The flight attendant announces over the loudspeaker that the plane is about to land.

She wakes up. She blinks once. With her palm, she rubs both eyes.

Without thinking, she puts on her glasses. She smooths a wrinkle in her coat. She looks around. The lights are blinding. It takes her too long to realize the sun is about to rise. She only feels its warmth on her arm.

The flight attendant approaches. She leans forward. She's carrying a cart with food and water.

—Would you like anything from the cart, miss? —the flight attendant asks, pointing with her open palm at the cart.

The woman takes a while to distinguish what is in front of her. She turns her head slightly to the left. But she doesn't focus on the flight attendant. She is guided by her voice and the noise of the cart.

She shakes her head gently.

—I'm not hungry, thank you.

—You haven't eaten since we took off. Are you sure? —the flight attendant asks, without moving from her spot.

—Thank you, but I'm not hungry —a small smile appears. Without taking her eyes off the flight attendant.

The flight attendant nods. She takes the cart to another seat behind her.

The woman leans back in her seat. She swallows. She takes a napkin from her coat. She wipes her nose.

She folds it carefully and puts it back.

The woman takes a breath. Complaints about the food can be heard. Another person mutters that the bathroom is occupied. A flight attendant is knocking on the door.

Everything revolves around complaints. Murmurs. And sometimes, raised voices.

The plane lands.

Everyone gets up slowly from their seats. Others hurry.

Nobody asks questions. Nobody cares to know.

The woman gets up. She leans back against the seat. Her fingers turn white from the strain.

As she gets up, she turns toward the overhead compartment.

But for several seconds, she touches the surface tentatively. Without opening it yet.

An elderly gentleman decides to speak.

—Why isn't the person moving? Others are in a hurry.

His wife, who was behind him, nudges him with her elbow.

—Instead of complaining, you should help her —the wife says, pointing at the woman.

The man glances around, annoyed. He decides to ask the others to move.

Again, the woman, who had been listening, finally opens the compartment. She calmly lowers her suitcase.

Despite the man who almost started a fight minutes ago.

Now everyone is off the plane. The woman is the last. She carefully descends the airplane stairs.

She decides to take out her phone. She turns it on. It takes a few seconds.

When it turns on, it unlocks. She has to bring the phone close. There are several missed calls. 35 unread messages.

She decides to dial the last number.

The call rings. On the second ring, someone answers.

—V? Finally, you show up. I've been calling you for hours —a male voice answers. With a hint of concern.

V recognizes the concern. She doesn't ask why. She just knows.

A low laugh escapes her before speaking.

—I know, don't worry. I've been busy. That's all —V says, as she walks along the dry asphalt, straight toward the airport gates.

—Have you been busy taking photographs? I hope the last event is significant. We haven't held one in six months —the man doesn't change his tone.

V remains silent.

—I heard you're back in Korea again. Do you want me to call one of my drivers?

—It's not necessary —V replies calmly—. I'll walk. There's no need to bring so many drivers. I'm not disabled.

That makes the man tense. It isn't visible. But V senses it in his breathing.

There is silence for several seconds before he speaks again.

—V —the man's voice becomes lower—. I know when you say that. I'm not saying you can't. But you know I care about you.

—Thank you for your concern. And the others? How are they?

The change of subject is subtle. For anyone else, it would seem normal.

But the man doesn't answer. In the background, a printer. A coffee maker. V hears it.

—I see you're still working. Don't stay so late.

She moves the phone away from her ear. Hangs up.

She puts her phone away. Without opening the 35 unread messages.

Without reading the last message that appeared.

She keeps walking. Her gaze briefly drops to her feet.

Her boots are slightly dirty with mud that isn't from Korea.

She sighs. Her face tilts forward. The car headlights are flashing.

She covers herself a little. Even though she's wearing glasses.

She directs the light away from her face with her palm. Covering half of her face to block out the glare.

Cafeteria. Away from the noise.

V decides to go to a coffee shop. She is still carrying her suitcase. But she is more settled in now.

There aren't that many people. Just the constant noise of the coffee makers. The smell of freshly ground coffee beans.

She takes the cup of tea in both hands. Wraps her hands around it. Feels the pleasant warmth.

She takes it without flinching, even though it's hot.

The streets are full of pedestrians. Everything is normal for a calm morning in Korea.

They pass by with carts full of food. Stalls. Men preparing food with the audacity of years past.

But her eyes, limited to observing, stop at a large 30-story building.

A law firm. She can't read it clearly. It's on the other side of the street. The windows, fogged by the wind and smoke, limit her view.

Then a shadow appears. Walking toward where the cafeteria is. V blinks three times. Half-closing her eyes and moving closer.

She doesn't see him leave the office. What she manages to see is how he moves.

The shadow moves without a second glance. For a second, she thinks she is imagining things. She hasn't slept enough. And she hasn't touched her plate.

V can see what he is holding. His right hand holds what appears to be a briefcase.

The cafeteria bell rings.

She regains her composure and looks at her cup again. Almost empty.

She glances for a moment at the man standing in line.

She can hear.

—A black coffee.

There's no "please." Nor is there an anxious question about whether to add sugar. It's all automatic.

The manager gives it to him and hands him the change.

For a few minutes, V thinks about taking out her camera and photographing him.

But something stops her.

The man has already left.

She didn't hear him leave. She frowns. She was so distracted she couldn't hear him.

«How can a man of that height go so unnoticed?»

Thinking carefully. The law firm. It could be a client. Or someone who works there.

She doesn't know. But she decides to take her Leica out of her suitcase. She adjusts it. Even though she can only see shadows.

A ray of light from the screen.

When V sees that everything is all right, she points it toward the building, inside the cafeteria.

Click.

The photo comes out crooked. She aims again.

Click.

A small smile appears. Sunlight illuminates the windows of the law building.

She wonders if what she saw was her imagination. Or someone real.