They sat on the rooftop of the estate, legs dangling over the edge like two reckless teens. Hana clutched a steaming cup of tea, both hands wrapped around it for warmth… or maybe for control.
Mi-Ho sat beside her, quietly watching the stars.
"Do you ever feel like you've forgotten who you used to be?" Hana asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"All the time," he replied. "But sometimes… I think we have to forget, just to survive."
Hana looked at him. Really looked. Not at the billionaire. Not at the sharp jawline or the expensive coat.
But at the boy inside the man.
"Before the coma," she said slowly, "I had dreams. Big, loud ones. I wanted to dance on stage. I wanted my own life—not just to be someone's daughter, someone's pawn."
He turned toward her. "And now?"
"I don't know how to want again," she admitted, eyes stinging. "It's easier not to."
Mi-Ho didn't speak. He just slid his hand across the rooftop, slowly covering hers with his.
"You don't have to know yet," he murmured. "But when you do… I'll be here."
Her breath hitched.
It was the gentlest promise. No vows. No pressure.
Just presence.
And for the first time in a long while, Hana didn't feel like a prisoner in her own body.
She felt… seen.