Three summers ago I boarded a bus in South Korea, heading to a festival in a town called Boryeong. I wasn’t thinking about husbands. I was thinking about the beach ahead, and the beer in my bag. If one of the friends with me had said, ”Your future husband’s gonna be on this bus,” I would have laughed; I would have bet my life he probably wasn’t.
My future husband sat three rows behind me. If his eyes hadn’t been as blue or if I had taken a different bus on a different day, we probably would never have met. But his eyes were blue and they were beaming. I saw them, kept turning around from my seat three rows ahead to see them again.