"Yoorin?" Seon's voice cracked slightly, like he wasn't sure she was real.
She blinked, half expecting him to disappear.
But he didn't.
He crouched beside her and looked at the notebook in her lap.
"You found it," he whispered.
"You remember?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
He nodded slowly.
"There was a bench. You wrote something under it. I waited there every Wednesday… every week."
Her chest tightened.
"I didn't know if you'd still be—"
"I didn't either," he interrupted, gently. "But something told me you'd return once you remembered who you were."
She laughed softly, tears brimming.
"I still don't know."
He took her hand.
"You wrote me into this story for a reason. Maybe we'll figure it out together."
They sat in the mist for a while, side by side. Not as girl and boy. Not even as author and character. But as two souls who had searched for each other across a dozen rewrites.
Yoorin opened the notebook again.
The next page was blank.
Her hand hovered over it.
"What if I don't know how to end it?" she whispered.
Seon smiled.
"Then don't end it. Just keep writing. Keep dreaming."
And so she did.
One word at a time.
A story that refused to be forgotten.