Ji Hyun stepped wearily into the bustling subway car, his shoulders sagging under the invisible weight of exhaustion. The world moved in a blur around him—strangers rushing, announcements blaring, lights flickering overhead—but his mind was tethered to one thing: how late he was.
He still had piles of work waiting to be finished.
Their company wasn't particularly strict; he had the freedom to clock in early or stay late—as long as the results were good. And Ji Hyu never wanted to disappoint. The office, for all its flaws and quiet manipulations, had become a strange kind of refuge. He knew they used him, that they leaned on his silence and reliability a little too much. But it was also the only place where he could forget. Forget the thoughts that haunted him. Forget the things no one asked about.
Others hated the monotony. To Ji Hyun ,it was a relief. A place where his mind could go quiet.
Through the blur of indifferent faces, a vacant window seat called to him like an anchor in a storm. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed into it, the world softening around him as the subway lurched forward. Harsh fluorescent lights painted shadows across his face, emphasizing the tired lines etched deep beneath his eyes.
A vibration against his leg snapped him out of the trance.
He pulled out his phone. The screen lit up instantly—dozens of missed calls and unread messages glared back at him. "Pick up the call, Hyun."
He stared at the glowing screen. His thumb hovered over the answer button, frozen between guilt and defiance. A tremble betrayed him—his fingers, his chest, the tension in his jaw. All of it spoke of a war raging quietly beneath the surface.
Around him, the other passengers were locked in their own worlds, oblivious to his stillness.
The subway roared forward, its mechanical hum pressing in on his ears. It made the silence inside him feel louder.
Needing escape, Ji Hyun reached for his headphones and plugged in. A familiar melody swelled in his ears, washing over him like a tide. He closed his eyes.
The subway dissolved.
In its place came fragments—memories broken and blinking like old film. A laugh that used to make his chest ache with joy. A shared secret whispered in the dark. A goodbye so heavy it still echoed in his bones.
The music soared.
Each note was a mirror, reflecting pieces of him he tried to forget. Each beat pulled him deeper, further away from the present, from the people, from the noise.
When he opened his eyes again, the subway was no longer just a train.
It was a dreamscape—twisting, surreal, a space warped by memories and silence. He was no longer commuting. He was suspended—caught between the ghosts of yesterday and the sharp, unyielding edges of now.
And Ji Hyun didn't know which one was more real.