Mira's pen slipped from her fingers as Park Jae's assistant placed the contract in front of her.
Sign here.
Her hand hovered over the paper. The office was too quiet—no clicking keyboards, no hushed conversations. Just the hum of the air conditioner and the weight of Park's gaze burning into her from across the table.
She signed.
The assistant whisked the document away, leaving them alone in the glass-walled conference room.
Park leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "You're avoiding looking at me."
Mira's pulse spiked. "I'm focusing on the paperwork."
"Liar." His voice was low, rough at the edges. "You're counting the tiles on the ceiling."
Her breath hitched. How did he—?
She hadn't even realized she'd been doing it—one tile, two tiles, three—an old habit from childhood when the words wouldn't come.
Park stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Come with me."
"What?"
"Now."
---
He didn't take the elevator.
Mira followed him into the emergency stairwell, their footsteps echoing in the hollow space. Five flights down, her calves burned, but Park didn't slow.
At the third landing, he stopped so suddenly she nearly collided with him.
"Why are we—"
"You stuttered in there." He turned, crowding her against the concrete wall. "Just once. On the word 'liability.'"
Mira's back pressed into the cold surface. "I didn't—"
"You did." His hand came up, fingers hovering near her throat. Not touching. Just... there. "Your pulse is racing."
She swallowed. His eyes tracked the movement.
"Is this a game to you?" Her voice came out sharper than she intended. "Digging up the past?"
Park's jaw tightened. "You think I'd wait twenty years to play a game?"
A door slammed somewhere above them. Footsteps descended.
Park didn't move.
Mira's fingers curled into fists. "We should go back."
"Say my name first."
"What?"
"You've called me 'Mr. Park' twelve times today." His breath warmed her cheek. "Say Jae."
Her lips parted.
The footsteps grew louder.
"Jae," she whispered.
Something dark flickered in his eyes. Then he stepped back, smoothing his tie like nothing had happened.
---
Mira's apartment door swung open to reveal Seo-yeon holding a cake with lit candles, her designer dress swapped for sweatpants.
"Surprise, workaholic!"
Mira blinked. "How did you get in?"
"Your super gave me the key after I cried about your tragic orphan status." Seo-yeon shoved the cake at her. "Make a wish before you set the hallway on fire."
The frosting read Happy 26th, Stutterbird in looping script.
Mira froze. "Who told you about that nickname?"
Seo-yeon's grin faded. "...It's on the card that came with these." She jerked her chin toward the living room.
Dozens of white roses covered every surface, their petals flawless. In the center of the coffee table sat a small envelope.
Mira's hands shook as she opened it.
You hated strawberry milk but drank it anyway because I gave it to you.
You still do that, don't you?
—J
---
Mira's phone buzzed at 3:17 AM.
Unknown Number: Check your email.
She sat up in bed, the glow of her laptop illuminating the dark apartment. A new message sat at the top of her inbox with no subject line.
Conference Room 4B. 7 AM. Don't be late.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. It had to be him. No one else would—
The message disappeared before her eyes.
Message recalled.
---
Mira arrived at 6:58 AM, her coffee untouched. The office was empty, the halls echoing with her footsteps.
Conference Room 4B's lights were off. She hesitated, then pushed the door open.
Jae stood by the window, silhouetted against the sunrise. He didn't turn as she entered.
"This isn't my project," Mira said, her voice too loud in the quiet room.
"No." He finally faced her, a file in his hands. "It's mine."
He slid the folder across the table. Inside were blueprints—not for a client, but for a house. Their elementary school's playground, meticulously recreated down to the rusted slide.
Mira's throat tightened. "Why are you showing me this?"
Jae stepped closer. "Because you keep pretending not to remember."
Her fingers twitched toward her earlobe.
The door burst open. Mr. Han froze in the doorway, his tie half-knotted. "Yoon? What the hell are you—" His eyes landed on Jae. "Mr. Park! I didn't realize you were in today."
Jae didn't blink. "I needed clarification on the zoning permits."
"From her?"
Mira's cheeks burned.
Jae's voice dropped. "Is there a problem?"
Mr. Han backed out. "No, no. Carry on."
The door clicked shut.
Silence.
Mira exhaled sharply. "You can't just—"
"Friday." Jae cut her off, tapping the blueprint. "I'm buying this land. Come see it with me."
Her breath caught. "I have work."
"Call in sick." He leaned in, close enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne—something dark and expensive. "Or don't. But I'll be there at noon."
Then he was gone, leaving Mira alone with the ghost of their childhood and a heartbeat that wouldn't slow down.
---
Friday came too fast.
Mira told herself she wouldn't go. She had deadlines. A promotion to secure. A life that didn't involve chasing ghosts.
Yet at 11:58 AM, she found herself standing across the street from their old school, her palms sweating.
Jae leaned against a black car, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the faint scars on his forearms. When he saw her, he didn't smile. Just nodded toward the gate.
Mira didn't move.
The wind carried his voice across the distance.
"You came."
Her feet carried her forward before her brain could protest.
---
The playground was nearly gone.
Most of the structures had already been dismantled, leaving only the rusted metal slide standing—the one she used to hide behind.
Jae ran a hand along its edge. "They're taking this down next week."
Mira's chest ached. "Why did you bring me here?"
Jae finally looked at her. "Because you left something behind."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny, weathered notebook—the "bravery journal" she'd lost in fourth grade.
Mira's hands shook as she took it. "How did you—"
"I found it the day after you stopped coming to school." His fingers brushed hers, fleeting. "You wrote that you wished someone would stay."
The world tilted.
Jae stepped back, giving her space. "I just thought you should have it back."
Then he walked away, leaving her standing in the ruins of their past with the notebook pressed to her chest.