The corridor outside the Dean's Office was quiet when Zoya stepped out.
Her hands were cold, her heart heavier than before.
Every sound — the faint hum of the heater, the clicking heels of students in the distance — felt distant, hollow.
She stopped for a moment, breathing in the still air, trying to hold herself together.
It was over, she told herself.
The meeting, the questions, the looks — all of it.
Still, something inside her whispered that not everything had ended.
She looked around, half-hoping Minji might be waiting nearby.
But the corridor was empty.
Minji had left already — maybe gone straight to class.
For a few seconds, Zoya stood silently, unsure whether to go after her or not.
Then she turned toward the stairs that led to the Education department on the upper floor.
Her steps were slow, uncertain.
She didn't know what she would say if Minji looked at her — or worse, if she didn't.
Still, her heart wanted to try.
When Zoya reached the corridor outside Minji's classroom, students were already inside.
Through the glass panel in the door, she saw Minji sitting in the second row, her laptop open, eyes fixed on the screen.
Beside her, Hana was talking animatedly with another student, unaware of the storm Zoya carried inside her.
Zoya hesitated near the door.
She just wanted to say one thing, maybe even just sorry.
But the courage she'd built up all morning suddenly faded.
Minji looked up for a brief moment — their eyes met through the glass — and then Minji looked away, pretending to focus on the screen.
That small movement was enough.
Zoya turned back quietly.
Inside the classroom, Hans noticed. She leaned closer to Minji.
> "You look upset today," Hana said softly.
Minji shook her head.
> "I'm fine."
> "You sure? You and Zoya went to the admin office that day… Did something happen? Why were you both called?"
Minji's fingers paused on the keyboard. She spoke quietly,
> "It wasn't the admin office, Hana. It was the Dean's Office."
Hana's eyes widened slightly.
> "Dean's Office? What? Why there? Did something happen?"
Minji took a slow breath.
> "Let's talk after class… maybe at home."
Hana nodded slowly, sensing the seriousness in her tone.
The lecture began, and Minji turned back to her screen — but her mind was far from the classroom.
By the time Zoya reached class for second lecture, her first lecture had already ended.
She adjusted her warm scarf, pulled her notebook close to her chest, and slipped quietly inside.
The professor glanced up but didn't say anything.
She took an empty seat beside Sofia, who gave her a small nod.
On the other side, Sofia whispered,
> "You okay? You look pale."
Zoya smiled faintly, trying to hide the heaviness.
> "Just tired."
But her mind wasn't in class.
Words from the Dean's Office still echoed inside her head — Do you know Bamson? — and Minji's silence felt louder than any voice around her.
She tried to focus, taking notes, underlining random words just to keep her hands busy.
Outside the window, snowflakes were beginning to fall again, dusting the trees with white.
Busan winters were beautiful — painfully beautiful — the kind that reminded you how quiet heartbreak could be.
Hana nudged her gently when the professor asked a question, and Zoya quickly nodded, pretending to follow.
But inside, she was replaying everything — the meeting, Ji-won's words, the way Minji had walked out without looking back.
> I only wanted to do what was right, she told herself again.
But even that truth didn't stop the ache that followed.
When the lecture finally ended, students began packing their things, laughing, chatting, planning for lunch.
Zoya stayed seated for a while, closing her notebook slowly.
She wasn't in a hurry anymore.
The day felt long already — and it had barely begun.
Ruhi tapped her shoulder gently.
> "Let's go to the restaurant after class, okay? Hana already texted me — the manager asked if we could come early today."
Zoya nodded.
> "Sure. I'll meet you both at the gate."
As her friends walked ahead, Zoya looked once toward Minji
For a second, she thought she saw Minji passing by, holding her laptop and a cup of coffee.
But the crowd swallowed her quickly, and Zoya didn't move.
Instead, she whispered softly under her breath,
> "Maybe tomorrow will be easier."
She picked up her bag, pulled her scarf tighter around her shoulders, and stepped outside — into the cold, where the wind felt kinder than silence.
.....
After university, Zoya, Hana, and Ruhi walked together toward the small family restaurant where they worked part-time. The air was cold enough to turn every breath into pale smoke. Zoya pulled her scarf closer, silently grateful for its warmth.
Inside the restaurant, warmth and noise replaced the day's silence. Plates clattered, soft music played, and customers' laughter filled the air.
Each of them moved to their usual work: Zoya went straight to the back kitchen, washed her hands, and began cutting vegetables — her fingers moving carefully as the knife hit the wooden board in a steady rhythm. Hana took her seat near the account register, checking bills and marking receipts with neat handwriting. And Ruhi moved between the tables, arranging chairs and wiping surfaces, humming under her breath like she always did.
Zoya kept her head low, focused on the vegetables, but her mind wandered again and again — to the silence in the Dean's Office, to Minji walking away, to the small folded note she had hidden in Bamson's sweater.
Each time the kitchen door opened, she looked up — half expecting someone to call her name.
But no one did.
By the time their shift ended, it was almost dark. The girls stepped out together, tired but calm.
> "I'm freezing," Hana laughed, pulling her coat tighter.
"Let's go home before my nose falls off," Ruhi added, making them laugh again.
Zoya smiled softly, feeling grateful for their energy.
For a few minutes, she managed to forget everything.
....
Steam rose softly from the pot as Minji stirred the soup in silence.
Sofia sat nearby, drying a few washed dishes, her eyes moving from the sink to Minji's face now and then.
The air between them was quiet — too quiet.
> "You still haven't told me," Sofia said finally, breaking the silence.
"Why did you and Zoya go to the Dean's Office? You didn't explain anything."
Minji's hands paused for a second.
Her lips parted, as if she wanted to answer, but the words wouldn't come.
Before she could speak, the doorbell rang — sharp and sudden in the quiet room.
Both turned toward the door.
Sofia quickly wiped her hands and went to open it.
As the door swung open, a rush of cold air entered with soft laughter — Zoya, Hana, and Ruhi had just arrived from the restaurant, their coats slightly damp from the drizzle outside.
> "We brought dinner rolls," Hana said cheerfully, holding up a small paper bag.
"And Ruhi got free pudding from the chef!"
Ruhi grinned, stepping inside and shaking off her umbrella.
Zoya followed quietly, her face calm but tired — the kind of silence that hides too many thoughts.
Minji managed a small smile and turned back toward the stove.
The sound of plates, laughter, and warm food began to fill the room again, gently pushing away the day's unease.
The table was set simply — warm soup, rice, salad, and soft dinner rolls.
Steam curled into the air as everyone settled into their seats.
For a few minutes, only the clinking of spoons filled the room.
> "It smells amazing," Ruhi said, breaking the silence first.
"Sofia, you've learned to cook like a pro."
Sofia smiled faintly.
> "It's all teamwork. Minji made the soup."
Minji didn't say much, just focused on eating quietly.
Across the table, Zoya sat with her hands wrapped around the bowl, lost in her thoughts.
Every now and then, she tried to smile, but her eyes looked distant — still somewhere in that Dean's Office corridor.
After a short pause, Hana looked up.
> "Minji," she said gently, "can I ask you something?"
Minji looked up, startled.
> "Hmm?"
> "You and Zoya… you both went to the Admin Office, right? What was it about?"
Zoya glanced up quickly, but before she could answer, Minji spoke first — calm, steady.
> "It wasn't the Admin Office," she said softly.
"They sent us to the Dean's Office."
The air shifted instantly.
Even Ruhi stopped mid-bite.
> "The Dean's Office?" Hana repeated.
"Why? Was something wrong?"
Minji hesitated, then shook her head.
> "It's fine now," she replied. "Everything was cleared. I'll explain later… maybe after dinner."
Her voice carried quiet finality.
No one pushed further.
Sofia broke a dinner roll and placed half on Minji's plate.
> "Then let's just eat first," she said gently.
"We all need some peace tonight."
Minji smiled faintly.
Across the table, Zoya stayed silent — pretending to focus on her food, though her mind was still replaying every word from the Dean's Office.
After dinner, the girls cleaned up quietly.
Zoya and Hana took care of the dishes while Sofia prepared coffee for everyone.
Soon, five mugs sat on the dining table — the same table they used for late-night study sessions.
Minji sat with her laptop open but untouched.
The others joined one by one, rain tapping softly against the windows.
Ruhi wrapped her hands around her mug.
> "So… what really happened in the Dean's Office? Was it about Bamson?"
Minji looked up calmly, though her eyes were tired.
She gave a small nod.
> "Yes," she said quietly. "They asked a few questions about him."
> "Questions? Like what?" Sofia asked softly.
Minji exhaled.
> "They wanted to know how we found Bamson, how we kept him hidden, how we took care of him."
"I told them everything — that he was lost, that we found him on the street, and we tried to protect him. We fed him, treated him, and made sure he was safe."
"And when he got better… we sent him back with Mr. Jea."
Silence filled the room.
Even the rain outside seemed to pause.
> "Then everything's fine now?" Hana asked softly.
Minji nodded once.
> "Yes. Everything's fine."
But Zoya knew — her tone wasn't peace, it was pain.
Some distances aren't created by words; they grow quietly inside the heart.
Zoya lowered her gaze to her coffee.
The same silence from the Dean's Office now filled this small apartment again — but this time, it felt even louder.j
Meanwhile — Seoul
The room was dim — curtains half drawn, the faint hum of the city outside barely reaching the quiet of dawn.
Jeon.J turned slightly in his sleep, his breath uneven, his mind floating somewhere between dream and wakefulness.
From a distance — soft, like a whisper through time — a voice echoed:
> اللَّهُمَّ اهْدِهِ وَاغْفِرْ لَهُ وَارْحَمْهُ وَاجْعَلِ الإِيمَانَ فِي قَلْبِهِ نُورًا وَهُدًى
Allāhumma ihdihi waghfir lahu warḥamhu waj'alil-īmāna fī qalbihi nūran wa hudā.
O Allah, guide him, forgive him, have mercy on him, and place in his heart the light and guidance of faith.
The words flowed gently, almost like a prayer wrapped in light.
He stirred, his brows tightening, as if his heart recognized something his mind could not yet place.
Suddenly, his eyes opened.
He sat up slowly, taking a long breath. The silence around him felt deeper after that voice faded away.
Reaching for the bottle on his side table, he drank a few sips of water and looked around.
Then his eyes stopped — on the couch.
Bamson lay there, peacefully asleep, his small chest rising and falling with every breath.
Jeon.J walked closer and sat beside him, brushing his hand gently over Bamson's fur.
> "After so many days… that voice again," he whispered, eyes distant.
"The same one I heard that day on the plane, when I was flying to Busan."
The memory replayed — the trembling voice behind him, whispering a prayer through tears.
Now, the same voice had reached him again… but from where?
He exhaled deeply, almost in awe, then reached for his phone.
Without another thought, he called Jea.
> "Jea, are you awake?"
"Yes, sir," came the quick reply. "Is everything alright?"
"I'm fine," Jeon.J said quietly. "I need you to check something."
"Sorry, sir — what is it?"
"That girl…" Jeon.J paused, thoughtful. "The one from the plane — the day we went to Busan when Bamson was missing. Did you ever find out who she was?"
"The passenger behind your seat?"
"Yes."
"It won't be too hard," Jea replied. "If you still have the ticket, the seat number should be on it. We can trace her through the passenger list."
"Good," Jeon.J said softly, eyes still fixed on Bamson. "Do it quietly. I just… need to know."
"Understood, sir. I'll handle it."
"Okay. I'll check the ticket and call you back," Jeon.J said, a little more at ease.
He ended the call, placed the phone aside — and searched.
The Search
He walked to his luggage, his heartbeat rising.
His hands moved through the suitcase quickly — clothes rustling, zippers opening, drawers sliding.
He pulled out folders, checklists, chargers — until finally, he found his passport.
The excitement flickered in his eyes.
The ticket had to be there — folded neatly where he always kept it.
He opened it — but the small slot was empty.
His breath caught.
He checked again. Then again.
Within minutes, the calm room turned into a quiet storm — papers scattered, clothes half-folded, the sound of drawers opening and shutting echoing softly in the night.
He searched under the table, inside the jacket he wore that day, even between the pages of his notebook.
But the ticket was gone.
Finally, he stood still, chest rising and falling with a deep, quiet defeat.
He sat back on the sofa, shoulders sinking, as the city lights shimmered across the floor.
He picked up his phone again and called Jea.
> "Sir? Everything okay?" Jea's voice carried worry.
"Jea…" Jeon.J's tone was low, distant. "I lost that ticket."
Before Jea could reply, the line went silent.
Jeon.J had already ended the call.
He leaned back, covering his eyes with his hands.
For a moment, the world outside felt too still — as if even the night was holding its breath.
When he finally lowered his hands, his gaze was distant — lost somewhere between disbelief and longing.
> "How can I find her now…" he murmured to the stillness.
Bamson stirred at his voice, letting out a soft sigh before curling closer to his leg.
He smiled faintly — tired, tender — and rested his palm on Bamson's back.
> "Maybe… if it's meant to be," he whispered, closing his eyes,
"then her voice will find me again."
The night stretched on quietly after that — the hum of Seoul outside, the warmth of Bamson beside him, and the soft echo of that prayer still lingering somewhere in his heart.
To be Continue....
ZK💌