Chapter 3: Faint Echoes
The diary had slipped halfway beneath her bed.
Hana spotted it only after shifting the blankets, its leather cover peeking out like a forgotten secret. She reached for it, brushing off a thin layer of dust as she settled onto the mattress, legs folded beneath her. Her fingers traced the spine thoughtfully, curiosity tugging at her gut.
This was supposed to hold her missing pieces.
A lost part of her-so Sun-Woo claimed.
She opened the cover with a soft flap, expecting a whisper of memory to rush back.
But the first page was blurred.
The ink had bled and warped, as if someone had spilled water on it and left it to dry under a heavy book. The handwriting was smudged beyond recognition-like silent screams choked by time. Some pages had been torn, others stuck together. The paper was wrinkled and stained, betraying its age and abuse.
She turned another page.
And another.
Nothing made sense.
No names. No dates. No fragments of self to cling to.
Only the ruin of something once deeply personal.
Her chest tightened.
She shut it abruptly and stared down at the worn cover. "What's the point of a diary that doesn't remember anything?"
A beat passed.
Then, in a sudden wave of frustration, she threw the diary across the room. It hit the door with a dull thud, then flopped to the floor-defeated, like her.
Silence.
She rubbed her temples, trying to push the disappointment back into whatever corner her emotions crawled out of. The silence was unbearable now. Like being stuck in a house that knew her better than she knew herself.
She needed something familiar.
Anything.
Hana stood and began pacing, tugging open drawers, pulling aside clothes. She checked under the pillows, under the bed, behind the curtains-even in the bathroom cabinet.
No phone.
Where the hell was it?
Finally, as she opened the small side locker beside her bed, she found it.
Tucked neatly inside, battery charged, screen spotless. There was a small sticky note on it with messy handwriting:
"I kept this safe."
- Sun-Woo."
Her fingers tightened on the phone.
She sat back on the bed and powered it on. The screen lit up normally. Calm. Familiar. Notifications flooded in, most of them old, some unread. Her breathing steadied slightly.
She scrolled through the messages.
A few chat groups. Mostly muted.
Some generic birthday wishes from classmates.
Photos she barely recognized.
There was one folder titled "Us".
She clicked.
Only four pictures.
One was a blurry girl smiling at the camera, hair tied up messily. The next showed a café cup with someone's hand reaching across the table. Then a photo of her and another girl, both grinning with face masks on. And the last one...
Her breath caught.
It was Kim Dan.
His arm slung lazily around her shoulders as she leaned into him-eyes half-closed, smiling like she trusted him more than anyone in the world.
He was grinning too, that same cocky, dangerous smirk she remembered.
But the way he looked at her in the photo...
It wasn't mockery.
It wasn't playful, either.
It was something else.
She stared at it, heat creeping up her cheeks.
No way.
No. Freaking. Way.
She exited the folder, her heart thudding. Her fingers hovered uncertainly, then opened her contacts.
Kim Dan.
Saved under "Mine Alone."
Her eyes widened.
No. Nope. No, no, no.
Not only had she trusted him... they were close.
Too close.
She clutched her phone and fell back onto the bed, covering her face with the pillow, groaning into it.
Sun-Woo's cousin. That loud, smug, arrogant jerk.
And somehow-somehow-he had been her favorite person?
"What kind of girl was I...?"
She wasn't sure what was worse-forgetting her memories or remembering this much.
Her heart was thumping in her ears as she unlocked her phone again. There was no way she could just let it go, not after that picture. Not after seeing her smile like that beside him.
" Mine Alone,: she muttered under her breath, disgusted. "What the hell, past me?"
She opened Instagram and typed in @k1m_d4n.
There he was.
Kim Dan
Verified.
10.4 trillion followers.
'Not an idol, just better than one.'
Followed by: You
Her eyes twitched.
She tapped into his profile.
At first glance, the page screamed trouble. Smooth black-and-white edits, expensive streetwear, and captions that were either painfully sarcastic or infuriatingly deep. Comments flooded under every post-mostly girls, swooning or fangirling.
"Show us your playlist!"
"Daddy Dan posted again!"
"Marry me already!"
She gagged.
But then her eyes drifted lower and froze.
Her.
Her face.
Everywhere.
There was one of hers in a school uniform, sitting in a garden, laughing with her eyes closed. Another one-just her back as she wrote on a whiteboard. There was even a blurry video of her dancing terribly in a hoodie while he laughed behind the camera.
"What the?
She scrolled faster, fingers trembling.
Picnics. Her in oversized hoodies. She is holding a popsicle with a scowl. Her hugging a cat.
And in almost every post where she appeared, the caption was short but strange.
"She made the silence less annoying."
"She owes me ice cream forever."
"She's going to kill me for posting this. Worth it."
She buried her face in her hands.
"What was wrong with me?!"
She looked ridiculous in some of the shots. Hair a mess, her expressions wildly unflattering, socks mismatched. And yet... she looked happy. Free. Like someone who trusted the boy behind the camera.
She kept insulting her past self just to cope.
"Stupid. Shameless. Delulu. Were you drunk on affection or just plain blind?"
She paused at a photo he'd posted four months ago.
It was of her, sleeping on a bus seat, head leaning on his shoulder. He was looking out the window, not at the camera. The caption read:
"No filter. No caption needed."
Her stomach twisted.
She hated him.
She hated that she didn't remember what they were.
She hated what she wanted to.
And most of all...
She hated the small part of her that whispered, What if he was the only one who ever made you feel safe?
Just as she was scrolling through the photo of herself asleep on his shoulder, the door creaked open.
"Looking for something?" a lazy, amused voice cut through the silence.
Her heart dropped.
She looked up-and there he was.
Kim Dan, in all his annoying glory, was standing at the doorway with a tray of chilled juice and a smug expression on his face. His white shirt was slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, veins peeking along his forearms as he carefully stepped in.
Hana's entire body stiffened.
Then panic mode activated.
She slapped her phone screen off like it had caught fire and hurled it to the other side of the bed as if that would erase what she'd seen-or what he had seen her seeing.
Her face flushed crimson.
"W-What are you doing in my room?!" she snapped, her voice an octave higher than intended.
He didn't even blink.
"Delivering juice, obviously," he said, holding up the tray. "Sun-Woo thought you might be thirsty after all that snooping."
Her mouth dropped open. "I wasn't snooping!"
"Sure," he drawled, walking in slowly. His steps were deliberate, almost like a predator approaching an injured rabbit.
She immediately stood up from the bed, flustered. "You can leave it there and go."
But he didn't.
Instead, he placed the tray neatly on the desk and turned toward her, crossing his arms.
"That deep dive into my Instagram... Found anything interesting, sweetheart?"
"Don't call me that," she growled.
He tilted his head, grinning like he was enjoying every second of her squirming. "I'm just trying to help you remember. I mean, you did seem obsessed with me before your little accident. Still are."
"I was not!" she snapped, her voice too loud and too quick.
He chuckled, slowly and unhurried. "Right. That's why you were stalking my page like a detective on caffeine."
"I wasn't stalking," she said through gritted teeth. "I was... researching."
"Researching," he echoed mockingly. "For your dissertation on Why I Was Tragically in Love with Kim Dan?"
Her ears burned. She reached for a pillow and threw it at him.
He caught it one-handed, smirking. "Violent. Good to know that part didn't change."
Hana groaned and turned her back to him. "Ugh. You're so-! Just leave already!"
He paused for a moment, as if considering it. Then his voice dropped lower, more seriously:
"Drink the juice."
She hesitated.
He watched her for a second longer, then walked toward the door. Before stepping out, he added with a smirk over his shoulder:
"Oh-and next time you want to stalk me, at least like a few pictures. It's rude otherwise."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Hana stood frozen, cheeks still burning, chest rising and falling in a mess of confusion, irritation-and something she didn't dare name.
After the door shut, silence wrapped around her like a blanket. Hana let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, then flopped back onto the bed.
The ceiling stared down at her, boring and still, as her thoughts churned in quiet chaos.
High school.
She was going to be a high school student soon.
In a few weeks.
The realization sank in like a slow leak, seeping into every corner of her mind. With her fuzzy memories, vague emotional flashes, and the fact that she had just found out Kim Dan was somehow her trusted friend-or worse, her crush, Hana felt like someone had dropped her in the middle of a chess game with no idea how the pieces moved.
There was so much she didn't know.
How was she supposed to act?
What kind of student had she been?
Who were her enemies?
What if her friends expected her to be the old her-someone she didn't even recognize?
She sighed and rolled over to her side, pulling the pillow close like a shield.
There were uniforms to fit into.
Tests to study for.
Faces to pretend to remember.
And behind all that-something tugged at her.
Something off.
Why did Kim Dan look at her like that?
Why did he smirk like he knew too much?
And why did she feel a chill when she looked into her own smiling photos?
Hana frowned. She had work to do- if she wanted to survive whatever high school had in store.
Especially if the devil himself was roaming the same hallways.
---
Hours passed like a quiet breeze. Hana didn't even remember closing her eyes.
The next thing she knew, the room was dim, bathed in shadows. The glow of a phone screen flickered in front of her, soft and blue.
Her head... it was resting against something warm.
Chest?
She blinked. Her face was nestled close to Sun-Woo's bare chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing calming, steady. His familiar scent, clean, woodsy cologne, filled her nose. Comforting. Safe.
His arm was around her protectively, phone in hand, scrolling casually.
She blinked again.
"... "Sun-Woo?" she murmured, her voice a little hoarse from sleep.
He turned to look down at her, lips curled into a soft, teasing smile. "You're finally awake, sleepyhead."
She flushed and instinctively hugged him tighter.
"You're knocked out. "I could've woken you up earlier," he said, his voice low and playful, "but now... my poor baby won't be able to sleep tonight. How sad."
Hana pouted into his chest, too embarrassed to look up. "You should've woken me..."
"But you looked so peaceful," he said gently, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Like a kitten." A very clingy one."
She groaned softly, hiding her face even more.
They were siblings-well, not by blood. But it never mattered. From the first moment she could remember, Sun-Woo was there. Her constant. Her warmth. Her best friend. Her safe space. They loved each other more than most people would ever understand.
She finally looked up, her cheek still resting against him. "Sun-Woo..."
"Hmm?"
"... Are you really okay with me going back to school? I feel like... everything's going to change."
He paused, his gaze softening. "You're allowed to grow, Hana. Even if things change, I'll always be here."
Her heart tightened at that. She smiled faintly, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
"...Thank you."