It had been a year since Kang Jun-yeol began living in the modern world—a year filled with confusion, laughter, and countless "mystical" discoveries, like the day he declared that the refrigerator must be a "cold spirit keeper,"or when he accused the washing machine of "screaming like a haunted well" every night.
But among all the strange inventions of this era,nothing made his heart race more than one thing—Han Eun-bi.
She was still the same — stubborn, loud, impossible, and yet somehow, the only person who made this unfamiliar world feel like home.And that evening, Jun-yeol decided: it was time.
It was raining lightly when Eun-bi came home from a long day at the publishing office.Her hair was damp, her shoes squeaked, and she was muttering under her breath.
"Jun-yeol, please tell me you didn't cook again. I'm still traumatized from your chicken soup that tasted like… coffee last week—"
But she froze mid-sentence.
The apartment was dark.Then — click! — tiny lights began to glow one by one.Hundreds of little LED plum blossoms twinkled across the walls, floor, and ceiling.In the center of the room sat a table with a small candle and two cups of tea.
"...What on earth?" she whispered.
From the kitchen doorway, he appeared —wearing a crisp white shirt, his hair slightly tousled, and in his hand… a small black box.
"Good evening, Miss Han," he said softly, smiling like he was hiding something.
Eun-bi blinked. "Good evening, Lord Kang. Did you… burn our apartment or plan a surprise party?"
He looked around seriously. "No fire. So, a party, I suppose."
She raised an eyebrow. "You did all this?"
"With help from a marketplace called… Tokopedi—Tokopedia!" he said proudly. "The seller said these flowers are digital. They don't wilt, don't need water, and can be controlled with a mobile device."
Eun-bi tried not to laugh but failed miserably."Oh my God, you bought flowers online? Jun-yeol, you used to write me poems, now you check out with free shipping!"
He nodded solemnly. "Adaptation is the art of survival."
Then, with surprising calm, he stepped closer and knelt down before her, holding the box."Eun-bi," he said quietly, "in Joseon, I once swore I'd protect you — even against time itself.But now… I want something more."
He opened the box.Inside was not a ring, but a silver pen, delicately engraved with plum blossoms.
She blinked. "You're proposing… with stationery?"
Jun-yeol looked at her earnestly."The wooden pen once wrote our story. This one… will write our life. Together. No magic ink. No meddling time."
Eun-bi stared at him, then at the pen, then back at him."So this is like… the Joseon version of a ring?"
He nodded confidently. "Better. It actually works."
She burst out laughing, covering her mouth. "This is the weirdest and most perfect proposal I've ever gotten."
Her eyes shimmered with tears. "Alright, Lord Kang Jun-yeol," she said softly, "I'll say yes. But I still want a ring."
Jun-yeol frowned. "Is that… part of the marriage contract?"
"It's romantic!"
"Oh." He nodded seriously. "Then I want it engraved with plum blossoms."
Later that night, they sat on the floor surrounded by the glow of digital flowers.Eun-bi twirled the silver pen in her fingers. "So… this is our symbol?"
"Yes," he said proudly. "The first pen wrote love. This one writes the future."
Eun-bi grinned. "Do you realize that line is dangerously quotable? My readers would cry if I put it in a book."
Jun-yeol gave her a dry look. "Please don't include the part where I almost burned the rice cooker."
"Too late," she said, giggling. "My editor already loved that chapter."
He sighed dramatically. "Then I'll write my own book: The Writer Who Can't Cook."
"And I'll publish the sequel," she shot back, "The Nobleman Who Lost to a Frying Pan."
They both laughed so hard they could barely breathe, the sound filling the tiny apartment with warmth brighter than any candlelight.
After a while, the laughter faded into a quiet, peaceful silence.Outside, the rain softened into a faint drizzle.Eun-bi leaned her head on his shoulder. "Hey, Jun-yeol…"
"Hm?"
"If time ever loops again… would you still propose to me?"
He chuckled. "If time loops, I'd propose sooner — before I waste months learning what a rice cooker is."
She laughed so hard her tears came back. "You idiot."
"Why? That's efficient romance."
"Romance isn't about efficiency!"
"It is when I'm competing with your coffee machine."
She playfully smacked his arm. "You logical nobleman!"
He smiled, taking her hand gently. "And you're the loudest writer who ever made me fall in love."
For a moment, everything stilled —and it felt like time really had stopped just for them.
The next morning, sunlight poured into their living room.On the desk lay two pens —the old wooden one from Joseon, and the new silver one from the modern world.Their tips touched, like two eras finally agreeing to exist side by side.
And on the blank page beneath them, faint letters appeared — written by no one:
When love is written twice, time stops reading — because it knows the ending is happy.
Eun-bi smiled softly at the words.Jun-yeol slipped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"I think time just gave us its blessing," he whispered.
She giggled. "Or maybe time's just scared we'll make it propose next."
He chuckled. "Then time is wiser than I am."
She turned to him, laughing. "Don't worry, Lord Kang. You officially passed the modern proposal test."
And that morning, for the first time since they began writing their own story,time truly stopped again —not because of magic,but because love had finally found its home in the real world.