The Maldives.

Even saying it in her head sounded like a dream and Arielle Greene needed a dream. A break. A shift. A damn exhale. Life was throwing her a lot of curveballs lately and this trip was exactly what she needed. Her last project had nearly pushed her over the edge, her team barely made the deadline, and her boss was already talking about Q4 like it was tomorrow. She needed this vacation like she needed air.

But first... a layover.

She rolled her neck slowly as the soft chime of another gate change echoed across the terminal. Terminal B in Charles de Gaulle Airport wasn't exactly the worst place to be stuck—it had good lighting, high-end cafes, and even a few art installations, but it definitely wasn't the Maldives. Especially not after the week she'd had.

Being the youngest Black executive in her division came with stress no one had prepared her for. There were days when she wanted to find the person who said that growing up was a scam and embrace them in a hug, buy them a drink even. They told not one lie.

Her phone buzzed again, bringing her back to reality and this time with a selfie from Zara and Latrice, already posted up poolside at the resort. Their sunglasses were oversized, their drinks were tropical, and their captions were annoyingly perfect.

Zara: "All we're missing is youuuu Ari 🥲 Hurry up and get out of that airport, girl."

Arielle smiled despite herself and texted back a simple, "Soon. Y'all better save me a lounger and a drink...and a fine man in swim trunks."

She glanced at the monitor overhead. Flight delayed—again.

Of course it would be. Did she expect any different? The universe had jokes and she was the punchline lately.

She exhaled and adjusted her tote bag, heels clicking as she headed toward the upper level. The lounge bar, tucked in the far corner of the terminal, had fewer people and stronger drinks. Her blazer was already slung over her carry-on, and her microlocs were beginning to frizz just slightly from the shifting humidity between terminals. No one told her international glamour came with this much recycled air and dry skin. The tropical oasis that awaited her would sure be a remedy for this.

The lounge was a blend of sleek neutrals and soft jazz. A few travelers were scattered across leather seats, headphones in or hunched over laptops. A man across the room snored quietly. Somewhere near the bar, someone was complaining about missed meetings in heavily accented English. It was the kind of white noise she didn't know she missed until she was in the middle of it. In this little pocket, her mind could wander, if only for a moment.

Arielle slid onto a high-top seat near the window, ordered a tequila and lime—her go-to when she wanted to keep her head clear but feel a little human again—and popped in one earbud. She tapped her foot to the beat of her playlist. Soft R&B, a little electro-soul. SZA, H.E.R., Musiq Soulchild, Sade'. The type of music she listened to when she needed to be calm, but attentive. The notes wrapped around her like a hug she didn't have to ask for.

She opened her email app and not because she needed to, but because the compulsion was stronger than her intention to unplug. Her fingers hovered for a second before she gave in.

Arielle Greene, VP of Marketing and Outreach.

A powerhouse in heels. But even that power came with a price—meetings at midnight with executives from around the world, travel she barely had time to enjoy, and a constant sense that if she stopped moving, she'd lose her edge. Her calendar didn't have breathing room. Even vacations had to be pre-approved and strategically timed.

That's why she'd taken the initiative to plan this trip. Well, partially. Her girls had convinced her. "We need you to decompress before the next client pitch," Zara had begged. "You haven't taken a break since Beyoncé dropped 'Lemonade.' "

She sipped her drink and watched the tarmac shift in layers of gray. Luggage carts zipped by. Planes taxied slowly, their lights blinking rhythmically. Her reflection in the glass was faint but there. She was a beautiful Black woman with tired eyes who still had good posture. She gave her reflection a little nod, as if to say hang in there, girl.

At least the bar was quiet. Peaceful, even.

Until someone slid into the seat two stools down.

He didn't look like the typical business traveler—no wrinkled khakis or name badge lanyard. He wore a black button-down, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, and dark slacks that somehow didn't crease. A simple chain rested at his collarbone, peeking out from his shirt. He had the kind of posture that came from discipline, and a face that looked like it had never had to try hard for attention. Even seated, his presence was undeniable.

Arielle clocked all of this in less than three seconds... and then promptly returned her gaze to her drink.

"Airport tequila huh?" His voice was smooth. Korean accent, but subtle. American-educated, maybe.

She raised an eyebrow but didn't look over. "Don't knock it till you try it."

He let out a low chuckle, signaling the bartender. "Whiskey. Neat. And bring the lady another of whatever she's having—on me."

She turned slowly this time. His expression was smug. Not overly so, but enough to register.

"I can buy my own drinks, thanks."

He tilted his head, amused. "Not trying to imply you can't. Just thought you could use another, considering you've been checking that flight board every five minutes."

"And here I thought you were ordering whiskey to mind your own business."

That made him laugh again, low and easy, like she'd surprised him. There was an unbothered charm there, the kind she couldn't decide was attractive or annoying.

"Spicy...I like that," he mumbled.

He didn't push after that, just leaned back slightly and pulled out his phone.

Arielle was just about to return to her playlist when she heard him speak—not to her, but into the phone.

"Yeah, I know. They're already there. Flight delay. Again," he murmured, voice still smooth but noticeably irritated. "No, I didn't miss the check-in. Just decided not to rush. Let them wait."

She couldn't help the small scoff that slipped out.

He glanced sideways at her, one brow arched. "Something funny?"

She gave a polite, tight smile. "Just impressed with the confidence. Not everyone can be so comfortable making people wait on them."

He ended his call without another word, pocketing the phone. "It's not confidence. It's called knowing your value."

Arielle tilted her head. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Would you prefer arrogance?"

"I didn't say that. But if the designer shoe fits..."

He smirked. "Fair enough. You always this direct?"

"Only when someone tries to impress me with nonchalance."

Another beat passed. Then he smiled—really smiled. And it threw her off a little.

"I'm Joon-ho," he said, extending a hand.

She stared at it for a moment, then shook it once. "Arielle."

"Pleasure to meet you, Arielle."

She nodded. "Same."

Another announcement buzzed overhead. Arielle instinctively checked her app.

A message popped up: You've been rebooked on Flight 728 – Departs in 30 minutes, Gate C10.

Finally.

Arielle let out a soft breath, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a notch. Thirty minutes from now, she'd be airborne again and one step closer to the Maldives. One step closer to warmth, saltwater, and silence that wasn't filled with client calls and brand audits.

She let herself drift for a moment, imagining the sting of the sun on her skin, the way the ocean breeze would catch at her edges and soften everything tight inside her. She pictured herself sprawled on a lounger, a cold drink sweating on the table next to her, Zara and Latrice cackling about something trivial and perfect. No deadlines, no deck to revise. Just her, the sun, and the hush of turquoise waves reminding her that she was allowed—no, entitled—to rest.

She grinned and gathered her bag.

"Looks like I'm getting out of here after all."

Joon-ho raised his glass in a lazy salute. "Looks like luck's on your side."

"More like status and persistence. Good luck with your own rebooking, Mr. Whiskey Neat."

"Joon-ho," he reminded with a grin.

"I know. I just like that mine rolled off the tongue better."

He chuckled, eyes dancing as she slung her carry-on over her shoulder. "Safe travels."

She paused mid-step. "Same."

And with that, Arielle turned and walked toward the gate, her heels clicking with just the right amount of attitude. She didn't look back, but she could feel his gaze trailing behind her like the warmest part of her drink. It lingered like a promise she didn't quite believe in yet.