[Min-jae & Hae-won | Secret Café – 10:05 AM]
The café Min-jae brought her to was tucked behind an antique bookstore—hidden, timeless, like it belonged in a different era. Hae-won sat across from him in a velvet booth, still stunned from the kiss, the confession, and now, the fear creeping beneath her skin.
He placed the snow globe on the table between them.
"This was the anchor," he said. "It's what helped me remember."
She watched the tiny glass world shimmer in the light. Inside it, a miniature bride stood under falling snow. A version of herself. Maybe the first.
"You said I've been in this loop before," she whispered.
"More than once," he said, voice low. "You've lived dozens of versions of this life—always starting on the day of your wedding. Always trying to rewrite your heartbreak. Always trying to choose. But the system… doesn't want you to."
She leaned forward. "What system?"
Min-jae's gaze darkened. "Time isn't a straight line, Hae-won. It's a program. A cycle. A script written by forces that manipulate events—relationships, fate, even death. You're part of something bigger. And you weren't supposed to wake up."
Her fingers trembled. "So why did I?"
He exhaled. "Because this time, you broke the rules. You chose yourself."
Their eyes locked.
"And that triggered a collapse."
She swallowed. "What happens if the loop collapses?"
"Then we either break free… or disappear."
The weight of his words sank into her chest. And yet, beneath the fear, a deeper heat simmered between them. He reached across the table, brushing her fingers with his.
"We have one chance to rewrite the real timeline," he said. "But you have to decide—who were you truly meant to end up with?"
---
[Do-yoon & Hae-won | His Apartment – 11:15 AM]
Do-yoon stood in front of the open fridge, staring at a bottle of water like it held answers.
His temples throbbed. Flashes. Fragments.
A kiss in the rain.
A cake. Five candles.
Hae-won.
He turned when the doorbell rang—and there she was.
Wearing a beige coat over a sundress. Soft. Shaken. Beautiful.
"Hi," she said, barely above a whisper.
He blinked. "I didn't think I'd see you again."
"Neither did I."
He stepped aside. She entered slowly, her gaze darting to the familiar things—his bookshelf, the gray couch, the record player that used to play their favorite song.
She turned. "Do-yoon… do you feel it too?"
He frowned. "Feel what?"
She crossed to him. Close. Closer. Her fingers grazed his chest, over where his heart beat wildly.
"This," she whispered.
He inhaled sharply. "You're like a dream I forgot. But every time I look at you, my chest hurts. My hands remember you."
Her lips parted. "Then let them remember."
She stepped even closer—until only air separated their mouths. Her hand rose to his cheek.
He didn't resist.
He leaned in slowly. The kiss was hesitant at first, then urgent, passionate. Familiar.
He tasted longing. And loss.
She gasped softly as he backed her against the wall, lips tracing the curve of her neck like he was mapping something he'd once memorized.
"I don't know who you are," he murmured against her skin, "but my body aches for you."
A tear slid down her cheek.
Because she knew—his memories were surfacing.
Piece by piece.
And with them… love.
---
[To Be Continued...]