The mansion was unusually quiet. Evening settled in like velvet, soft and thick. Hana was in the music room, running her fingers across the keys of a grand piano she hadn't touched in years.
She pressed one note. Then another. A hesitant, broken melody took form.
"You play beautifully," Mi-Ho's voice came from behind.
She didn't turn around. "Not anymore."
He stepped closer. "You're wrong. Pain adds depth. That sound? That's real."
The air shifted as he walked around to the other side of the piano, resting his arms lightly against the glossy surface.
"Why are you being so careful with me?" she asked suddenly.
"Because you're still healing," he answered without hesitation. "And I'd rather walk beside you slowly than rush and lose you."
That silence again. But this time, it wasn't empty—it was loaded.
She finally met his gaze. "You've changed."
"I had to," he said. "You showed me what it looks like to survive with grace."
Something cracked behind her eyes, and she blinked fast. He noticed—but said nothing.
He only extended his hand. "Come with me."
"Where?"
"Somewhere quiet. Where you won't have to hide your tears."
She looked at his hand, hesitant… but this time, she took it.
No drama. No grand gestures.
Just fingers interlocked, and a silence that said: I see you.