Inside,” he said.
She hesitated. “I was only”
“Inside, Yuna.” His voice softened slightly when he said her name.
It was the first time he’d used it.
When night fell, the cabin glowed in candlelight. The wind outside howled through the pines, rattling the shutters.
Jun sat across from her, cleaning his weapon, his movements slow and deliberate.
“You disobeyed me today,” he said calmly.
“I stepped outside,” she replied. “That’s hardly treason.”
“In this country, it can be.”
Yuna set her cup down, irritation flickering beneath her calm. “You keep talking about rules and consequences, but you don’t treat me like a prisoner.”
His gaze lifted to hers. “You’re not.”
“Then what am I?”
For a moment, his composure cracked barely, but enough. “A problem I don’t know how to solve.”
The admission hung between them, fragile and intimate.
Silence stretched.
Yuna looked at him, the soldier who could have turned her in, the man who carried a lifetime of secrets behind steady eyes.
“You could’ve left me there,” she said softly. “Why didn’t you?”
Jun looked at the flickering flame, his voice low. “Because you fell out of the sky and landed in my world. And for the first time in years, I wanted to see if something could still fall without breaking.”
Her breath caught. It was the most beautiful and saddest thing anyone had ever said to her.
The fire crackled. Outside, the forest murmured like an ancient whisper.
She shifted closer, her knees brushing his. He didn’t move away this time. For a long, unspoken moment, the world seemed to hold its breath just two strangers trapped on opposite sides of fate, yet drawn together by something neither could name.
Then Hana’s voice called from outside:
“Captain! Patrol report movement near the western ridge!”
The spell shattered. Jun stood instantly, his rifle already in hand. “Stay here,” he ordered.
“Jun”
He paused at the door, looking back at her. “Whatever happens, don’t make a sound.”
Then he was gone, swallowed by the storm and pine shadows.
Hours later, when the door creaked open again, Yuna rushed forward only to stop short when she saw blood on his sleeve.
“It’s nothing,” he said gruffly, closing the door behind him. “A scrape.”
She didn’t believe him. Without a word, she reached for the first aid kit, kneeling beside him. Their hands brushed cold against warm and something electric passed between them.
“You don’t have to” he began, but she cut him off softly. “Let me.”
As she cleaned the wound, he watched her not with a soldier’s caution, but with a man’s wonder.
For the first time, he let himself feel it: the dangerous, impossible pull between them.
And for the first time, Yuna realized she didn’t want to go home. Not yet.
Because somehow, against all logic, enemy territory had started to feel like the only place she was truly alive.
- Writer
