Thump... Thump... Thump...
Why does my heart pound with such desperate fervor, as if it were chasing after a shadow it cannot hold?
Could this aching pulse be the whisper of love.....soft, uncertain, and unreturned?
Why is it that every time the wind brushes past, I hope it's carrying your scent?
Why do my eyes still seek your figure among a thousand faces, though I know...
Deep within the chambers of your heart, I may be nothing more than a stranger passing by?
Is this what they call unrequited love?
A quiet ache that blooms in silence, beautiful in its sorrow...
a longing that persists, even when it has nowhere to go.
The clamor of the market echoed with the cadence of hurried footsteps… heavy, eager, and unyielding as though each stride bore the weight of countless burdens yearning to be cast off at journey's end. Amidst the sea of voices and the rustle of traders' calls, a lighter set of steps flitted beside them, soft as breath and almost lost within the swell of life.
"Push !"
A jolt.
"Hey! Watch it!"
The young man muttered under his breath, his arms straining beneath the heft of a basket overflowing with fresh vegetables, its contents jostling with each step.
"Are you alright?"
The voice beside him was a balm….gentle, clear, laced with earnest concern. The girl turned toward him, her hand resting lightly upon her chest, her brow furrowed in delicate worry.
Kurum sighed, a theatrical groan slipping past his lips.
"Honestly… why must I suffer the indignity of carrying this monstrous basket while trailing beside you? Was I cursed at birth?"
His words, though tinged with exasperation, bore the unmistakable note of jest…drama born not of bitterness, but affection.
And yet, in reply, she offered not sympathy, but a smile. Soft and unassuming at first, it bloomed into laughter….sweet, crystalline, and free.
"Ha… ha… ha! Haha!"
Kurum scowled, half-embarrassed, half-bewitched.
"What's so amusing? I'm quite serious!"
The sunlight kissed her features as she laughed, casting a golden glow upon the soft strands that framed her face. Her smile was like the first light of dawn after a storm, her eyes limpid and warm, hinting at secrets too tender to name. For a moment, even the marketplace seemed to hush in reverence.
Kurum averted his gaze, clearing his throat.
"Wh-what are you smiling at?"
"It's you, Kurum," she said with a teasing lilt. "You're the one who's always playing the fool. Here….let me."
In one swift motion, light as a dancer's turn, she plucked the basket from his hands and strode forward with graceful defiance, her laughter trailing in her wake like petals on the wind.
He stood for a heartbeat….bemused, disarmed….before chasing after her with indignation barely worn.
And in that fleeting moment, the world was not a market nor a burdened path,
but a quiet stage where laughter and affection danced hand in hand.
The man remained still, his fingers lingering in the air where hers had once been… small, warm, and trembling. The jade bracelet, a token of fleeting contact, now hung listlessly in his hand. Around him, the market resumed its endless motion, yet for a breath of time, all sound seemed dulled… muffled beneath the weight of something unspoken.
Kurum stood at a short distance, basket in hand, watching the exchange with eyes that burned not with jealousy, but with the quiet resignation of someone long acquainted with being unseen.
He had no fine words, no silk robes, nor the daring charm of a stranger bold enough to offer her a gift. What he had was time, years of it, shared laughter, shared sorrow, memories carved like initials into bark. And yet, in moments like these, time felt pale in comparison.
Soran returned to his side with a briskness that belied her flushed cheeks.
"I didn't take it," she muttered, almost defensively. "I didn't want it anyway."
Kurum nodded, his voice a whisper.
"I know."
But did he? Did she?
They walked on, side by side once more, though something subtle had shifted in the rhythm of their steps. Like a melody interrupted mid-verse, now unsure how to resume.
The market buzzed on around them: vendors called their wares, children wove between stalls chasing laughter, and the scent of roasted chestnuts filled the air. Yet for Kurum, it all passed like fog, insubstantial.
Then, as if to break the quiet, Soran glanced over and asked lightly, "Do you think he was a nobleman? He looked like someone from the inner court."
"Probably," Kurum replied flatly, not meeting her gaze.
"Not someone who lingers long in places like this."
She laughed, though softer than before. "Still… it was kind of him, wasn't it?"
He forced a smile.
"Yes. Kind."
But in his chest, the weight of that basket seemed to grow heavier still.
As the sun dipped lower, casting gold across the cobblestones and the crimson awnings overhead, the memory of jade lingered between them, cool and green and untouchable.
And Kurum, ever the childhood friend, walked on in silence, the words he wished to say caught like petals in his throat.
Kurum froze.
The words "She was taken..." echoed in his ears, as if the world itself had stopped breathing. His hands, which had been clenched into fists, loosened slowly, as if unwilling to believe.
"Taken? Taken where?"
His voice cracked slightly.
"To the noble's manor," her mother gasped, barely able to form the words. "They said... they said she was to repay the debt. That she belonged to him now..."
Kurum staggered back a step.
"No-no, that can't be right. Soran? That Soran?" He blinked, trying to steady his thoughts. "She doesn't even know how to pour tea without spilling it! There's no way she'll last two minutes in some rich lord's house!"
It was an outburst born of panic, but even Soran's mother managed a faint, choked laugh through her tears.
"She's stubborn... she might bite him," Kurum muttered under his breath, almost talking to himself now. "Or throw a cabbage at his head..."
But his voice caught again.
He couldn't imagine her in that place. Not sweet, clumsy, sunshine-like Soran. Not the girl who once cried for two hours over a lost hairpin and swore vengeance on a chicken that pecked her foot.
"I'm going to get her back," Kurum said suddenly, eyes burning with conviction.
Soran's mother looked up in disbelief.
"You...? Kurum, no! You'll get yourself killed!"
"I get myself bruised every other day anyway. One more won't make a difference."
He took a deep breath, then turned abruptly to go… but hesitated.
"Wait… do you still have that giant wooden ladle? The one from New Year's cooking?"
Her mother blinked, confused.
"You mean the one that looks like a boat paddle?"
"Yeah, that one. Good. I might need it."
And with that, he ran.
The nobleman's manor loomed ahead, high and haughty, with tall iron gates and guards at every corner. Kurum didn't have a plan, not really, but what he had was pure, boiling desperation, and just enough foolish bravery to not care.
As he crouched behind a bush, a guard sneezed loudly nearby.
Kurum whispered to himself, "If only I had Soran's cabbage-throwing aim right now…"
He peeked around the hedge. A laundry cart trundled by, piled high with linens.
"…That could work."
Without another thought, he dove inside, narrowly missing a startled maid.
"W....what was that?!"
"Just a rat! Keep going!"
Inside the cart, Kurum nearly choked on the smell of lavender soap and noble arrogance. But his mind was sharp; he had to find her.
Soran, I'm coming. And this time, I'm not just walking beside you. I'm fighting for you.