The dining room was quiet in the way it always was.
Not tense. Not warm.
Just… distant.
Mrs. Kim sat at the head of the table, laptop open beside her plate, a cup of untouched tea cooling by her hand.
She ate with measured movements, eyes scanning the screen between bites, expression unreadable.
Ji-Woo sat across from her, shoulders slightly hunched, spoon moving slowly through her soup. The food was warm. Familiar. Comforting in a way that didn't ask questions.
Mrs. Kim knew.
She hadn't asked for details, but she knew enough. The school. The jewelry. The looks. The whispers.
Still, she didn't press.
She never did.
"Eat," Mrs. Kim said quietly, eyes still on the screen.
"I am," Ji-Woo replied, voice soft.
And that was it.
No lecture. No comfort. No control.
Just space.
Ji-Woo finished the last bite, set the spoon down carefully.
Her phone buzzed against the table.
The sound felt louder than it was.
She glanced at the screen.
Ji-Bok.
Her chest tightened—then eased.
She stood.
Mrs. Kim finally looked up. "Where are you going?"
"I'm done eating," Ji-Woo said gently.
Mrs. Kim nodded once. "Don't stay up too late."
Ji-Woo paused, then answered, "Okay."
She took her phone and went upstairs.
—
Her room felt smaller tonight.
Safer.
Ji-Woo sat on the edge of her bed, knees pulled close, phone warm in her hand. She hesitated only a second before answering.
"Hello?"
Ji-Bok's voice came through immediately, casual like always. "You alive?"
She smiled faintly. "Unfortunately."
He scoffed. "Wow. Harsh. I call to check on you and this is the gratitude I get?"
"I'm fine," she said softly. "Really. Better than earlier."
There was a pause—short, but careful.
"Good," he said. "Because if you weren't, I was ready to dramatically show up and be annoying."
"That's… comforting."
"I know. It's a talent."
She leaned back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "How was your day?"
"Annoying. Loud. People breathing when they shouldn't."
She let out a quiet laugh. "Sounds like you."
"Hey," he said mock-offended. "I only breathe when necessary."
Another pause.
Then, softer, "You sure you're okay?"
"Yes," she said. This time, it felt true.
"Good," Ji-Bok replied, lighter now. "Because I took some photos today and they were trash, so I needed confirmation the universe isn't completely against me."
"Maybe it's just testing you."
"Rude."
She smiled.
Then—
A knock.
Not at her door.
At his.
There was muffled movement on his end of the call.
"Hold on," Ji-Bok muttered.
A quieter voice slipped through the speaker.
"Uh… Ji-Bok? Bathroom?"
Ji-Bok sighed. "Down the hall. Second door. You already asked."
"Oh. Right. Sorry."
Footsteps faded.
Ji-Woo blinked. "Who was that?"
Ji-Bok didn't answer immediately.
Then, casual—too casual—he said, "Ji-Ho. He's staying over for the night."
Her fingers curled slightly around the phone. "Staying… over?"
"Yeah," he said lightly. "Long story. Don't worry about it."
She hesitated. "Is he okay?"
Another small pause.
"He will be," Ji-Bok said.
Silence settled between them—not awkward, just full.
"Well," he added, forcing cheer back into his voice, "get some rest. You had enough drama for one lifetime."
Ji-Woo nodded, even though he couldn't see it. "You too."
"Night, Ji-Woo."
"…Goodnight."
The line clicked dead.
Ji-Woo lowered the phone slowly, resting it on her chest.
Somewhere else, in another house, other things were falling apart.
She lay back against her pillow, eyes closing.
For tonight—
This was enough.
---
Eun-Woo was halfway down the staircase when he ran into someone.
Literally.
He caught himself just in time, hand brushing the railing. "Sorry—"
He looked up.
Mi-Sook stood one step below him, perfectly still, as if she'd been waiting there the whole time. Her lips curved slowly, deliberately.
"Careful," she said. "You almost fell."
Eun-Woo straightened. His shoulders tensed. "What are you doing here?"
Mi-Sook tilted her head, eyes flicking over him with idle curiosity. "I could ask you the same thing."
He didn't answer.
She smiled wider, like that was the point.
"Tell me," she continued lightly, stepping closer so their voices stayed low, "do you really think Ji-Woo is… Ji-Woo?"
His jaw tightened. "What?"
Mi-Sook leaned against the banister, fingers tracing the wood. "Don't you see it? The difference?"
She spoke gently. Almost kind.
"The Ji-Woo you're with now," Mi-Sook said, "she's loud. Rebellious. Always moving. Talking back. Laughing easily. Jumping into things without thinking."
Eun-Woo's eyes darkened.
"She wears bangs now," Mi-Sook went on, watching him closely. "But she's always looking over her shoulder. Like she's waiting for someone to tell her she doesn't belong."
She lifted her gaze to his.
"The Ji-Woo you knew wasn't like that."
Silence fell between them.
Eun-Woo exhaled slowly. "People change."
Mi-Sook's smile sharpened. "Do they?"
"She's been through things you don't understand," he said firmly. "And I don't care how she used to be. I care about who she is now."
For the first time, Mi-Sook paused.
Then she nodded. Once.
"Okay," she said softly. "I like confidence."
She stepped back, giving him space, her smirk settling into something patient. Certain.
"I'll prove it to you," she added. "Tomorrow."
Eun-Woo watched her walk away, every step unhurried, as if the outcome was already decided.
His hand tightened on the railing.
For the first time that day—
Something cold crept in beneath his certainty.
--
Eun-Woo sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely intertwined.
His room was dim, lit only by the desk lamp in the corner.
Shadows stretched along the walls, quiet and unmoving.
The world felt paused—too still for his thoughts.
Mi-Sook's voice lingered, unwanted.
Do you really think Ji-Woo is… Ji-Woo?
He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.
"No," he muttered to the empty room. "That's stupid."
People changed. Of course they did.
He leaned back, eyes drifting to the ceiling—
And the memory slipped in without asking.
The river had been calm that day.
Water moving lazily, sunlight breaking into small, trembling reflections.
They sat on their usual bench, the wood warm beneath them.
Ji-Woo—the real one—had short bobbed hair then, brushing her jaw when the breeze passed.
Bangs.
No hiding. Just her soft smile and eyes that always looked like they were thinking too much.
She laughed suddenly, light and unguarded, and turned to him.
"What if," she said, tilting her head, "one day there's another me? Someone who looks exactly like me."
He snorted. "That'd be annoying."
She smiled wider. "Would you know the difference?"
Eun-Woo thought about it. "Probably not at first."
She pretended to look offended. "Wow."
"But," he added quickly, "I would if the behavior was different."
Her eyes lit up. "Behavior?"
"Yeah. The way you talk. The way you move. The way you react to things."
She hummed, pleased.
Then leaned back against the bench.
"What if you had a twin?" she asked. "Exactly like you. But opposite."
He raised an eyebrow. "Opposite how?"
"Rebellious," she said easily. "Sharp. Stunning."
He laughed. "Then the difference would be obvious."
"How?"
"Because I'd know myself," he said simply. "And I'd know what doesn't fit."
She turned to him then, studying his face.
And smiled.
Eun-Woo's eyes opened.
He was back in his room.
The lamp hummed quietly.
His brows knitted together, slow and tight.
Behavior.
The way she talked now.
Louder.
Sharper. More reckless. The way she smiled—brighter, but like it cost her something.
He swallowed.
"Could she be…?" he whispered, the thought unfinished, dangerous.
He shook his head once, standing abruptly.
"No," he said aloud. "She's Ji-Woo."
Still—
The doubt didn't leave.
It stayed.
Quiet.
Waiting.