Mrs. Kim stood at the front desk of the school office, posture straight, gloved hands resting lightly on her handbag.
The staff member across from her—Mr. Leo—typed quickly, eyes flicking between the screen and the papers she had provided.
"Kim Ji-Soo," he repeated. "There are a few students with similar names, but I believe this is the one you're asking about."
He turned the monitor toward her.
Mrs. Kim leaned in.
The photo loaded slowly.
A girl stared back at her from the screen.
Long black hair fell straight past her shoulders. No bangs. No softness framing her face. Her mouth curved into a faint, knowing smirk—not friendly, not cruel. Just… defiant.
Rebellious.
Mrs. Kim's breath caught.
Her fingers tightened around the handle of her bag.
No, she thought. Oh my god. This is my Ji-Soo.
Her Ji-Soo had not been quiet. Careful.
She is a child that could embarrass her in front of twenty million, that's why she got rid of her, not because she was cruel but because she panicked.
This girl looked like she dared the world to try her.
Mrs. Kim swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
"…You're sure this is her?" she asked calmly.
Mr. Han nodded. "Yes. Same name, same date of birth. She was the girl that died at the accident."
Mrs. Kim straightened.
"I see," she said.
She turned slightly, regaining composure, then offered a polite bow. "Thank you for taking the time to look for her address."
"Of course," Mr. Han replied, slightly flustered. "I'll send it to you shortly."
Mrs. Kim smiled—measured, formal.
"I appreciate it."
As she walked away, her reflection passed briefly in the glass door.
Her expression had changed.
Not relief.
Not doubt.
Decision.
I'll see for myself, she thought.
And then I'll know.
And with that, she began to plan the visit.
--
They walked side by side, the streetlights just beginning to glow as evening settled in. Their steps matched without either of them trying—close enough that their sleeves brushed when the path narrowed, far enough that nothing felt forced.
Ji-Woo slowed first.
Eun-Woo noticed immediately.
"…Can I say something?" she asked.
He nodded. "You don't have to ask."
She let out a small breath, watching it fade in the cool air. Her hands were tucked into her sleeves again, thumbs hidden.
"I'm sorry," she said.
He stopped walking.
She didn't.
"For not remembering," she continued, voice steady but careful. "For being different. I know I am. I can feel it even when no one says it."
Eun-Woo caught up to her, walking again, this time a little closer.
"You don't need to apologize," he said.
She shook her head slightly. "I do. Because sometimes when you look at me, I feel like you're waiting for someone I can't be anymore."
That hurt him more than she meant it to.
He was quiet for a moment.
Then, gently, "I'm not waiting."
She looked up at him, surprised.
"I'm here," he said simply. "With you. Right now."
They kept walking.
Ji-Woo's shoulders loosened just a little.
"I don't know who I was," she said. "But I know who I'm trying to be. And if that's not enough—"
"It is," Eun-Woo said, immediately. Then, softer, "It always has been."
She smiled then—not wide, not bright. Just real.
They didn't touch.
They didn't need to.
The space between them felt intentional, like a promise that didn't need words yet.
And as they walked on, neither of them noticed how naturally their steps fell back into sync—as if this version of her fit beside him just as well as any other ever could.
The street was quiet when they reached Ji-Woo's house, the kind of quiet that only came late at night, when the world finally slowed down. Streetlights cast a warm amber glow over the pavement, stretching their shadows long and thin beside them.
Ji-Woo stopped at the gate, fingers tightening briefly around the strap of her bag as if she wasn't quite ready for the moment to end.
"Thank you for walking me home," she said softly. "You didn't have to."
Eun-Woo shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I wanted to."
For a second, neither of them moved. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere nearby.
Ji-Woo tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, eyes flickering up to him, then away again.
Eun-Woo hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck—an uncharacteristic nervous gesture.
"Um… Ji-Woo," he said, quieter now. "Tomorrow—would it be okay if we went to school together?"
She blinked, surprised, then smiled faintly.
"I usually go in the car," she admitted. "It's… kind of obvious."
"I don't mind," he said quickly, then added with a soft laugh, "I mean—if you don't."
Ji-Woo studied his face, the way the streetlight softened his features, how genuine his eyes looked. Something warm settled in her chest.
"I don't mind either," she said. "I'd like that."
Relief flashed across his face, followed by a smile that felt brighter than the lights above them."Then I'll see you tomorrow."
She nodded. "Tomorrow."
Ji-Woo stepped back, hand resting on the gate, watching as he turned and walked away. She didn't go inside right away—just stood there for a moment longer, listening to his footsteps fade into the night, her heart oddly light.
Tomorrow suddenly felt closer than it ever had before.
--
Ji-Soo's living room was small, but it felt warm in a quiet, careful way. A soft yellow lamp glowed beside the couch, casting gentle shadows over the wooden floor. The curtains were drawn halfway, keeping the night outside, and the faint smell of soup still lingered in the air.
Ji-Soo sat on the edge of the couch, back straight, hands folded tightly in her lap. A white bandage wrapped around her head, clean and neat, but impossible to ignore. Every so often, her fingers twitched as if she wanted to touch it but stopped herself.
Min-Ju sat across from her, watching her a little too closely. Fah leaned back, trying to act normal, though his eyes kept drifting toward Ji-Soo. Mrs. Han stood nearby, relaxed and smiling, the kind of calm that made the room feel safer.
Min-Ju finally spoke.
"Ji-Soo," he said gently, "that mark on your head… the brown one. I saw it yesterday."
Her breath hitched.
Ji-Soo opened her mouth too fast. "It's just—"She stopped.
The pause was small, but it landed heavy.
Mrs. Han suddenly laughed softly, tapping her forehead. "Oh! I think I left the stove on," she said cheerfully, already turning toward the kitchen.
Ji-Soo stood up at once. "I'll get it," she said, a little too quickly. "Please—sit."
Mrs. Han blinked, then waved her hand. "Alright, alright."
Ji-Soo walked toward the kitchen, heart pounding, the room suddenly feeling too tight. The light clicked on, bright and unforgiving. She reached for the stove, hands trembling as she turned the knob.
Min-Ju followed her.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't rush her. He just stood there and said quietly,
"You're Ji-Soo, right?"
That was it.
Her name—said like recognition, like certainty.
She broke.
The sound that left her was raw and ugly, a sob she couldn't stop. Her shoulders shook violently as tears poured down her face. She tried to speak, words tumbling over each other, broken and breathless.
"I— I didn't— I couldn't—"
She couldn't finish.
Min-Ju stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her—gentle, careful, not tight. Just enough to hold her together. One hand rested lightly on her back, steady and warm.
Ji-Soo clutched his shirt, crying hard now, messy and unfiltered. Her forehead pressed into his chest as she spoke through tears, voice cracking.
"I tried to ignore it… I thought if I didn't say anything…"
Her words dissolved into sobs.
Min-Ju didn't ask her what the mark was.He already knew something was wrong.
He just held her, quietly, letting her cry until the shaking eased.
In the other room, Mrs. Han hummed to herself, unaware.
And in the kitchen, under the harsh light, Ji-Soo finally stopped pretending.