When Dream Meet Love

I have always believed that clothes remember things. A dress remembers the first time someone wore it. A school uniform remembers the girl who cried into its sleeves after failing an exam. A wedding gown remembers the trembling hands of a bride who spent months pretending she wasn't nervous. And sometimes, a piece of clothing remembers the person who made it. I suppose that's why I fell in love with fashion. Not because I wanted to be famous. Not because I dreamed of seeing my name printed in magazines. At least, that's what I told myself when I was younger. The truth was much simpler. I wanted to make something that would belong to someone else's happiest memory. It started with a piece of blue fabric. I was eight years old when I found it at the back of my mother's sewing cabinet. It wasn't anything special. There was barely enough of it to make a proper dress, and one corner had been torn. But I remember holding it up to the sunlight and imagining what it could become. My mother found me sitting on the living-room floor that afternoon with scissors in one hand and the fabric in the other. She stopped in the doorway. "Seo-yeon." I froze. There are few things more frightening to an eight-year-old than hearing her mother's voice in that particular tone. I slowly looked up. "Yes, Mom?" "What are you doing?" I glanced at the fabric. Then at the scissors. Then back at her. "Nothing." My mother stared at me. I smiled. She sighed. That was the day I learned two important things. First, lying to my mother was useless. Second, scissors and expensive curtains should never be left within my reach. The curtain incident became a family legend. My brother still brings it up whenever I say I'm a talented designer. "You cut up Mom's curtains." "They were ugly." "They were brand new." "They were waiting to become something better." "You were eight." "Exactly. I had vision." My younger sister always laughs when he tells the story. Then she asks the same question every time. "So that's when you decided to become a designer?" I usually tell her no. It wasn't. The curtain was simply the beginning. What made me stay was the feeling I had whenever I created something. I could take a flat piece of fabric and turn it into something that moved. Something that had shape. Something that could make a person stand a little straighter when they looked in the mirror. That feeling never left me. Years passed. The little girl with the scissors became a teenager with sketchbooks. My bedroom walls disappeared beneath drawings. Dresses covered my notebooks. Fashion magazines were stacked beneath my bed. My mother stopped asking why I needed so much paper. My father stopped pretending he understood the difference between chiffon and silk. My brother learned to identify a bad sketch simply by looking at my face. And Ha-eun became my most brutally honest critic. "This one is ugly." I would stare at her. "You could at least lie." "Why?" "Because I'm your sister." "Exactly. I'm helping you." Sometimes I hated how honest my family was. Mostly, I loved them for it. We weren't the kind of family people wrote stories about. We weren't wealthy. We didn't live in a luxurious apartment overlooking the Han River. My father, Han Dong-hyun, owned a small printing shop that had survived mostly because he was too stubborn to let it fail. My mother, Kim Mi-sook, worked part-time at a restaurant and somehow still found enough energy to manage the rest of us. My older brother, Han Min-jae, was twenty-seven and had appointed himself the unofficial head of family sarcasm. My younger sister, Han Ha-eun, was sixteen and believed the world owed her a pink sports car because I intended to become successful. And then there was me. Han Seo-yeon. Twenty-three years old. Aspiring fashion designer. Professional overthinker. Occasional midnight snack thief. And, according to my family, the only person alive who could spend three hours choosing between two identical shades of beige. They were wrong. They were almost identical. That morning, however, I wasn't thinking about beige. I was thinking about Aurelia. I stood in front of my mirror with my portfolio pressed against my chest. My reflection looked calm. It was lying. My palms were sweating. My heart was beating too quickly. And my stomach had apparently decided that today would be an excellent day to remind me that fear and breakfast were not compatible. I looked at the clock. 7:41 a.m. I had thirty-nine minutes before I needed to leave. I had already changed my outfit four times. "Maybe I should wear the black blouse." I looked at it. "No." The cream one. I held it against myself. "Too plain." The pale blue one. "Too hopeful." I stared at myself. "Too hopeful?" I shook my head. "Seo-yeon, you're losing it." A knock came at the door. Before I could answer, it opened. Ha-eun poked her head inside. "You've been talking to yourself again." "I was thinking." "You said 'too hopeful' to a blouse." "It was a complicated situation." She walked in and looked at the clothes scattered across my bed. "You've tried on all of these?" "Yes." "For an interview?" "Application submission." "Same thing." "No, it isn't." She picked up a blouse. "Then why are you dressed like you're getting married?" I snatched it from her. "I'm trying to look professional." "You look terrified." "I am terrified." She smiled. "Good." I frowned. "Why is that good?" "Because you really want it." That answer caught me off guard. She put the blouse back down. "You've been talking about Aurelia for years." I looked at my portfolio. "Yeah." "So go get it." She said it so casually. As if getting accepted into one of Korea's most prestigious fashion companies were no more difficult than buying milk from the convenience store. I smiled. "You make it sound easy." "It is." "You've never applied for a job." "Exactly. I have no reason to believe it's difficult." I laughed. She grinned. Then she pointed toward my shoes. "Those are ugly." I looked down. "They're expensive." "That doesn't make them less ugly." I threw a pillow at her. She ran out laughing. "Mom! Seo-yeon is attacking me!" "Because you insulted my shoes!" My mother's voice came from the kitchen. "Both of you, come eat!" I looked at my portfolio one last time. Then I smiled. Maybe Ha-eun was right. Maybe I was overthinking everything. I grabbed my bag and walked into the kitchen. My father was already at the table with his newspaper. My mother was preparing breakfast. Min-jae was eating. I stopped. He looked at me. I looked at him. Then I looked at the empty plate where my breakfast should have been. "Did you eat mine?" He continued chewing. "No." "You're still chewing." "Coincidence." I stared at him. He swallowed. "Fine." "Min-jae!" "I was hungry." "You have your own." "I finished it." "Then make another one." "That's too much work." I opened my mouth. My father lowered his newspaper. "Your brother has a point." I turned to him. "Whose side are you on?" "The side that's eating breakfast." My mother laughed. I couldn't help laughing too. I sat down. For a few minutes, everything felt normal. Then my mother placed a plate in front of me and looked at my portfolio. "You have everything?" I nodded. "Portfolio. Application. Identification. Resume." "Good." She sat beside me. "You know, when you were little, I never imagined you'd actually take this this far." I smiled. "I told you I would." "You also told me you were going to marry a famous actor." I nearly choked on my food. "That was different." Min-jae laughed. Ha-eun looked up. "Which actor?" "Nobody." "Who?" "Eat your breakfast." My mother was still smiling. "You were always a dreamer." I lowered my eyes. "Is that a bad thing?" "No." She reached over and fixed a strand of my hair. "Just remember that dreaming is the easy part." I looked at her. "What's the hard part?" "Continuing when the dream stops being beautiful." The kitchen became quiet. My mother rarely spoke like that. She squeezed my hand. "When things become difficult, don't decide that you chose the wrong dream just because the road became hard." I swallowed. My father folded his newspaper. "Your mother is right." He looked directly at me. "Success doesn't belong to the person who never falls." He paused. "It belongs to the person who keeps getting back up." I smiled. "Are you two secretly preparing motivational speeches?" My father smiled. "We're trying to make sure our daughter doesn't run away." "I wasn't going to run." Min-jae raised an eyebrow. "You changed your outfit four times." "That's unrelated." Ha-eun nodded seriously. "She's right. Fashion emergencies are unrelated to cowardice." I laughed. And just like that, the heaviness disappeared. That was my family. They could turn my biggest fear into something I could laugh about. Maybe that was why I had always been brave enough to dream. Because whenever I doubted myself, there were four people willing to believe for me. I left home a little after eight. The journey to Aurelia Fashion Group took nearly an hour. By the time I reached the street, the confidence I'd borrowed from my family had started disappearing. Aurelia's headquarters stood ahead of me. Tall. Elegant. Impossibly polished. The silver letters above the entrance seemed to stare back at me. AURELIA FASHION GROUP I stopped walking. People passed around me. I didn't move. This was the company I'd admired since university. The company whose collections I'd studied until I could recognize the cut of a jacket without seeing the label. The company whose designers had inspired me to believe that fashion could be more than beautiful clothing. And today, I was going to ask them to give me a chance. My fingers tightened around my portfolio. Suddenly, every sketch inside seemed terrible. Every dress I'd ever designed seemed childish. Every achievement I'd been proud of seemed too small. The question returned. What if I'm not good enough? I closed my eyes. Then I heard my mother's voice in my head. Don't decide that you chose the wrong dream just because the road became hard. I opened my eyes. "No." A woman walking past glanced at me. I pretended not to notice. I took a breath. "I'm already here." One step. Then another. I crossed the road. The glass doors opened. And I walked inside. The lobby was exactly what I had imagined. White marble floors. Soft lighting. Elegant displays. People moving with purpose. Everyone looked like they knew where they were going. I suddenly felt like the only person in Seoul who had accidentally wandered into the wrong building. I approached the reception desk. "Good morning." The receptionist smiled. "Good morning. How may I help you?" I tightened my grip on the portfolio. "My name is Han Seo-yeon. I'm here to submit an application for the junior designer position." She checked her computer. "Do you have an appointment?" "No." My heart sank. "But I was told applications could be submitted through the recruitment office." She looked at my documents. Then smiled. "That's correct." I nearly sighed with relief. She gave me directions. I thanked her and walked away. The recruitment office was on the fifth floor. By the time the elevator doors opened, I had already rehearsed what I was going to say at least twelve times. When I finally stood in front of the recruiter, however, my carefully prepared words disappeared. "Application." That was all I managed. The recruiter looked at me. I cleared my throat. "Sorry. I mean—I'm here to submit my application." Much better. She accepted the folder. "Thank you, Ms. Han." I nodded. "Thank you." And then it was over. Just like that. I stepped out of the office with empty hands. For a moment, I simply stood in the hallway. Six months of work. Years of dreaming. A lifetime of wanting this. And now all I could do was wait. I walked outside. The September air felt different. Lighter. I pulled out my phone. There were already messages waiting. Ha-eun: Did you get in? Min-jae: If they rejected you, remember that they're idiots. Mom: Whatever happens, come home safely. And beneath them was a message from Dad. Dad: You were brave today. I stared at those four words for a long moment. Then I smiled. I typed one reply to all of them. Me: I did it. I put my phone away. I didn't know whether Aurelia would accept me. I didn't know whether my designs were good enough. I didn't know if I would ever become the designer I'd dreamed of becoming. But for the first time, I understood something. Sometimes the first victory isn't getting what you want. Sometimes it's simply refusing to turn around. Three days later, I was sitting on my bedroom floor eating instant noodles when my phone vibrated. I glanced at the screen. Aurelia Fashion Group. My chopsticks stopped halfway to my mouth. I stared at the notification. My heart began beating faster. "No." I lowered the chopsticks. "Absolutely not." I picked up my phone. The email was waiting. I opened it. Read the first line. Stopped. Read it again. My breath caught. Dear Han Seo-yeon, We are pleased to inform you that your application has been successful. For several seconds, I simply stared. Then I screamed. My bedroom door flew open. Ha-eun appeared first. "What happened?" I couldn't speak. I just handed her the phone. Her eyes widened. Then she screamed too. Within seconds, my mother and father appeared. Min-jae came running from the living room. "What happened?" Ha-eun pointed at my phone. "She's in!" My mother's hand flew to her mouth. My father smiled. My brother stared at me. Then he grinned. "Well." He crossed his arms. "Looks like someone is going to become famous." I laughed. I couldn't stop. I was laughing and crying at the same time. My mother hugged me. Ha-eun joined. Min-jae complained that nobody was hugging him. Dad simply stood there smiling. I looked at my family through the tears in my eyes. This was the moment I'd imagined for years. I had finally stepped through the first door. I thought getting accepted into Aurelia Fashion Group meant my dream had finally begun. I was wrong. My dream had begun years ago. What started that day was something else entirely. Something I hadn't planned for. Something I wasn't prepared for. Something that would make me question everything I thought I knew about love, ambition, and the man who would eventually become the biggest problem in my life.