The interviewer leaned forward, her pen resting over the open notebook.
"As the author of Our Unfaded Memories," she began softly, "what still reminds you of him?"
Ha Yoon didn't answer immediately.
Her gaze drifted sideways, toward the small boy swinging his legs from the waiting chair beside her. Her son, barely six years old, with the same crescent-moon smile and the same quiet eyes that had once undone her, lifted his head and looked at her with innocent curiosity.
"Him," she said quietly. "He reminds me of him."
Her voice trembled just enough for anyone paying attention to notice. She reached for the book on the table, her book and traced her fingers across the cover. The title seemed to glow beneath her touch, not because of the printing or the lighting, but because she knew every word inside it had been written with pieces of her that no longer existed.
Later that day, after the interview lights had dimmed and the city had swallowed its usual evening noise, she found herself standing in front of a grave.
Wind pressed gently at her coat as if trying to comfort her.
Beside her stood another man, someone who had been there at the beginning, and also at the end.
On her other side stood her son, Ye Joon, holding her hand with a seriousness no child should ever have to learn.
The stone in front of them was simple.
1998 – 2026.
A span of years too short for someone who had loved so fiercely.
Ha Yoon stared at the engraved name, felt her breath break, and for a silent moment she wondered, not for the first time, if grief ever fully leaves, or if it simply finds quieter rooms inside the heart to sleep in.
But her story with him didn't start here.
It started on a rainy afternoon, years ago, when youth still felt endless and the future looked like something they had all the time in the world to reach.
___________________
"Come on!" she called out, her voice bright, laughing, unguarded in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.
Rain was falling in fine sheets over the Hanyang University courtyard, turning the campus into a watercolor painting. Students hurried inside, sheltering their books, complaining about ruined hair and wet shoes.
But not her.
Ha Yoon stepped into the rain as though it had been waiting for her, arms slightly open, eyes fluttering shut. The simple joy of it, the softness, the freshness, bloomed inside her chest.
Behind her, Min Seon-Woo froze under the eaves, clutching his umbrella like a lifeline.
"No. Wait—no, don't—" he sputtered when she suddenly reached for him.
But she had already grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the courtyard with shocking strength for someone so small. She laughed as he stumbled forward, reluctant but helpless.
He followed her into the rain.
He could feel it soaking through his shirt, sliding down the back of his neck, cold and startling. But then she raised her face to the sky again, and something inside him shifted.
He watched her, really, truly watched her, maybe for the first time in months.
The way her eyelashes caught the raindrops.
The tiny gasps of delight she made when the cold water surprised her.
The round, soft curve of her smile.
The way she held her hand out as if greeting each droplet individually.
And in that instant, he realized how long he had been trying to look away from her.
A slow smile tugged at his lips. Something warm pressed against his ribs, unfolding gently, like a flower he had forgotten he planted.
He stepped closer before he could second-guess himself.
She didn't hear him at first. She was too busy turning in slow circles, her hair clinging to her forehead, her laughter bright enough to cut through the gray sky.
He reached for her waist, not to startle, not to claim, but almost to steady her, as if afraid she might spin herself away from him.
She froze.
Her breath caught in her throat as she turned slightly, eyes widening when she realized how close they were.
"What…?" she whispered.
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted from her eyes, down to her lips, then back again. The world softened around them, the falling rain, the muted buzz of campus, the distant city hum, all fading until only the space between them remained.
"Can I?" he asked.
So quietly. So sincerely.
Like someone asking for permission to enter a memory that wasn't his yet.
Her lips parted, a small, involuntary sound slipping out. A blush rose to her cheeks, barely visible beneath the raindrops. She didn't speak, but she didn't need to.
Her silence was its own kind of yes.
He smiled. A soft, relieved, almost breathless smile.
Then he leaned in, closing the last inch of space between them.
And kissed her.
It wasn't dramatic or rushed. It wasn't desperate.
It was a gentle, searching kind of kiss, warm and tentative, like the beginning of something they both felt but hadn't named.
The rain fell harder, soaking them to the bone, but neither moved.
For a brief, suspended moment, they existed only in the quiet wonder of a first kiss.
When their lips finally parted, they stayed close, breaths mingling, eyes shy and bright.
"You're impossible," she murmured, though her voice betrayed her smile.
"I think you like impossible," he whispered back.
He walked her to her dorm after that, umbrella forgotten, shoes squeaking with every step. When they reached her door, he waved as if he didn't trust his voice not to waver.
That night, she sat on her bed, towel wrapped around her hair, replaying the moment in her mind.
She didn't know where it would lead.
She didn't know how much it would change.
She only knew her heart felt new light, like a door had quietly opened.
_______________
The semester passed in the quiet, relentless way life tends to pass when you're young and tired and hopeful all at once.
Jung Hae-Min disappeared into family troubles, silent and withdrawn, carrying burdens he never spoke aloud.
Ha Yoon and Seon-Woo fell into a rhythm of stolen moments, late-night library sessions, quick meals between classes, shared glances across crowded lecture halls.
They worked part-time jobs, chased deadlines, collected exhaustion like badges of survival.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing loud.
Just life.
Growing.
Becoming.
Changing them quietly.
And without realizing it, each step they took was carrying them closer to moments that would shape everything that came after,
moments that would someday end up carved into memory, and eventually, into a book titled Our Unfaded Memories.