The night pressed against Ha Jun's window like a cold palm.
The lights of the city were scattered stars, blinking in the distance, yet none of them felt close enough to touch. His room was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the occasional passing car below the building.
He lay on his back staring up at the ceiling.
Sleep refused him again.
His mind spun in slow circles that grew sharper each time he tried to breathe them away. It was not panic exactly. Not the wild crushing terror that used to grip him in the early mornings. It was something quieter. Something that crept rather than struck.
A familiar voice in his head whispered, You are still broken.
Ha Jun pulled the blanket closer, pressing it against his chest as if it could keep the thought out. He closed his eyes but immediately felt the ripple of unease in his ribs.
He had been doing better. He knew that. Ji Hye had seen it. His sisters had seen it. Even he had begun to believe it a little.
But healing was not a straight line.
And tonight his mind refused to cooperate.
He sat up and let his feet touch the cold floor. His breath came shallow at first but then steadied when he forced himself to count each inhale. Slowly he stood and walked toward the small mirror hanging on his wall.
For a long moment he simply looked at himself.
His reflection looked tired.
Not shattered, just worn down.
The kind of tired that settles deep in the bones.
"Why am I still like this?" he whispered.
The boy in the mirror had no answer.
He moved away and opened the window. The night breeze entered gently, cool but comforting. Somewhere in the distance he heard laughter from people walking home. Real laughter that sounded full and careless.
He wondered when he had last laughed that way.
His phone vibrated on the desk. The screen lit up.
A message from Ji Hye.
Are you awake?
His lips tugged slightly. She always seemed to know when something was wrong. He hesitated before replying.
Yes
Her message came quickly.
Can I call?
Ha Jun swallowed. His instinct was to say no. That was always his instinct when the heaviness came. But the memory of their walk earlier that day rose in his mind. Her face gentle. Her words steady. The calm she carried like a soft lantern.
He typed slowly.
Yes
His phone rang almost immediately.
He answered.
"Ha Jun?" Her voice was quiet. Tender. As if she already knew he was fragile.
"I am okay," he said reflexively. The lie was familiar.
"You are not."
He closed his eyes. "How did you know?"
"You breathe differently when you are not okay."
He let out a weak breath. "That obvious?"
"To me, yes."
A silence settled over them, not heavy, not uncomfortable. The kind that allowed him to exhale without feeling judged.
"What is happening?" she asked gently.
"I cannot sleep," he murmured. "My mind feels loud even though I am calm. It keeps telling me things I am trying to stop believing."
She waited.
"It tells me I am still the same broken person," he said. "It tells me that the good moments will fade. That I will fall again. And I am afraid of that."
Ji Hye breathed in softly. "Of course you are afraid. Anyone would be. Fear is not a sign that you are losing. It is a sign that you are fighting."
He lowered his head, letting her words settle in his chest.
"You are trying," she continued. "You are trying so hard. That alone means you are not the boy you used to be. You are not standing still. You are moving, even if it feels slow."
He felt something warm in his throat. A kind of ache that wanted to spill into tears.
"I feel like I should be better by now," he whispered.
"No," she said gently. "Healing does not obey time. It obeys patience. And courage. And you have both even when you think you do not."
He let the silence breathe again.
This time it felt soothing.
"Are you alone?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Do you want me to come over? I can take a taxi."
The offer struck him deeply. That someone would willingly leave their comfort at night just to sit with him. It made his chest tighten with a mix of gratitude and fear.
"No," he said softly. "You should not go out so late. Hearing your voice is enough."
She hummed lightly. "Then stay on the phone with me. Do not hang up."
"Okay."
They stayed like that for a long time.
He lay back on the bed.
The sound of her breathing through the phone became a gentle rhythm.
Sometimes she spoke softly about random things.
Her day.
A funny thing her professor said.
A memory from childhood.
Her sister's cat.
Ha Jun listened.
The heaviness in his chest loosened with every minute.
At one point he whispered, "I think I am getting sleepy."
"I can keep talking if you want."
"Stay," he murmured. "Just stay on the line."
"I will."
Her voice was a soft anchor pulling him back to safety.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time that night, his mind grew quiet.
He drifted between wakefulness and sleep, still holding the phone loosely in his hand. Ji Hye stayed there, listening to the soft changes in his breathing as he slowly surrendered to rest.
When he finally fell asleep, it was not forced.
It was gentle.
Peaceful.
Ji Hye whispered into the phone, "Good night, Ha Jun. You did well today."
She did not hang up.
She waited on the other end of the call, keeping watch over a boy who had spent too many nights alone with his fear.
And somewhere in the quiet darkness, Ha Jun slept through the night for the first time in a long while.
The night pressed against Ha Jun's window like a cold palm.
The lights of the city were scattered stars, blinking in the distance, yet none of them felt close enough to touch. His room was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the occasional passing car below the building.
He lay on his back staring up at the ceiling.
Sleep refused him again.
His mind spun in slow circles that grew sharper each time he tried to breathe them away. It was not panic exactly. Not the wild crushing terror that used to grip him in the early mornings. It was something quieter. Something that crept rather than struck.
A familiar voice in his head whispered, You are still broken.
Ha Jun pulled the blanket closer, pressing it against his chest as if it could keep the thought out. He closed his eyes but immediately felt the ripple of unease in his ribs.
He had been doing better. He knew that. Ji Hye had seen it. His sisters had seen it. Even he had begun to believe it a little.
But healing was not a straight line.
And tonight his mind refused to cooperate.
He sat up and let his feet touch the cold floor. His breath came shallow at first but then steadied when he forced himself to count each inhale. Slowly he stood and walked toward the small mirror hanging on his wall.
For a long moment he simply looked at himself.
His reflection looked tired.
Not shattered, just worn down.
The kind of tired that settles deep in the bones.
"Why am I still like this?" he whispered.
The boy in the mirror had no answer.
He moved away and opened the window. The night breeze entered gently, cool but comforting. Somewhere in the distance he heard laughter from people walking home. Real laughter that sounded full and careless.
He wondered when he had last laughed that way.
His phone vibrated on the desk. The screen lit up.
A message from Ji Hye.
Are you awake?
His lips tugged slightly. She always seemed to know when something was wrong. He hesitated before replying.
Yes
Her message came quickly.
Can I call?
Ha Jun swallowed. His instinct was to say no. That was always his instinct when the heaviness came. But the memory of their walk earlier that day rose in his mind. Her face gentle. Her words steady. The calm she carried like a soft lantern.
He typed slowly.
Yes
His phone rang almost immediately.
He answered.
"Ha Jun?" Her voice was quiet. Tender. As if she already knew he was fragile.
"I am okay," he said reflexively. The lie was familiar.
"You are not."
He closed his eyes. "How did you know?"
"You breathe differently when you are not okay."
He let out a weak breath. "That obvious?"
"To me, yes."
A silence settled over them, not heavy, not uncomfortable. The kind that allowed him to exhale without feeling judged.
"What is happening?" she asked gently.
"I cannot sleep," he murmured. "My mind feels loud even though I am calm. It keeps telling me things I am trying to stop believing."
She waited.
"It tells me I am still the same broken person," he said. "It tells me that the good moments will fade. That I will fall again. And I am afraid of that."
Ji Hye breathed in softly. "Of course you are afraid. Anyone would be. Fear is not a sign that you are losing. It is a sign that you are fighting."
He lowered his head, letting her words settle in his chest.
"You are trying," she continued. "You are trying so hard. That alone means you are not the boy you used to be. You are not standing still. You are moving, even if it feels slow."
He felt something warm in his throat. A kind of ache that wanted to spill into tears.
"I feel like I should be better by now," he whispered.
"No," she said gently. "Healing does not obey time. It obeys patience. And courage. And you have both even when you think you do not."
He let the silence breathe again.
This time it felt soothing.
"Are you alone?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Do you want me to come over? I can take a taxi."
The offer struck him deeply. That someone would willingly leave their comfort at night just to sit with him. It made his chest tighten with a mix of gratitude and fear.
"No," he said softly. "You should not go out so late. Hearing your voice is enough."
She hummed lightly. "Then stay on the phone with me. Do not hang up."
"Okay."
They stayed like that for a long time.
He lay back on the bed.
The sound of her breathing through the phone became a gentle rhythm.
Sometimes she spoke softly about random things.
Her day.
A funny thing her professor said.
A memory from childhood.
Her sister's cat.
Ha Jun listened.
The heaviness in his chest loosened with every minute.
At one point he whispered, "I think I am getting sleepy."
"I can keep talking if you want."
"Stay," he murmured. "Just stay on the line."
"I will."
Her voice was a soft anchor pulling him back to safety.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time that night, his mind grew quiet.
He drifted between wakefulness and sleep, still holding the phone loosely in his hand. Ji Hye stayed there, listening to the soft changes in his breathing as he slowly surrendered to rest.
When he finally fell asleep, it was not forced.
It was gentle.
Peaceful.
Ji Hye whispered into the phone, "Good night, Ha Jun. You did well today."
She did not hang up.
She waited on the other end of the call, keeping watch over a boy who had spent too many nights alone with his fear.
And somewhere in the quiet darkness, Ha Jun slept through the night for the first time in a long while.