The old priest took another slow step toward him.
His eyes shimmered with disbelief.
"…Min-Jae."
The name sounded almost like a prayer.
Min-Jae frowned.
"You know me."
"I do."
The priest smiled sadly.
"I never imagined I would say your name again."
Min-Jae looked confused.
"We met yesterday."
Silence.
The priest lowered his eyes.
"No…"
he whispered.
"It has been many years."
Min-Jae laughed uneasily.
"Father…"
"You must be mistaken."
"My wife and I were here only yesterday."
"We prayed together."
"You blessed us."
The priest's face slowly lost what little color remained.
"My son…"
"I have not seen Kim So-Eun…"
His voice broke.
"…since before the Liberation."
Everything stopped.
Even the candles seemed to freeze.
Min-Jae stared at him.
"What did you say?"
The priest reached toward him.
"I am sorry."
"I truly am."
"You have carried this pain for so long."
Min-Jae stepped backward.
"No."
"You are mistaken."
"She was with me."
"This morning."
"I held her hand."
"I heard her laugh."
"I—"
The chapel suddenly trembled.
A candle fell.
But instead of striking the floor…
it disappeared.
The wooden pews dissolved into white dust.
The stained-glass windows cracked without making a sound.
Light poured through every fracture.
The altar began to fade.
The cross dissolved.
The ceiling vanished.
The world became white.
Pure white.
Min-Jae turned in panic.
"So-Eun!"
His voice echoed endlessly.
"So-Eun!"
He began running.
There was nowhere to run.
Only endless whiteness.
Then…
voices.
Faint.
As though coming from underwater.
"…pulse is improving…"
"…he's waking…"
"…call the doctor…"
A sharp mechanical beeping pierced the silence.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The white light grew brighter.
Too bright.
Min-Jae squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them again…
the ceiling was unfamiliar.
White.
Smooth.
Electric lights.
He smelled antiseptic instead of incense.
Cotton instead of cedar.
Medicine instead of lavender.
His chest rose sharply.
He sat upright.
Pain exploded through his head.
A nurse hurried toward him.
"Mr. Seo!"
He looked around wildly.
The room was filled with strange machines.
Glass windows.
Metal railings.
His right arm carried an intravenous tube.
"What…"
His voice sounded dry.
"…where is this?"
The nurse gently pressed him back onto the bed.
"Please don't move."
"You've only just regained consciousness."
Consciousness?
His breathing quickened.
"No."
"My wife."
He looked toward the empty chair.
"So-Eun."
"She was with me."
The nurse exchanged a worried glance with another nurse.
"I'll call the doctor."
Minutes later, an elderly physician entered.
His face was calm.
Kind.
The kind of face that had delivered difficult news too many times.
"Mr. Seo."
Min-Jae immediately interrupted him.
"I need to leave."
"My wife is waiting."
"The boutique...."
"I have to...."
The doctor quietly placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Mr. Seo."
"Please."
"You need to hear me."
Min-Jae slowly fell silent.
The doctor pulled a chair beside the bed.
"You suffered severe psychological trauma."
"You were found unconscious."
"You remained physically alive…"
"…but emotionally trapped."
Min-Jae frowned.
"I don't understand."
The doctor inhaled slowly.
"Do you know what year this is?"
"…1945."
The doctor closed his eyes briefly.
"No."
He pointed toward the calendar hanging on the wall.
October.
1955.
Ten years.
Ten years had disappeared.
Min-Jae stared at the numbers.
His lips parted.
"No…"
His breathing became shallow.
"No…"
"This isn't possible."
"It is."
"No."
"My wife…"
"My wife…"
The doctor said nothing.
He simply opened a drawer beside the bed.
Inside lay a small cloth bundle.
Old.
Carefully preserved.
"I've kept these."
"They were found with you."
Min-Jae unfolded the cloth.
Inside…
the silver pocket watch.
The one So-Eun had left beside the letter.
His hands shook.
Beneath it…
four faded photographs.
One.
Hae-Wan smiling beside So-Eun outside the boutique.
Another.
Hye-Ri laughing while Haruto stood awkwardly beside her.
Another.
All four of them near the sea.
The last photograph…
four graves.
His breathing stopped.
Kim So-Eun.
Jo Hae-Wan.
Kim Hye-Ri.
Takeda Haruto.
The names blurred behind tears.
He stared without blinking.
The doctor spoke quietly.
"They died during the operation."
"You survived."
"You visited them every single week."
"For years."
"Then one day…"
"…you stopped speaking."
"The doctors believed your mind built another life."
"A kinder one."
"A life where she lived."
"A life where the war never took her."
Min-Jae's fingers tightened around the photograph.
Images flooded back.
So-Eun teaching him crochet.
Feeding him.
Singing Arirang.
Growing old beside him.
The church.
The laughter.
The wedding.
The persimmon tree.
Every memory…
began breaking apart.
Not disappearing.
Revealing itself.
Every happy moment had been stitched together from memories his grieving heart refused to bury.
A final gift.
One last lifetime.
He lowered his head.
Silence filled the room.
Then…
he smiled.
It wasn't happiness.
It wasn't despair.
Only love.
The kind that remained after everything else had been taken away.
"I understand now."
His voice barely rose above a whisper.
"I wasn't dreaming."
The doctor looked at him.
"I was loving her."
"In the only way my heart still could."
Tears finally escaped.
"I couldn't save her."
"So my mind gave me another chance."
He gently closed the pocket watch.
A faint click echoed through the room.
"So-Eun…"
he whispered.
"Thank you."
"Thank you…"
"…for staying until I was ready to let you go."
Outside the hospital window…
autumn leaves drifted across the courtyard.
For the first time in ten years…
Seo Min-Jae looked toward tomorrow.
Not because his grief had ended.
But because he finally understood that loving someone…
and letting them rest…
could be the same act.
Far away, beyond the hospital walls, church bells rang softly across the city.
The sound lingered in the autumn air.
Like a farewell.
Like a blessing.
Like a promise waiting patiently…
for another lifetime.