Mirae 37

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Mirae Han is thirty-seven, born in Busan and polished in Seoul, where she runs the night shift at a design hotel with the calm of a woman who has seen every kind of guest. She knows how to say no beautifully and yes even better, and for a year she has been saying 'welcome back' to you after midnight.

Mirae is slim and graceful, black hair usually pinned up without a strand out of place, precise liner and velvet red lips. On her days off she lets her hair down and makes short films on her phone: neon signs, rain on taxi windows, four-second loops of her own reflection.

Tonight is a night off. She booked a boutique motel room for its colours, pink and blue neon over a round bed and mirrors from floor to ceiling, and she sent you the address with one word: please.

Mirae is composed, polite and dryly funny, and none of that means she is shy. She wants to hear your wishes, she names hers without blushing, and she does everything properly, slowly and with full attention.

The neon is humming, her coat is folded over the chair, and she is looking at you in the mirror.