She returned home light as air and dropped onto the couch, arms flopping wide.
Almost instantly, Do-Hyun and Nisa plopped down beside her, a familiar formation.
Do-Hyun caught the smallest shift in her smile and tapped Nisa's knee.
A silent signal.
Nisa leaned closer. "Okay. What happened?"
Ji-Ah sighed, staring at the ceiling.
"When I'm happy, I play the piano." A pause. "And now… sir forbade it."
Do-Hyun didn't frown. He smiled, gentle and sure. "Then don't play it."
She turned to him.
"Sing," he said. "You don't need an instrument. If you can hear it in your head, that's enough."
Ji-Ah blinked. Then slowly closed her eyes.
At first, there was nothing.
Then, softly, the piano returned.
Not loud. Not aching.
Just there.
A quiet spring afternoon, sunlight on dust, time moving forward instead of back.
The melody carried longing, but also waiting.
Not loss, just distance.
Not sadness, just hope taking its time.
She sang under her breath, voice barely more than warmth.
In her mind, she saw him.
Ha-Joon stood a few steps away, sunlight behind him, one hand reaching out, the other tucked behind his back like he was hiding something fragile.
He smiled, just a little, and sang along, not louder than her, not leading, just staying.
Ji-Ah's eyes flew open.
She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.
"It's beautiful," Nisa whispered.
"Really beautiful," she added, like saying it twice might protect it.
Ji-Ah smiled, smaller this time, but real.
The piano was gone.
The music wasn't.
---
The Park house breathed the quiet warmth of late afternoon.
Mr. Park sat on his old wooden chair near the window, rocking slightly as he hummed a tune only he seemed to remember.
The chair creaked in time, loyal and tired.
On the floor, Joon-Seo sat cross-legged, hair messy in a way only studying could manage, clothes neat despite it.
His notebook lay open, pencil moving, stopping, then moving again.
The door to the inner room swung open.
Seo-Yeon burst out like sunlight with legs.
She wore soft house clothes, sleeves rolled up, hair tied loosely with a few strands escaping around her face.
Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright, excitement practically crackling around her.
"I finally got a job!" she announced.
Joon-Seo blinked once.
Then he jumped up. "Really?!" he shouted, nearly dropping his pencil.
Mr. Park chuckled, the sound low and fond. "That's amazing," he said, then added carefully, "Where is it?"
Seo-Yeon's smile faltered just a breath before she answered. "Seoul."
Mr. Park blinked.
"That's far," he said.
"Not that far," she replied quickly. "I can earn good money. I'll help with expenses."
Joon-Seo grinned, already imagining it.
Seo-Yeon crossed her arms with a small huff. "Ji-Ah already sends enough. I want to send my own."
Mr. Park sighed, rubbing his knee.
"Fine," he said at last, reluctant but proud. "But you're going with Joon-Seo. He'll protect you."
"No," she said immediately.
Both of them looked at her.
"He has school," she continued. "Come on, don't ruin it. I'll go alone."
Mr. Park studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
"So you're going alone," he repeated.
Seo-Yeon smiled, soft but steady.
"Ji-Ah went to Seoul with nothing but courage and stubbornness," she said lightly. "I'll go with planning and a return ticket."
Joon-Seo laughed. Mr. Park shook his head, smiling despite himself.
The house settled back into its warmth, but something new had already stepped through the door.
Late night settled gently over the house, the kind that softened edges and slowed thoughts.
Ji-Ah slipped outside for fresh air. Her white dress clung lightly to her fragile frame, fabric catching the breeze as if reluctant to let go.
Her brown hair fell loose but neat down her back, obedient for once.
She sat beneath the stairs that led to the backyard, knees drawn in, the moon rising behind her like a quiet witness.
Moonlight washed over her skin, turning her paler, almost unreal, radiant in a way that belonged only to night.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
"You came out late at night."
She didn't turn.
She didn't need to.
The presence alone told her who it was.
"Yes," she answered calmly. "It's peaceful."
Ha-Joon sighed and lowered himself beside her.
His hair was messy, glasses gone, blue T-shirt tugged under black pajama pants.
He looked less like a CEO and more like someone who had forgotten how to sleep.
"It's nice to come out here," he said quietly, then closed his eyes as if testing the words.
Ji-Ah turned and studied him.
Then, without softening it, she asked, "Why did you take my piano?"
He froze.
His shoulders stiffened, gaze dropping before his eyes opened again, sharper now.
"You played too well."
She blinked. "…Of course I did?"
He let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped for years.
"You played too well," he repeated, slower. "So well it opened wounds that were already scarred over."
"What is it?" she asked, gentler now, trying to pull the truth out of him with patience instead of force.
He stood abruptly.
"We're friends, right?" he said.
She nodded, confused. "Yes. We are."
"Then stop trying to pressure me into saying things I'm not ready to say," he replied, voice firm but not cruel.
And with that, he walked away.
Ji-Ah stared after him, then looked up at the moon again.
What the heck does he mean?
She huffed softly under her breath. Tch. He's impossible.
"…We're friends," she muttered to herself.
"And that's exactly why I need to know."
She went back inside just as he was about to disappear into his room.
"...Sir?."
She reached out and grabbed his hand.
He stopped.
"We're friends, right?" she asked again, fingers tight around his as if letting go might erase the answer.
He nodded once.
"And that's exactly why I need to know."
He turned fully toward her then.
Not a glance. Not a passing look. He stared.
Too long.
Too deeply.
The hallway light caught her face and suddenly it wasn't just Ji-Ah standing there.
It was the same eyes, the same curve of her smile, the same quiet way she waited for answers.
The resemblance hit him all at once, sharp and breath-stealing.
It was too much.
His jaw tightened.
His voice dropped, low and controlled, barely more than a whisper.
"You will get to know."
She searched his face, about to speak again, but he continued before she could.
"As long as you're still here… you will surely know."
Slowly, carefully, he loosened her grip and released her hand, as if afraid of what would happen if he didn't.
Then he turned away.
He walked into his room and closed the door behind him softly.
Too softly.
Ji-Ah stood alone in the hallway, her hand still hovering where his had been, heart louder than the silence he left behind.