She didn't remember falling asleep.
But when she opened her eyes, she was no longer in Seoul.
The air was thicker. Warmer. Carrying the scent of burning sandalwood and autumn leaves.
She sat beneath a massive tree—the same tree from her dreams. Its roots tangled like forgotten threads. The sky above was gold and violet, an hour just before dusk.
And beside her…
Him.
He sat quietly, scribbling in a leather-bound journal. His face younger. No longer just familiar—known.
"You're here," he said softly, without looking up.
"Where is this?" Yoorin asked, heart pounding.
He glanced at her. His eyes held both sorrow and fire.
"This is a memory," he replied. "But not mine alone."
She looked around. In the distance, the village shimmered—old Hanok houses, smoke rising from chimneys. Children running with lanterns. A bell ringing once. Twice.
"I don't remember this place," she said.
"Not yet," he replied. "But you will. This is where we made our first promise."
He opened his journal and handed it to her.
Inside, a sketch.
Her face.
Wearing a red ribbon. Holding a brush.
Tears welled in her eyes.
"Why now?" she whispered. "Why did you wait?"
He looked away.
"I didn't. I died waiting."
The world darkened.
Flames danced on the edges of the memory, like paper catching fire.
"It's fading," he warned. "You must choose."
"Choose what?"
"To return. Or to stay."
She shook her head. "I don't understand."
He reached out, cupping her cheek.
"You will," he whispered. "You always do."
And with that, he vanished.
She woke up in her bed, the book still clutched to her chest.
On her palm—a smear of ink.
And on the next page of the book…
Her own name.
Yoorin Han – Chapter Two.