Jin didn't notice Hana at first.
He was kneeling by the flowerbed, hands coated with mud, carefully placing something into a large porcelain vase. His hair clung to his forehead, and his shirt was drenched and torn.
He looked like he'd been through hell.
"What are you doing?" Hana asked quietly.
Jin jumped slightly, startled. But when he turned and saw her, his expression changed in an instant. That familiar wall—blank and unreadable—fell over his face like a mask.
"Planting this," he said.
Hana stepped closer. Her eyes went to the flower.
White. Star-shaped. Delicate.
Edelweiss.
She froze.
It was one of the rarest flowers in the world, only found high in treacherous mountain regions. A symbol of courage, devotion, sacrifice, and true love.
In old stories, suitors would climb impossible peaks just to retrieve it for the women they loved.
She didn't need to ask. She already knew.
"It's for Yuna," she said flatly.
Jin looked away, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. He tried to hide it behind his usual indifferent tone.
"Yuna said she'd only consider a man who could bring her this flower."
So that was where he'd been.
He took a week off, disappeared without a word—and he had climbed a mountain for Yuna. Risked injury. Faced danger. All for her stepsister.
Hana felt her chest go hollow.
"I see," she said softly.
She turned to leave. But before disappearing back into the house, she added, "You should get those wounds treated. Wouldn't want to catch a fever."
And then she was gone.
Jin remained crouched by the vase, confused.
That reaction—so calm, so indifferent—it didn't fit. She hadn't pouted. She hadn't yelled. She hadn't tried to snatch the flower away or throw one of her dramatic fits.
She used to challenge him at every turn, throwing words like daggers just to get under his skin.
But this Hana . . . she was quiet. Distant. Detached.
Almost like she didn't care anymore.
He didn't know why, but the thought unsettled him.
Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something else. He remembered the night he hit her—slapped her so hard she'd collapsed. He felt guilty about it later, but he had to remind her not to bully Yuna in front of him.
He thought she was faking, the distant. That it was another of her attention-seeking ploys.
Wasn't it?
But tonight, she didn't seem like someone desperate for attention.
She seemed done.
Still, Jin forced the unease out of his mind. He had done this for Yuna. Everything—every wound, every climb, every bruise—was worth it if it meant proving himself to her.
He focused on the flower again, adjusting the soil one last time.
In a few days, he'd confess to Yuna. He'd offer her the Edelweiss. And she would know—he was the one who had gone through anything and everything for her.
He didn't notice that while he clung to his dream of Yuna, Hana was already preparing to disappear from his life for good.
====
One rainy afternoon, Hana moved quietly through the side hallway of the house, a large box cradled in her arms.
The sky was overcast, casting everything in a muted gray. Her sneakers barely made a sound against the marble floor as she slipped out the back entrance, where her small secondhand car was parked just beyond the gate.
She had packed several boxes already—carefully labeled and taped shut. Clothes, books, a few sentimental items. Things she wouldn't need to carry when she left.
If she shipped them ahead of time, no one would notice anything was off. No suitcase. No goodbyes. Just silence, and then—gone.
Hana was halfway through loading the trunk when she heard a voice behind her.
"What are the boxes for?"
Her body tensed, hands tightening around the cardboard.
She turned around slowly to see Jin standing at the edge of the path, arms crossed, brows slightly furrowed.
He looked casual but tired, like someone who hadn't slept much. Raindrops clung to his collar and hair, black shirt formed his wide chest that tapered to his waist, making him look more handsome than he ever had before.
Hana forced a neutral smile. "They're donations," she said briskly. "Old clothes, books—stuff I won't use anymore."
She didn't give him time to ask more. Without another word, she shut the trunk, climbed into the driver's seat, and drove off down the wet pavement. Her tires splashed through a puddle as she rounded the bend and disappeared.
Jin stood there, watching the car go until it vanished behind the curve of the road.
Donations?
Her voice had been flat, too calm. No flirty sarcasm. No petty jabs. None of the sharp spark he had come to associate with her.
She didn't even look back.
Jin rubbed his jaw, trying to shake off the strange feeling settling in his chest. He should have been relieved. This was what he had always told himself he wanted—that Hana would finally keep her distance, stop throwing herself into situations that involved him.
To leave him alone. To leave Yuna alone.
But now that she was actually doing it—now that she was pulling away for real—it didn't feel right.
Her absence suddenly felt . . . heavy.
Unsettling.
Troubling.
Jin stood in the fading drizzle, staring at the empty space where her car had been, wondering why silence from Hana felt so much louder than her presence ever did.