The winter wind whipped against the frosted windows of Isabella Ruiz's Brooklyn apartment as she perched on the edge of her bed, sneakers kicked off, her school soccer jersey half-sliding off her shoulder. She stared at the application on her laptop, biting the inside of her cheek.

Foreign Exchange Program.

A dumb idea, probably. But also... intriguing. It had been her coach, Mr. McGuire, who brought it up last week after practice.

"You've got a lot going for you, Ruiz," he'd said, pulling her aside after a grueling two hours on the field. "Good grades, leadership on the team. Why not go for something big?"

"Big like what?" she'd asked, leaning on the goalpost and fiddling with her cleats.

"This," he'd replied, handing her the glossy flyer. "Go somewhere new. Learn something different. You've got the brain and the drive for it."

It was the first time someone outside her family or team had seen her as more than a "soccer star." And now here she was, filling out an application late on a Wednesday night when she should've been reviewing for the AP Calc test tomorrow.

Still, as much as Isabella tried to convince herself that it wasn't a big deal, something about pressing "Submit" made her stomach flip. South Korea had caught her eye because of its mix of old and new-a sprawling metropolis with temples tucked between modern skyscrapers. It sounded fascinating... but also impossible.

She closed the laptop, tossed herself backward onto her bed, and muttered, "It's not like I'll get in."

Weeks passed, life moved on. Between soccer practice, late-night cramming sessions, and her shifts at Mike's Deli down the street, Isabella forgot about the application.

Until the envelope arrived.

She was in the middle of dinner, joking with her two younger brothers about who'd eaten the last slice of pizza, when her mom placed it in front of her.

"What's this?" Isabella asked, her fork hovering mid-air.

"No clue," her mom said, sliding into her seat with her own plate. "But it looks important."

Her brothers watched with mock intensity as Isabella tore it open. Her heart skipped as she read the first few lines:

"Congratulations, Isabella Ruiz. You have been accepted into the Spring semester foreign exchange program to Seoul, South Korea!"

"No way," she whispered.

"What?!" her younger brother Jamie asked, craning his neck to read over her shoulder.

"I got in."

Her mom leaned forward, her face a mix of excitement and concern. "Oh wow, that's... amazing! But are you sure you're ready for this?"

Was she? Isabella swallowed hard. She wasn't just stepping outside of her comfort zone; she'd be halfway across the world. No familiar soccer fields, no crowded NYC subways, no late-night milkshake runs with her best friend, Tasha. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff-terrifying, but also exhilarating.

"I don't know," Isabella finally said.

"Don't be scared, Bella," Jamie teased. "You're always bragging about being brave."

"Shut it, Jamie," she snapped, but couldn't fight the grin tugging at her lips.

Tasha's reaction the next day was predictably dramatic. "You're seriously leaving me to fend for myself senior year?!" she gasped, smacking Isabella's arm as they walked home from school.

"It's only a semester."

"Yeah, on the other side of the freaking world!" Tasha shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, sighing. "You're going to meet so many cool people and forget all about boring New York and me."

"Come on," Isabella said with a laugh. "You know that's not going to happen."

But beneath her teasing tone, there was a knot in her chest. What if she didn't belong there? What if she couldn't keep up? What if the world she'd built-her soccer team, her family, her best friend-moved on without her?

By the time March rolled around, Isabella was buckling her seatbelt on a red-eye flight to Incheon, her chest tight with nerves. Arriving in Seoul was a blur of sights, sounds, and foreign words she barely understood. Her host family greeted her with warm smiles: Mr. and Mrs. Park, their bubbly daughter Mina... and their eldest son.

Standing half-hidden in the doorway was a boy about her age, with rumpled hair and a sharp jawline. His gaze flicked over her briefly before he gave a short nod.

"That's Jae-min," Mina said, pulling on Isabella's sleeve. "He's shy."

Shy? He looked more annoyed than anything, but Isabella just gave a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Jae-min said, his English crisp, though his tone was flat.

As she hauled her luggage up the stairs, she couldn't help feeling like she was being watched. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed it: Jae-min was leaning against the wall, his face unreadable.

So much for starting off on the right foot.