The morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, landing on the wooden table where Lila was already arranging ingredients like treasures.
"Ladies and gentlewomen," she declared dramatically, "today's menu: blueberry pancakes with a dash of my unmatched brilliance."
From the hallway came Re-ha's voice, half amused, half tired. "Last time you said that, the kitchen smelled like regret for two days."
"That was artistic improvisation," Lila replied with mock offense, flipping her ponytail.
Agani, who sat at the table with her laptop open, smiled faintly. "Art or not, please don't use the blender without warning this time."
Lila grinned. "No promises."
Nira, still in her soft gray sweater, walked in quietly, her eyes gentle but observant. "Do we always start the day with a debate?"
"Yes," said Lila, handing her a mug. "And this is your entry fee — blueberry tea."
Nira smiled, wrapping her fingers around the warm cup. The air in the house always felt softer in the mornings — alive with laughter, unmade plans, and the comfort of familiarity.
It had been two weeks since she moved in, but the rhythm of this shared life already felt like something she'd known before. Only one thing didn't settle quietly: the diary page.
It still lay inside her notebook, folded neatly, waiting like a secret that refused to sleep.
---
Later that afternoon, while the others worked, Nira sat alone in her room by the window. Outside, the city glimmered faintly beneath a pale sky, the hum of cars and faraway chatter like background music.
She opened the notebook again.
The page's torn edges had browned slightly, as if older than it should have been. The words written in it were strange — flowing, curved, almost beautiful, but unreadable. And at the bottom, in clear English, was that same name:
"Agani."
Nira traced the letters again. She didn't know why it unsettled her, but every time she saw that word, something inside her stirred — something quiet and aching.
A knock on the door broke her thoughts.
"Come in," she said softly.
The door opened, and Agani peeked in. "You missed lunch," she said gently. "Lila was ready to storm your room with a frying pan."
Nira smiled faintly. "I was… reading something."
"May I join you?"
"Of course."
Agani stepped in, setting her cup of tea on the small table. She had that calm aura that made even silence feel comfortable.
After a few moments, Nira hesitated — then reached for her notebook.
There was a quiet part of her that wanted to show it.
She opened it carefully and held it out. "I found this before I came here," she said softly. "It was tucked inside one of my books. I don't know where it came from."
Agani looked at the paper. For a moment, her face didn't change — but her eyes did. They flickered with something unreadable, like recognition she didn't want to admit.
"That's… unusual," she murmured. "And my name?"
Nira nodded. "That's what confused me. I saw it written there long before I met you."
Agani traced the corner of the paper with her fingertip. "These markings… they look almost like an older script. Maybe poetic, or coded."
"You can read it?"
Agani shook her head slowly. "No. But something about it feels… familiar. Like a song you can't remember the words to."
Their eyes met again — quiet, uncertain, and oddly connected.
Before either could speak, the sound of laughter echoed from downstairs.
"Dinner's ready!" Lila's voice rang out. "And by dinner, I mean I've created something edible — possibly."
Agani chuckled softly. "Saved by the chef."
Nira smiled, closing the notebook. "Another mystery postponed."
"For now," Agani said, standing. "But maybe the answers find us when we stop chasing them."
---
Dinner that night was lively. Re-ha had just finished a fashion deadline and was showing sketches to Jin, who'd stopped by.
"See this?" she said proudly. "This design represents movement and freedom."
Jin squinted. "It represents a lot of fabric bills."
Re-ha smacked his arm. "You have no soul."
Lila laughed so hard she nearly dropped her chopsticks. "You two need a reality show."
Nira, sitting beside Agani, watched them with quiet amusement. It amazed her how natural this chaos felt — a strange family built not by blood but by chance.
Jin noticed her thoughtful expression. "Hey, Professor," he said playfully, "you look like you're analyzing the plot twist of our lives."
Nira smiled. "Maybe I am."
"And what's your conclusion?" Lila asked, eyes glimmering.
"That sometimes, the best stories are written by accident," she replied softly.
The table went quiet for a heartbeat — then Lila grinned. "Okay, but can my character have better hair in that story?"
Everyone laughed again.
---
Later that night, when the house had quieted, Agani found herself unable to sleep. She stepped out onto the balcony, the city lights stretching endlessly below.
The cool air brushed her face as she thought about the diary page. The symbols, the handwriting — something about it kept circling in her mind, teasing the edge of memory.
She closed her eyes.
A faint image flickered — a torn book, an old letter, a voice whispering in another language she once heard during her travels.
And a name… her name.
"Agani."
She opened her eyes suddenly, her heartbeat quickening.
---
At the same time, in her room, Nira couldn't sleep either. She took the diary page again, laying it flat under the lamplight.
The ink shimmered faintly, like moisture caught in morning dew. She realized something new — the word "Agani" wasn't written once. Beneath it, faded almost to invisibility, was the same name repeated again and again, in smaller script.
Almost like someone had been trying to remember it.
A soft knock startled her. "Nira?"
It was Agani.
"I couldn't sleep," Agani admitted. "Can I come in?"
Nira nodded.
They sat together at the small desk, the paper between them.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Nira asked.
Agani hesitated — then nodded. "Yes. It's strange… but I feel like I've seen this before. Not this exact page, but this… writing."
"Where?"
Agani looked distant. "A few years ago, when I was traveling for work. There was a small village near Gyeongju — an old library built from stone. I helped a historian catalog some manuscripts there. Some of them had symbols like these."
Nira leaned forward. "Do you think it's from there?"
"Maybe," Agani said softly. "But I can't be sure. If it is, it's older than we think. Those writings were part of forgotten love letters — poems, prayers… sometimes both."
Nira's breath caught. "Love letters?"
Agani smiled faintly. "Or stories of longing. Sometimes the line between them disappears."
The rain outside deepened, tapping softly against the window.
Nira's voice lowered. "Do you think this… page found me by accident?"
Agani looked at her for a long time before answering. "I don't think anything that finds us by name is an accident."
They sat in silence, the room dim but alive with quiet meaning — two women connected by something neither could name yet.
Then, from the hallway, a sleepy voice called out —
"Are you two reading ghost stories without me?"
It was Lila, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito.
Agani and Nira looked at each other, then burst into laughter.
Re-ha appeared behind her, half asleep. "If you're making tea, I want some."
Lila pointed at the paper on the table. "And if that thing starts glowing, I'm moving out."
The laughter that followed filled the house — soft, tired, warm.
---
Later, after everyone drifted back to bed, Nira stood alone by her window again, holding the diary page.
She didn't understand its origin yet, but somehow, she no longer feared its mystery.
It didn't feel like an omen anymore — it felt like a promise.
And somewhere, as the first light of dawn touched Seoul's skyline, she whispered to herself,
> "Maybe stories don't come to be solved.
They come to be lived."
Outside, the wind stirred gently — almost as if agreeing.