The moonlight filtered through the curtains of MK's small room.
He sat on his bed, tracing patterns on the bedsheet with his finger, thinking about the question that had begun haunting him again — If my real mother had another life, what kind of person would she be?
Would she have smiled more?
Would she have sung louder?
Would she have lived the way she wanted, instead of just surviving?
He often imagined her traveling — free, radiant, laughing with the wind.
Sometimes he thought she must still exist somewhere in the world, humming that same half-remembered song he heard as a baby. When she used to hum, the sound was warm and broken, like sunlight through leaves.
> Maybe she wasn't meant to stay, he thought. Maybe she left so I could find someone who actually chooses to stay.
The next morning, he woke up early, phone in hand.
His messages with Hanaya were still saved in a private folder — old, innocent lines from five years ago.
> MK (age 5): "When I'm 10, will you come adopt me?"
Hanaya: "Haha, when you're 10? Then come find me!"
At that time, it was a joke.
But to MK, it became a promise — the only one that ever felt real.
He smiled faintly at the memory.
Then he whispered, "It's time."
Five years later.
MK had turned ten.
He was taller now, his face sharper, his eyes older than his age.
He had built something from nothing — a small company that grew beyond anyone's expectations. Profits climbed, employees respected him, and the media had even called him a young genius entrepreneur.
But none of that mattered.
His parents still looked at him like a stranger who lived in their house.
That night, after the small birthday celebration, MK stood in front of his mother.
The candles on the cake were still smoking.
"Mom," he said quietly, "I'm leaving. I'll send you the papers soon — the ones that release you from being my guardian."
His mother's smile froze. "MK, what are you talking about?"
"I just… don't want to be here anymore."
She frowned. "You think the world outside will treat you better?"
"Maybe not," he replied, "but at least it will be honest."
He packed a small bag and left before dawn.
At the airport, MK's heart raced. The loudspeaker called out names he didn't know, flights to cities he had never seen.
He gripped his passport, whispered, "I'm coming, Hanaya," and boarded the plane.
When he landed, the humid air of Thailand wrapped around him like an old memory.
And there, waiting beyond the glass doors, stood Hanaya and her best friend Malaa.
Five years had changed them.
Hanaya's hair now flowed in long, soft waves, her face more mature, her eyes calmer but filled with the same kindness. She wore a white jacket over a pale blue dress — simple, yet elegant. The woman who once laughed at silly messages now looked like someone who had learned both loss and strength.
Malaa had changed too. She was taller, confident, her chestnut hair cut into a stylish bob, a silver bracelet glinting at her wrist.
Her smile was quick, teasing — but protective when it came to Hanaya.
Beside them stood a man — Rheon Vale.
Tall, neat, and dressed like a businessman who always planned three steps ahead.
His eyes were polite, his smile calculated. He was Hanaya's boyfriend now, though MK could sense the faint distance between them — like a curtain drawn halfway.
"MK?" Hanaya whispered when she saw him.
For a heartbeat, the world fell silent.
She stepped forward, knelt, and pulled him into her arms.
"You came…" she breathed. "You really came."
Her hug was trembling, as if the five-year gap had broken something inside her and this moment was the only way to fix it.
MK buried his face into her shoulder. He could feel her heartbeat, strong and real — the warmth he had imagined for so long.
"I said I would," he murmured. "You promised."
Malaa wiped her eyes quietly and smiled. "Welcome home, kid."
Rheon extended his hand, his expression pleasant but unreadable. "Nice to finally meet you, MK. Hanaya has told me… a lot."
MK shook his hand politely, but his gaze flicked back to Hanaya — the only person who had ever said come find me and meant it.
That night, Hanaya booked a small hotel near the coast.
MK sat on the bed, drinking warm milk Malaa had brought. Hanaya watched him, her thoughts tangled.
> Five years… and now he's here. But what am I supposed to do?
If I adopt him, my parents will disown me. Rheon will walk away. But if I don't… who will he have?
She exhaled shakily. "You must be tired," she said, brushing MK's hair from his forehead. "Get some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."
MK nodded and lay down.
Before closing his eyes, he whispered, "Thank you… for coming."
Hanaya froze, her chest tightening.
When she looked at him, she didn't see a child she barely knew — she saw the boy from those old messages, the one who called her mummy through a screen.
"I'm the one who should thank you," she said softly.
Then, almost to herself: "I was waiting for you too."
Outside, the night sea shimmered.
Rheon stood on the balcony, staring at the lights below, his phone glowing in his hand.
He watched the two of them through the window — the woman and the boy — and his smile vanished.
> So that's the kid… he thought.
If he stays, she'll never see me the same way again.
MK drifted into sleep, unaware of the storm that was beginning to form.
In his dream, he saw his real mother again, smiling in a golden field.
She said nothing — just r
eached out her arms.
And for the first time, MK didn't feel alone.