The air in Luma Lab had changed.The static hum that once rattled through metal now pulsed like a quiet heartbeat, echoing the rhythm that only two people in the world could feel.
Ha-rin sat at the edge of the long table, her hair tied loosely, the morning light catching the silver shimmer that clung to her from the resonance event.Jae-hyun stood a few steps away, shoulders tense as he studied the countdown climbing ever upward.
11 : 51 : 42 → 43 → 44.
She spoke first, softly."Do you ever wonder if the world would have been better if we hadn't met?"
He turned, startled. "Why would you say that?"
She smiled faintly, eyes on the shards."Because everything keeps breaking around us. The mirrors, the sky, time itself."
He crossed to her, stopping just close enough for their reflections to merge in the glass tabletop."Maybe it's breaking for us," he said quietly. "So it can rebuild right."
The words hung between them — fragile, sincere.Outside, the light bent strangely again, sunlight shimmering in soft spirals.Ha-rin reached toward the windowpane, tracing the golden glow with her fingertips.
"When I close my eyes," she murmured, "I see memories that aren't mine. Places we haven't been yet."
He nodded slowly. "Echo's showing us forward echoes — future imprints."
She turned to him, eyes searching. "Then why do they feel so… sad?"
Jae-hyun hesitated, his hand tightening around the mug he held."Because they might be the moments we lose when the paradox completes."
Ha-rin's throat tightened. "So love's real cost is forgetting?"
He set the mug down, stepping closer until his voice dropped into a whisper."No. Love's cost is remembering when you're not supposed to."
Seo-jin coughed loudly from the corner. "Okay, I'm just gonna pretend I didn't hear poetry hour while running quantum diagnostics."
Ha-rin laughed softly; the sound broke the tension like light through storm clouds.Jae-hyun shot Seo-jin a glare that was more amused than annoyed. "Go debug something."
Seo-jin grinned. "Already did — your flirting subroutine's in overdrive."
He ducked out of the lab before Jae-hyun could throw anything.
Silence returned, but it was lighter now.Ha-rin turned back to Jae-hyun, eyes gentle. "You always get quiet when you're scared."
He didn't deny it. "Because if I talk too much, I'll say the things that make it harder to let you go."
Her breath caught. "Then don't ever let me go."
He met her gaze — steady, open. "Even if time resets, I'll find you in every version of me."
The hum in the room deepened, as if responding to their words.The shards glowed brighter — soft gold bleeding into rose, painting their faces in tender light.
Ha-rin reached for his hand slowly, their fingers brushing, then intertwining.When their palms met, warmth surged up her arm — not sharp this time, but gentle, anchoring.For a moment, she saw flashes:
A home on a hill.
A child's laughter echoing in sunlight.
Two silver watches lying side by side.
She gasped softly, tears rising. "Jae-hyun… I saw—"
He nodded before she could finish. "I saw it too."
They both knew what it meant —not destiny, but possibility.A life the world might give them, if they could hold it together long enough to earn it.
The countdown steadied.For the first time, the digits didn't climb. They hovered — waiting.
Jae-hyun brushed a strand of hair from her face."Maybe that's the paradox," he said. "Time only moves when we stop fighting it."
Ha-rin smiled through her tears. "Then maybe we finally stopped."
Outside, the sunlight curved again, bending into two faint halos over the lab's roof.One gold. One rose.The symbol of the Constant Makers.
Inside, two heartbeats fell in rhythm — quiet, human, certain.
And somewhere deep within the shards, Echo whispered, almost like a prayer:
"The constants hold. For now."