The last day of school arrived quietly, without warning, like a breath held too long and finally released.
Elin stood near the school gate, watching her classmates take photos, laugh too loudly, and promise to stay in touch. Some were crying openly, others pretending they weren't. The sky was clear, almost unfairly bright for a day that felt so heavy inside her chest.
This place had been her world for years. Every corner held a memory—unfinished conversations, silent crushes, shared lunches, whispered dreams. And now, it was ending.
She hugged her bag closer, unsure of what she was supposed to feel. Happiness? Relief? Fear?
Then, for no reason she could explain, she turned around.
A boy was standing a few steps away from her.
He wasn't part of her friend circle. She didn't even know his name. Yet the moment their eyes met, something strange happened—time slowed, noise faded, and the air between them grew unbearably still.
The boy smiled. It wasn't confident or dramatic. Just… gentle.
Elin's heart skipped. She felt it, sharp and sudden, like a warning bell. She quickly looked away, embarrassed by the way her cheeks warmed. When she looked back again, the boy had moved closer.
Without saying a word, he held out a small flower.
Elin froze.
Her mind screamed questions—Why me? Who is he? What does this mean? —but none of them reached her lips. Panic rose in her chest, mixed with something dangerously close to excitement.
She turned and ran.
Up the stairs, through the corridor, her footsteps echoing too loudly. She didn't stop until she reached a quiet corner, heart pounding as if she had escaped something far bigger than a simple moment.
Behind her, the boy stood still, watching her disappear.
And Elin, leaning against the wall, didn't know why that one brief encounter felt like the beginning of something she couldn't yet name.
Days passed.
College life began—new campus, new faces, new expectations. Everyone around her seemed to adapt quickly, finding friends, routines, and confidence. Elin tried to do the same.
But somehow, her thoughts kept drifting back.
The boy found her online.
A simple message. Polite. Curious.
They started talking.
At first, it was harmless—light jokes, shared music, conversations that stretched late into the night. He listened. Really listened. When Elin talked about her fears and her loneliness, he didn't interrupt. When she laughed, he remembered what made her laugh.
Slowly, without realising it, she began to depend on those messages.
She told herself it was normal. Everyone needed someone. And he felt safe. Familiar. Like someone she had known longer than she actually had.
His name was Nick.
The dream came on a night when Elin felt unusually tired.
She saw Jin.
He stood exactly as he always did in her dreams—calm, serious, eyes filled with something between concern and authority. He looked older than her memories of him, yet unchanged.
"Stay away from him," Jin said.
Elin frowned. "From whom?"
"You know," he replied. "The boy you trust."
Her chest tightened. "Nick? He hasn't done anything wrong."
Jin's voice hardened. "Not yet. But he will."
Elin shook her head. "You're wrong."
"I'm warning you," Jin said, stepping closer. "Some people enter your life only to break you."
She woke up trembling, her pillow damp with sweat.
For hours, the dream stayed with her. She tried to dismiss it—it's just my imagination. But a small seed of doubt had already been planted.
Still, she chose Nick.
College became more demanding. Nick became more distant.
Messages turned shorter. Calls were postponed. Excuses piled up—busy days, family issues, stress. Elin told herself to be patient. She told herself love meant understanding.
Then one day, he stopped responding.
No explanation. No goodbye.
Her phone felt heavier than before, as if it carried the weight of unanswered questions. She checked it constantly—during lectures, meals, and sleepless nights.
Nothing.
Weeks later, the truth arrived in the most careless way possible.
A mutual friend mentioned it casually. Nick was seeing someone else. Had been for a while.
Elin felt something inside her crack.
She locked herself in her room that night and cried until her chest hurt. The world outside kept moving—cars passed, people laughed, life continued—but inside her, everything collapsed.
Was I not enough?
Did I imagine everything?
Was I that easy to replace?
Her grades slipped. She stopped answering calls. Food lost its taste. Sleep became a stranger.
And worst of all, the silence grew loud.
The breaking point came quietly.
No dramatic argument. No final message.
Just exhaustion.
Elin sat alone, her room dim, thoughts spinning in endless circles. Every memory replayed itself cruelly—the smile at the school gate, the late-night talks, and the promises that were never actually made.
She felt empty. Heavy. Tired in a way sleep could never fix.
I can't do this anymore.
The thought scared her—and comforted her at the same time.
She stood up, moving without fully thinking, as if her body had decided before her mind could catch up. The room felt unfamiliar, distant, like she was watching herself from far away.
Then—
A hand closed around her wrist.
Firm. Real.
Elin gasped and looked up.
No one was there.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She tried to pull away, but the grip tightened—not painful, just commanding.
"Enough."
The voice was calm. Strong.
Jin.
She couldn't see him clearly, but she knew it was him. She always knew.
"You are not ending your story here," he said.
Tears spilt down her face. "I can't breathe anymore."
"You can," Jin replied. "You're just forgetting how."
She shook her head violently. "He ruined everything."
"No," Jin said. "He revealed everything."
Elin sobbed, collapsing to the floor. The weight in her chest finally broke free, turning into desperate, uncontrollable cries. Jin stayed silent, his presence steady and grounding.
"Your father didn't raise you to disappear," Jin continued softly. "And your future doesn't belong to someone who couldn't value you."
The hand released her wrist.
Elin stayed on the floor for a long time, shaking, breathing unevenly, but alive.
Finally, she stood up and ran.
Out of the room. Down the hallway. Toward the light.
That night, Elin didn't sleep.
She sat by the window, watching the sky change colours as dawn approached. Her eyes burnt, her body ached, but something inside her felt… different.
Not healed.
Just awake.
She didn't know what Jin was—memory, imagination, guardian, or something else entirely. But she knew one thing with absolute certainty:
She had almost lost herself.
And someone—something—had pulled her back.
As the first sunlight touched her face, Elin whispered a promise into the quiet room.
"I'll keep going."
She didn't know how yet.
But she would.
Dawn arrived quietly.
The world outside Elin's window was still half asleep, wrapped in a pale blue silence. The sky was neither dark nor bright—caught somewhere in between, just like her heart. She sat by the window, knees pulled close to her chest, her forehead resting against the cold glass.
She hadn't slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, his face appeared. Nick's smile. His voice. And then—nothing. Silence. Absence. Rejection without words.
Elin stared at the empty road below. A few birds chirped, unaware of the storm inside her. Her fingers trembled slightly as she clenched them together.
"Are you there?" she whispered.
Her voice was barely louder than the wind brushing against the windowpane.
"I know you hear me," she said again, this time firmer. "You always do."
Silence answered her.
For a moment, she laughed bitterly at herself. Maybe she had imagined everything. Maybe pain had finally broken her mind.
But deep inside, she knew the truth.
"You saved me," Elin said softly. "You held my hand when I was about to disappear. You spoke to me when no one else did."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"So why won't you come now?" she asked. "Why do you only come when I'm falling apart?"
The air around her shifted—subtle, almost unnoticeable. The room felt heavier, as if it was holding its breath.
"Because that is when you listen," a calm voice finally replied.
Elin froze.
Her heart skipped a beat.
"You're here," she whispered.
"I never left," the voice said gently.
She turned around quickly, her eyes searching every corner of the room. There was no one. Just shadows, furniture, and the soft light of dawn.
"I want to see you," Elin said suddenly, desperation breaking through her calm. "Just once. Please."
There was a pause.
A long one.
"You don't understand what you're asking," the voice replied.
"I don't care," Elin said, tears slipping down her cheeks. "You know everything about me. You see me at my weakest. Why can't I see you?"
"Because seeing me too early will cost you your peace," the voice answered.
Elin shook her head. "I've already lost my peace," she said bitterly. "I gave my heart to someone who treated it like a joke. I begged to be loved. I lost myself."
Her voice broke.
"Doesn't that make me ready?"
"No," the voice said softly. "It proves that you are not."
Elin looked up, anger flashing in her tear-filled eyes. "You keep saying I'm too young," she said. "What does that even mean? I feel everything too deeply. I hurt. I love it. I break."
"You confuse intensity with maturity," the voice replied. "You confuse attention with love. And affection with belonging."
Elin fell silent.
"You gave someone the power to decide your worth," the voice continued. "That is why you shattered when he left."
Her chest tightened. Every word felt like truth cutting through her denial.
"You are young not because of your age," the voice said, calmer now, "but because your heart still believes it must suffer to be loved."
Elin covered her face with her hands and cried.
"Then why do you care?" she asked through her sobs. "Why do you watch me? Why do you stop me?"
Another pause.
"When you are protected for years," the voice finally said, quieter than before, "you don't walk away when the pain becomes unbearable."
Elin slowly lifted her head.
"You've been watching me… for years?" she whispered.
"Yes."
Her breath caught.
"Every fall," the voice continued. "Every time you doubted yourself. Every time you stood back up."
Her heart ached with questions.
"Will I ever see you?" she asked.
"Yes," the voice replied.
Hope flickered in her chest.
"But only when the time is right."
"When is that?" Elin asked urgently.
"When you stop begging to be loved," the voice said. "When you choose yourself without fear. When your heart learns balance—not hunger."
The room grew still again.
"Until then," the voice added gently, "you must walk your path alone."
The presence faded.
Elin remained by the window as the sun finally rose, its golden light touching her face. She wiped her tears slowly.
For the first time in days, her chest felt lighter—not healed, but breathing.
She didn't know who he was.
She didn't know why he cared.
But she knew one thing now—
Her life was far from over.
And someday, when she was ready, she would finally see him.
"Some bonds are not meant to be seen early.
They are meant to be survived first..."