They knocked again. Louder this time, curt and impatient, shattering the fragile calm left behind by the voice on the recorder.
Everyone froze. No one moved.
Jun Ho's hands were frozen near the radio; the inside reels were silent. Tae Soo's shoulder hardened beside Soo Young, a visible sign of unease. Dae Sik stood with his eyes squinting at the door, jaw locked, like re-experiencing traumatic memories.
Then another knock, three short taps followed by a break. It sounded like a code.
"I'll get it," Soo Young said softly before anyone could react. Her voice was composed, but her heart throbbed so hard she wondered if the people outside could hear it too.
She slowly opened the door.
Two men were standing. One was wearing a khaki military jacket, carrying an old satchel on his shoulder. The other was older, wearing a dark hanbok; he had deep wrinkles around his mouth and a healed cut near his left eye. They looked weathered and worn out, like they had crossed not just distance, but decades.
Soo Young stepped out without thinking, shutting the door behind her. "Can I help you?"
The older man carefully examined her face. "You're Soo Young?"
She hesitated first, then nodded. "Yes."
"I knew your father."
Her breath caught.
Behind her, Jun Ho quietly opened the door slightly. He didn't come out but watched silently.
"I'm Im Hyeok," the man said, nodding stiffly. "I served with your father in the radio division years ago. We were stationed near the border."
Soo Young pushed the door open farther. "Come in."
They stood at the doorway awkwardly.
Inside, the men stood awkwardly near the threshold. Dae Sik's expression turned unreadable. Tae Soo stood close to the radio, one hand resting protectively on it, fearing it might disappear.
"You heard the tape?" Im Hyeok asked, looking around. "Then I imagine you have questions."
Soo Young asked. "Why now? Why, after all these years?"
"There were things your father wanted to say, things he couldn't." His voice was deep, burdened. "He made that recording not long before he died. But it got...lost. Buried in the wrong hands. I only recovered it a few months ago. We've been trying to track it down for years."
The younger man, who was silent until now, stepped forward. "I'm his nephew. We were searching for more of the old messages. We think there's still another tape."
Jun Ho's brow raised. "Another?"
"Yes. Your father wasn't just sending messages to you. He was hiding information. Broadcasting codes under the guise of lullabies and old ballads."
Dae Sik, suddenly alert. "He was helping someone?"
Im Hyeok looked at him. "He was protecting people. Smuggling messages to families who had lost touch with loved ones after the war. Your father used the radio to help them reconnect quietly, without attention."
Soo Young's mind was stunned. Her father, so quiet and who used to hum old tunes while fixing their roof, was doing all that?
"Why didn't anyone tell us?" she asked, in a low voice.
"Because if they had, you'd be in danger," Im Hyeok replied. "Even now, there are people who would prefer that those messages stayed buried."
A rush of wind clattered through the shutters. All eyes were turned towards the window.
It was dark outside. The clouds hung low, and the wind carried a freezing, bone-chilling blast that seeped under the door and into their bones. It wasn't just the weather, but something else. A burden. A memory reappearing.
The silence inside faded by the soft ticking of the radio's winding mechanism, still whispering from its last playback.
Jun Ho spoke at last. "What happens now?"
"We search," said the younger man. "There's an old outpost at the edge of the island near the cliffs. Your father might've left something there. We think he stored the tapes in different locations to keep them from being destroyed."
Soo Young slowly nodded, her mind already visualizing the narrow pathway towards the cliffs. A place she used to run to as a child when she wanted to feel closer to her father.
"I'll go with you," she said.
Tae Soo wanted to voice his objection, but he stopped himself. Instead, he looked down at the radio, placing the cover gently on as if securing away something sacred.
Im Hyeok bowed. "We leave at first light."
They left a little earlier than that, stepping out into the wind, disappearing into the shadows like ghosts. Once she closed the door, the room felt heavier than before.
Everyone was quiet. Even Jun Ho, who's usually calm and composed, looked far away, lost in his thoughts.
That night, Soo Young couldn't sleep.
The wind picked up, rattling through the trees, making the house squeak just like an old ship adrift. She was sitting by the window, wearing her father's old jacket, staring into the dark.
There was something in the wind tonight. Not just chilly winds but a voice.
Or maybe it was just memories playing with her mind. Her father's voice still echoed in her mind, low and warm, like he'd said her name on the tape.
"Yah, Soo Young-ah. You're stronger than you know."
She rested her hand against the window, as if to touch that voice, hold onto it before it faded.
Images were crossing her mind like lanterns crossing over a river. Her father's laughter when he used to toss her in the air, the steady hum of his voice as he adjusted the old radio, the gentle step of his boots at dawn when he left for work. Moments that felt ordinary then now felt like signs she had overlooked.
Jun Ho's soft footsteps approached. He quietly just sat beside her and gave her a cup of hot barley tea. The scent of tea reminded her of evenings long gone, safe, dim, and warm.
"Couldn't sleep either?" he asked quietly.
She nodded softly.
They stayed quiet for some time. The tea warmed her hands, but couldn't reach the cold settled in her heart.
"I don't know what scares me more," she whispered. "The thought that we might find something… or that we won't."
Jun Ho looked at her. "Your father left that message because he believed it would reach you. He trusted that you'd be the one to carry the rest forward."
"I didn't ask for any of this," she said in a cracking voice. "I just wanted answers… not danger, not secrets."
"No," he replied. "But you haven't walked away either."
She looked at him. His eyes were tired, but they had a deep trust. Not the loud, demanding kind, but something steady. Something earned.
The wind whistled then, long and low, gliding along the eaves like breath over a flute.
Jun Ho looked up. "Do you hear it?"
Soo Young nodded.
"The voice in the wind," she whispered.
Perhaps it wasn't real. Or maybe it's was just the wind and longing turned into a melody. But it felt like something bigger, like a promise upheld over a long period of time.
She rested her head on Jun Ho's shoulder.
Outside, the wind was rushing across the fields and towards the cliffs, as if urging them onward.
Tomorrow would hold more questions, danger, and revelations. But tonight, she had this breeze, memory, and the faint whisper of her father's voice calling her name across the years.
And she listened.