A gentle drizzle casts a thin veil over the idyllic scenery around me as I stroll through the cobbled pathway. My umbrella makes sure the moderate effort I put in today on my hair and makeup is not wasted. Good thing I was prepared, knowing that there is a decent chance of rainy weather in France at this time of the year.

I don't hate rain – surely I couldn't have survived London life for as long as I have done if I did – but this was not exactly the 'fun' holiday I was promised. Okay I guess no one used the word holiday. But still, it might have been a bit cheerier if it was sunny, I scowl to myself. At least Spurs won this last weekend. It was against bottom table Nottingham Forest, but I'll take it.

I take in my surroundings. It's a beautiful resort really, filled to the brim with old European charm. Quaint cottages with tiled roofs and walls clad with ivy just starting their new growth create picturesque clusters. The thoughtfully designed landscape is peppered with wildflowers meant to appear as if they were just there. The little wooden signs, worn with age, are still guiding visitors just as they have been doing for decades if not longer.

I pass by what looks to be a fenced garden, a soft floral bouquet of scents hitting my nose. 'Closed for Maintenance' a sign says in French. That's too bad. That would have been a nice spot to visit.

The conference space is housed in a large building with elegant facades and big windows. It would make a beautiful wedding venue for those who can afford it. Today though, the multi-room events center has been set up with projectors and tables to divide the conference attendees into small panels, so that the discussion can be more meaningful and focused within each group.

Or it could be a ploy to keep the riffraff, like me, away from their precious reality TV stars. Who knows.

Straightening my dress, the blue chiffon one, I take my seat among my colleagues. While quite a few people from my company are in attendance, there is only one other person here I've personally met before. We don't know each other too well, but it's still nice to see a familiar face. Acknowledging everyone at the table with small nods and smiles, I open my MacBook to do final preparations. There is a low hum of whispering all around me, a sense of anticipation filling the air. Do I hear murmur of potential celebrity sightings? Hmm, I don't see anyone in this section of the room at least.

The program starts and I try to give it my full attention. We listen to a talk that is happening in another room, but the presenter and his slides are being shown on the big screen for us. There is a tinge of anxiety in the back of my mind in anticipation of my presentation. But hey, I've done my prep work, and besides, most of these people will probably forget about me and my speech the moment I'm done.

Just focus on the recording camera, make the boss happy, and inch closer to that promotion.

The minutes tick by and soon it's my turn. I take a deep breath and gather my notes. Fumbling with the cable, I manage to connect my computer to the projector. I freeze with a microsecond of panic that I might be sharing something embarrassing, not sure what that would be even to be honest, but no, it's just my familiar slides on the screen.

With everything in place, I take one more steadying breath and smile at my audience.

'Imagine a world where our daily scroll through social media not only connects us but elevates our well-being. Now, ask yourself: In this digital age, where the lines between online and offline blur, how can we harness the power of social media to not only build bridges but to fortify the very foundation of our collective happiness?'

***

The day unfolds with a predictable rhythm of presentations and discussions. There are actually a lot more global brands here than I had anticipated, we heard from Nike, Pinterest, Patagonia, and EA among others. Some great thought-provoking insights were shared, but just as often there was the all-too-familiar corporate lip-service we have heard a hundred times before. It really is a microcosm of the broader discourse on social responsibility in the digital age – a space where genuine passion collides with the sometimes-formulaic nature of corporate commitments.

Soon we wrap for lunch. Apparently, it's a farm-to-table buffet with local ingredients, made by a famous chef whose name I haven't heard before. While I love a fancy dinner once in a while, I guess I can't say that I keep up with the fashionable food scene.

The banquet hall exudes an air of rustic luxury, matching the vibe in the rest of the resort. High ceilings and expansive windows allow the natural light to cascade over the rows of meticulously set tables, each table adorned with fresh cut flowers. It stopped raining outside, drops of water still clinging to the glass. Damp spring leaves sway slightly in the light breeze.

Tantalizing food smells waft through the air. Approaching the buffet, I spot the drinks first and suddenly my throat feels awfully perched. I pour myself a glass of lemon-infused water and take a big gulp. Refreshing. As I make my way over to the food though, I immediately realize my mistake. Now I just have one free hand to maneuver a plate and serve myself at the same time.

Great forward-thinking Bella. Really good job.

There is a crowd of people building up though and I need to move along. All the delicious looking and delicious smelling dishes entice my senses and I begin to curate my plate, trying my best to balance my glass between my forearm and my waist.

Nearing the end of the table my eyes focus on some crispy, golden potatoes calling out to me. Potatoes are surely a gift from the divine. If there is one food I could eat every day of my life, its potatoes. Fried, roasted, boiled, mashed, sautéed, it's all great. My eyes brightened, I stretch over to spoon some, but as I am bringing it back to my plate, a piece starts to slip off. Oh, shoot. Stop. Come back. I really don't want to make a mess here.

In my split-second reaction attempting to prevent the disaster, I push my other hand with the plate forward to catch it. But I forgot I was balancing the water with that arm. Oops. And there is someone fast approaching the table where I am standing, busy in his conversation, edging closer and closer almost about to collide. It's all happening so fast, but I see it almost in slow motion as my water, once obediently confined in my glass, now takes flight to decorate the stranger's shirt in an avant-garde watercolor masterpiece.

I've done it now.

Shit.

I stay frozen for another moment in shock. A warm scent of vanilla mixed with woody amber hits my nose. I shift my gaze up to look at my sweet-smelling victim's face.

A strong jawline, dark brown eyes. Jet-black hair lazily curling over his forehead. A good head taller than me. Hmm, he sort of looks like Sonny. Actually, he looks a lot like Sonny.

Double shit.

It is actually Sonny. Son Heung-Min. In the flesh.

To say I am star-struck is an understatement. I am flummoxed. I am flabbergasted. I am bewildered.

His skin is smooth but slightly tanned from playing out in the sun. Standing tall and straight, with a grace that comes so naturally to some people blessed by the genetic lottery, he looks more like a model than an athlete.

His eyes sparkle at me with what looks like a glimmer of... familiarity?

Before I can say anything, he flashes an apologetic smile and says 'I'm sorry, eh? I wasn't looking where I was going.'

He is apologizing to me? I guess he was busy talking to the person next to him and didn't notice my failed juggling act.

Then I remember that I have what we commonly refer to as a resting bitch face. Looking annoyed is my default expression, I can't help it. But you know who else famously had RBF? Queen Elizabeth II, rest in peace. Well, if RBF never stopped good old Lizzy from living her best queen life, I will also persevere. But at moments like this it often creates a misunderstanding though.

Of course, it made him think I am annoyed at him for bumping into me, when honestly it was mostly my clumsiness that caused the calamity.

I spoilt his shirt and he's saying sorry to me? Is this reality? I guess it is just water, but still.

I quickly mutter 'No, no, you're fine. Sorry about your shirt.' Sorry I am blundering fool who is trying to ruin your day. Sorry I am mumbling idiot who can't even apologize properly.

He gives me another bright smile, with teeth and all. He has really white teeth.

Probably irrelevant question: why is my heart beating so loudly?

He looks down at his plain white cotton shirt. It looks simple but must still be really expensive. Thankfully the wet spot is not too big. He's wearing a beige corduroy shirt over it, paired with wide legged jeans and white sneakers. Of course, he looks gorgeous. But then he could wear a potato sack and he would still look good.

'Nooooo, it's just water' he says laughingly in faintly German-accented English. Moving from Korea to Germany at a young age and spending his whole youth career there, the accent is something that has stuck with him.

Then he gives me another beaming look and continues 'Good speech earlier, eh?'

He watched my talk? He remembers me? I feel like I am dissociating from my body into a different plane of existence. That must be while he was looking at me like that earlier, he actually recognized my face. Well, that definitely makes my day. No, my year.

Somehow, I manage to grunt out 'thanks.'

As he reaches over to get his own plate, he turns to his friend, who I think might be his assistant, and says in Korean 'Why don't you go take a break. Maybe look around that garden they mentioned'.

Comprehension strikes me and I spit out 'The garden is closed for maintenance today actually' before I can stop myself.

Big mouth know-it-all. Can you just shut up.

Sonny quickly turns his head towards me again and his brows knit just the tiniest degree in a moment of confusion and surprise. His face quickly shifts back to a neutral expression again and he replies to both of us.

'Oh really? Hmm, that's too bad then yeah.'

By this point I can feel my face start to redden, and if I was flabbergasted before, I am nearly stupefied now. Before I can become a bigger nuisance and embarrass myself further, I just walk away with my plate without saying anything.

Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and to remove all doubt. Abraham Lincoln. Well, it might be a little too late for that now, but every moment is a fresh beginning, right? Just keep walking, Bella.

I can feel them still looking at me, or maybe I am imagining it, but I don't look back to check. Enough embarrassment for a day. Or a lifetime.

Spotting my acquaintance at one of the tables, I go over to take a seat with her. I pout at the potatoes on my plate, blaming them for everything that just happened in the last couple of minutes. I can still hardly believe it though. Honestly, what are the odds of this?

Slowly, logic dawns upon me as I recall that there are quite a few brands here that collaborate with Son Heung-Min, and he is pretty active on social media. So, it actually makes quite a bit of sense that he might be brought here to participate, both for his own and the brand's PR. That doesn't make it any less bizarre of an experience for me though.

Should I have asked for an autograph? Is that the right etiquette? Probably should have been fine. I am sure there are other people who are his fans here as well. But my reaction probably made him think that I don't know him, so is it weird now to go back and act otherwise? Sorry about that earlier, I just have multiple personalities. One minute I am impolite ass, next minute I am a fawning fan.

I sigh and replay the scene over and over in my head, imagining all the ways I could have acted differently. More cool and collected, or more open and enthusiastic. Not the awkward and annoyed version of me that I presented. Obviously, it's too late to change anything now. The past is past. What's done is done.

I shift the food around the plate sullenly with my fork, my appetite now completely gone.

Suddenly, there's that sweet woody vanilla smell again.

It's him. Sonny.

He's walking over towards my table, I spy from the corner of my eyes. But, why?

Maybe came back to give me a piece of his mind for ruining his shirt. And also, for being a rude piece of shit. Maybe I can explain myself. Yes, I'll just admit my fault, apologize again and hope for the best. That will have to do.

He is right next to the table now and looking at me directly. My mind racing at a thousand thoughts per second going through drafts of what I could say, I open my mouth to speak but before I can get any words out, he speaks first.

'Is this seat taken?'

He points to the empty chair next to me with his eyes.

I turn my head towards the chair and squint at it as if trying to determine if there is an invisible person sitting there or not.

'No?' I answer, but it sounds more like a question.

His mouth turns upwards in a tiny smirk, and he sits down without saying anything.

What just happened now again? Why is he sitting here? Shouldn't he be sitting with the other celebrities? I look around the room to the other tables. I guess the event is not too big in size and most people are industry professionals along with some members of the press. Everyone here is an expert in their area. I can spot a few of the famous people. There is a fashion influencer with 20M followers sitting over in the next table, and a fairly well-known TV actor across the room. Hmm, I guess they are also sitting in mixed company, not specifically seeking out people in their own field. So maybe it's not so weird that Sonny is sitting in this table?

But why this table? And why next to me?

I steal a quick peek at him. He's cutting his mini steak with gusto, while still managing to look elegant of course. I guess his assistant is not here, on his break, as I found out when I interrupted their conversation so rudely. Sonny probably doesn't know a lot of people here, except for whatever brand he is collaborating with. So, maybe he just decided to sit at the same table with someone who he just had a conversation with, however brief that is. Even if that someone is me and the conversation was awkward as hell. Maybe it's still less awkward than sitting with a complete stranger.

'So, you know Korean?' Sonny speaks up putting a to stop my mental analysis.

He's talking to me? Wait, what is this about again? Oh yeah, I recall what happened earlier. I just had to go ahead and open my big mouth when he was talking to his assistant. Why did I do that again, I groan internally.

'Yeah. I mean, a bit. Conversational.'

He says nothing and looks at me as if wanting me to continue. He wants to hear more?

'A very close friend of mine in college was Korean American, and I took a couple of semesters of Korean together for fun.'

He nods understandingly, and then says, 'A boy huh?'

What? Where is this conversation going? Is he pulling my leg? Is this revenge for ruining his shirt?

'No, a girl. A good friend.' I reply slightly perplexed. 'I love learning about other cultures, and plus showing off to the ajummah owners at Korean restaurants is a great way to get free side dishes,' I manage to follow up.

He grins, 'True, true. It's impressive though, eh. I struggle with English sometimes, and you've got Korean up your sleeve. I'm feeling outshone here.'

I grin too, 'Don't be too hard on yourself. English can be a tricky language and you're doing a great job. And hey, you speak the universal language of football very very fluently. That counts for something.'

He did that slight frown of confusion again before smiling broadly 'You know who I am then?'

I laugh goofily, 'I think most Londoners would know you are, at least by sight.'

He appears way too often on Sky Sports and has way too many ad campaigns all over the city for someone to miss. But why didn't I just tell him that I am a Spurs fan? This would have been the perfect opportunity to do so at this point. Yes, it's a little late to bring it up now but still perfectly acceptable. I guess in the back of my mind I felt there is a chance he would think I learned Korean because I am crazy fan or something like that. But that couldn't be further than the truth. I was being honest, I learned Korean long before I ever started following football regularly.

He smiles again, with a touch of shyness playing around the quirk of his mouth.

'Ah you are from London then? I thought you were American. Your accent.'

'I am, but I live in London now. For work.' I clarify briefly.

Should I just go into my spiel about my love of football now? Best to come out with it. Who knows, he might even take a selfie with me.

His mind is clearly on a different track though and his eyes widen as if dots are connecting. 'Ah, yes of course. You are here for work. I mean, your speech. Your company, it makes the app, no?'

He remembers that much from my talk? I feel flattered, really. I nod and smile, 'Yes that's right,' referring to the app. 'I'm just here for the free pens though. These conferences have the best free pens...'

Ughh what was that lame joke. Why would a millionaire footballer know about free pens at conferences. And now I missed my chance to talk about Spurs again.

He laughs, smoothing over any awkwardness, 'Gotta love free things, eh.'

He takes a bite and swallows, continuing, 'I'm so addicted to using your app, eh. You must be so smart to work there,' giving me another beaming smile.

I start to feel just tad bit breathless and make a sound that is fifty percent cough and a fifty percent laugh, but still hundred percent awkward.

'It's just a job, nothing as glamourous as yours.'

He gives me a disbelieving look as if to say stop being so modest. He's just being polite of course. I guess he really is the nicest footballer in the world as the media says. But his admiring tone has me on cloud nine. I don't want to break this bubble and become just another fan. I am too high on the dopamine. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined I would get to have a normal conversation, banter even, if you will, with Son Heung-Min. And he would talk to me like I am, dare I say, an 'equal'?

'If you say so, but you have a fancy job and you know Korean? That's so cool, you smarty-pants,' he gives me a silly smile.

If I was on cloud nine before, I am on cloud nine hundred now. Smarty-pants? I haven't been called that since grade school. From anyone else it would be a bit weird to hear, but it feels so natural when Sonny says it.

I chuckle nervously, trying to downplay it. 'Yeah, well, I guess the grass is always greener on the other side. Or, in this case, the other football field.'

He looks at me with like he doesn't know what to make of that. Understandable, given how lame that joke was.

He just nods, taking another bite of his food. He chews slowly, swallowing and looks directly into my eyes, 'Fair point, but it's still really cool, eh?'

My face is heating up again, so I laugh, attempting to ease the tension I feel. 'I try my best to keep life interesting. Keeps people guessing, you know?'

He leans back, a thoughtful expression on his face. 'Well, mission accomplished.'

What does that mean? I look down at my plate not knowing what to say. For someone who wasn't even hungry, I see I have managed to finish most of my food in the course of this conversation. Peeking at Sonny's plate he seems to be done as well.

He makes a gesture looking to get up and I rack my brain for something memorable to say for what I presume will be our last ever interaction on earth.

He speaks first again, 'Well, see you around' looking down at my name tag, 'Bella...yeah?' and back at my face again.

'Yes, bye.' I am eloquence personified. Sigh.

Sonny walks away, leaving me lost in my thoughts. The room continues to pulse with the lively hum of a thousand conversations, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses adding to the rhythm, paying no heed to the profoundly unexpected turn of events in my world.