She didn't talk much after that.
Not in the car.Not when we got home.
Ha-rin kicked off her shoes and went straight to the sofa, curling up like she was trying to make herself smaller.
I noticed immediately.
"…Do you want water," I asked.
She nodded without looking up.
I brought it to her and placed it on the table.
"…Thanks."
Her voice was soft. Too soft.
I sat on the chair across from her. Not too close. Close enough.
Silence stretched between us.
Not awkward.
Heavy.
"…That guy at the store," she said suddenly.
"Yes."
"…For a second, I thought it was over."
"I know."
"…I imagined headlines."
I didn't interrupt.
"…I imagined my phone exploding.""…My agency screaming.""…My life just—"
She stopped herself.
Her fingers tightened around the glass.
"…I hate that I'm still scared," she muttered. "I've stood on stages in front of thousands."
"Fear is situational," I said. "Not proportional."
She looked at me.
"…You always say things like that."
"They are accurate."
She gave a weak smile.
"…You didn't panic."
"No."
"…Not even a little."
I hesitated.
"…I panicked earlier."
"When."
"Before you noticed."
She stared at me.
"…That doesn't count."
"It does," I replied. "I just don't show it."
She leaned back, exhaling slowly.
"…Must be nice."
"It is not," I said. "It delays release."
She snorted quietly.
"…That explains why you look like that."
"Like what."
"…Like you're always holding something in."
I didn't answer.
She shifted, placing a hand lightly on her stomach without realizing it.
Then froze.
I noticed.
She noticed me noticing.
"…I keep doing that," she said awkwardly.
"It is unconscious," I replied. "That is normal."
"…You're too calm about everything."
"I am not calm," I said. "I am careful."
She studied my face.
"…You were really ready to protect me back there."
"Yes."
"…Even lie."
"That was efficient."
She smiled faintly.
"…Thank you."
"You said that already."
"…I know."
She hesitated.
"…Can you stay here for a bit."
"Yes."
"…You don't have to say it like it's a task."
"It is not."
I stayed where I was.
She slowly relaxed into the sofa, eyes closing halfway.
"…When this is over," she said quietly, "…do you think I'll still be scared like this."
"Possibly," I replied. "But not alone."
Her eyes opened slightly.
"…You really don't sugarcoat things."
"No."
"…But you also don't leave."
"No."
She turned her face toward the back of the sofa.
"…That helps."
Minutes passed.
Her breathing evened out.
I didn't move.
From the hallway, my mother peeked out, took one look, and silently backed away.
The room stayed quiet.
Not because nothing was happening—
But because something important was settling.