Getaway

It starts with excitement whenever a vacation is in the midst of planning.

A group chat implodes with memes about sunsets over the ocean, lists of must-try cruise activities, and an unhealthy number of debates over how many swimsuits one person actually needs. This was supposed to be the trip — five days of relaxation, laughter, and memories with you and your closest friends.

Then, these motherfuckers begin to spit out (plausible) excuses.

First, it was Tosh. “Sorry, man, work’s piling up. I can’t take the time off.” His message ends with a sad face emoji, like it totally softens the blow. Ok, that’s one out.

Next, Mira dropped out, claiming some vague “family emergency.” You really try to sympathise until you saw her Instagram story of her at a café with her dog, Yujin, captioned “Much-needed chill day”...ok at least there’s still Eros—

By the time Eros admitted he “forgot” about his cousin’s wedding, you already resigned to your fate. One by one, all of them bailed, leaving you holding the empty corpse of a vacation… and the very literal cruise ticket.

Cancelling wasn’t an option. Non-refundable, non-exchangeable, non-everything, because the group decides to be frugal (despite you telling them to get it just in case). You planned for the luxury cabin, imagining yourself waking up to ocean views and feeling like royalty with your close friends. But with everyone else backing out, your budget evaporated faster than the group chat notifications.

Which led to this: you, booking a shared cabin with a stranger. It was either that or throw away the money you didn’t have to lose.

“You’ll be fine,” you told yourself as you stared at the confirmation email. “It’s just five days. How bad could it be?”

The cruise ship looms large in the harbor, its pristine white exterior gleaming under the midday sun. You pause for a moment, clutching your duffel bag, letting the salty breeze wash over you. The idea of going on this cruise solo still feels so fucking surreal, but with all your friends bailing at the last minute, you weren’t about to let the ticket (and your deposit) go to waste.

The fact that you’d been downgraded to a shared cabin? Well, that was a bitter pill to swallow. Let’s see, cabin 512A. Ah, found it. Gosh, it feels so daunting walking down the hallway.

The luggage wheels behind you squeak, the only sound in the otherwise quiet corridor. You grip the keycard tightly, your heart thumping faster than it should. Sharing a cabin with a stranger was bound to be awkward, but you’d convinced yourself it couldn’t be that bad.

The door beeps as you slide the keycard, and you step inside. It’s… snug. Two single beds crammed into a space that feels more like a walk-in closet with delusions of grandeur. One bed is already claimed, judging by the neatly folded hoodie and headphones resting on it. Then you hear a soft hum from the bathroom. Your brows knit together.

It sounds very familiar, huh. Kind of like that girl from that big show you just wa—

The door creaks open before you can dwell on it further, and your new cabinmate steps out. She’s…small, dressed in an oversized sweater and denim shorts, her hair casually tied up. For a moment, her gaze locks with yours, her eyes wide and questioning.

“UH…hi,” she says, her voice soft but steady. “You must be my roommate.”

You nod, but you’re not really listening. Your brain is short-circuiting, trying to process what you’re seeing.

Jo Yuri. Jo. Fucking. Yuri.

You know, the breakout star from Squid Game Season 2. You have binge-watched the entire season when it came out a few months ago, and of course, captivated by her performance. She played one of the more appealing characters: the underdog who managed to power through the entirety of the season. People online had been calling her the “puppy of the season.” And now, she’s standing in front of you, looking more ordinary than you ever thought possible. No makeup, no stylists, just a girl with messy hair and an easy smile (and looks even more puppy-like).

“Uh… yeah,” you finally manage, trying to play it cool. “That’s me. Roommate. Hi.”

She chuckles, her smile widening. “You okay there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You shake your head quickly, attempting to compose yourself. “No, no. It’s just… you look really familiar.”

Her expression shifts slightly, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. “Ah,” she says, her tone light but guarded. “You’ve seen it?”

“Squid Game?” “Yeah. That’d do it.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you scramble to fill it. “You were great in it,” you blurt out, cringing internally at how fanboy-ish you sound. “Like, really great. One of the best parts of the season.”

Her lips quirk into a smile, but there’s a hint of weariness in it. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

You sense there’s more she’s not saying, but you don’t push. Instead, you gesture to your bed. “Uh, mind if I unpack?”

“Go for it.”

The awkwardness lingers as you start unpacking, but you catch her glancing at you a couple of times, like she’s sizing you up. It’s weird—sharing a room with someone who’s been on your screen, who people have written essays and theories about online.

Finally, she breaks the silence. “So… what made you come on this cruise?”

You hesitate, debating how much to share. “Friends bailed, didn’t want to waste the ticket. What about you?”

She snorts, perching on the edge of her bed. “I needed a break. Too many people. Too much noise.”

“Isn’t that ironic?” you tease, surprising yourself with your boldness. “Considering, you know… you.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

The conversation eases after that, flowing like a gentle current. You don’t mention Squid Game again, and she doesn’t bring it up either. Instead, you talk about the ship, the itinerary, and the overly enthusiastic cruise director you’d both spotted during boarding. But in the back of your mind, you’re still reeling. Jo Yuri, in the flesh. And somehow, you’re supposed to survive five days of sharing a cabin with her without making a complete fool of yourself.

(Your group chat explodes with questions a few days later.)

Anyway, you’re still reeling from the whole “roommate with a stranger/big star” situation when Yuri suggests exploring the ship. It feels like the right thing to do, you know? Anything to avoid sitting in the cabin together, surrounded by the thick air of awkward silence.

“Uh… sure,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “Lead the way?”

Yuri raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re really going to make me decide everything, huh?”

“No, no, I just—uh—thought maybe you… had a plan,”

Her lips twitch into a small smirk. “Relax, I’m not gonna bite.”

You try, you really do, but relaxing is easier said than done when you’re walking shoulder to shoulder with someone like Jo Yuri. She’s effortlessly cool, with her confident stride and casual yet chic outfit that screams “I’m too cool for this, but I’m here anyway.” Meanwhile, you feel like a bundle of frayed nerves, overthinking every step and every word.

The first stop is the promenade deck. It’s lined with shops selling overpriced souvenirs, jewellery, and random knick-knacks you definitely don’t need.

“Look at this,” Yuri says, holding up a sparkly snow globe with a tiny replica of the ship inside. “A whole fifteen dollars for something that’s going to collect dust on a shelf.”

You laugh nervously, unsure if you’re supposed to agree or argue. “Yeah, it’s, uh… it’s definitely not worth it.”

She narrows her eyes at you, clearly catching on to your awkward vibe. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You blink, feeling your ears heat up. “I talk! I just… I don’t want to say anything dumb.”

Yuri tilts her head, studying you for a moment. Then, to your surprise, she bursts out laughing. “You’re not as scary as you look.”

“I don’t look scary,” you protest, though your voice comes out weaker than you’d like.

“Mm, sure, buddy.” she teases, nudging your arm.