"please help me .... please, help" with her mind was with this voices over and over again from past 2 years but she don't know what.
At exactly 6:07 a.m., the soft vibration of her phone stirred Han Ria from sleep.
She did not wake abruptly. She never did.
Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the pale golden light spilling through the half-drawn curtains of her small apartment in Seoul. The sunlight was gentle this morning, slipping across the wooden floor and climbing the edge of her bed like a quiet visitor.
Han Ria was twenty-seven years old.
Her long, dark hair lay loosely around her shoulders and across the pillow, slightly tangled from sleep. Strands brushed against her fair skin, glowing softly under the morning light. She pushed herself up, her slim waist outlined faintly beneath the oversized white T-shirt she wore to bed.
For a moment, she simply sat there.
Still.
Listening.
The hum of distant traffic below. The muffled sound of a neighbor's door closing. A scooter passing through the narrow street outside.
Her apartment was modest but lived-in.
Across from her bed stood a narrow study table pressed against the wall. A silver laptop remained open from the night before, screen dimmed but not shut. Beside it sat a bowl of half-finished instant noodles, the chopsticks resting carelessly across the rim. The scent of dried broth lingered faintly in the air, mixed with the clean smell of detergent from freshly folded laundry on a chair nearby.
Sticky notes were scattered around the laptop — reminders, strategy drafts, tomorrow's meeting outline.
She must have fallen asleep while working again.
Ria exhaled softly and swung her legs off the bed, her bare feet touching the cool wooden floor.
"Six forty-two…" she murmured after glancing at her phone again.
Too long.
She stood up quickly, gathering her hair loosely with her fingers before walking toward the bathroom.
Warm steam soon filled the small tiled space.
The water cascaded over her shoulders, washing away the last traces of sleep. Droplets clung to her skin before sliding down, tracing quiet paths along her collarbone. She tilted her head back, letting the water run through her long hair, smoothing it down her back.
For a brief second, she closed her eyes.
There was something peaceful about mornings.
Before the rush.
Before expectations.
Before responsibilities.
But when she opened them again and glanced at the wall clock hanging just outside the bathroom door—
7:18 a.m.
Her heart skipped.
"I'm going to be late."
She turned off the water immediately.
Fifteen minutes later, she stepped out dressed in a fitted ivory blouse tucked neatly into a high-waisted charcoal skirt. Her long hair, now dried and brushed, fell naturally down her back. She didn't style it elaborately — just clean, straight, and effortless.
Minimal makeup.
Soft lipstick.
Professional.
She grabbed her bag from the chair, but her stomach reminded her she had skipped dinner properly the night before.
The noodles on the table stared back at her accusingly.
No time to cook.
She moved to the tiny kitchenette, quickly pulling out a slice of bread from its plastic wrap. She spread a thin layer of strawberry jam across it with efficient movements, folded it in half, and took a quick bite while slipping on her heels.
Sweet. Simple. Enough.
By the time she swallowed the last bite, she was already checking the time again.
7:32 a.m.
She wiped her fingers with a tissue, grabbed her phone and keys, and hurried toward the door.
The morning air outside was crisp and alive.
Seoul was fully awake now. Cars moved steadily along the main road. Office workers waited at crossings. A street vendor was setting up for the day.
A taxi she had called earlier was already waiting below her building.
The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror as she slid into the back seat.
"Kang Group headquarters, please."
The driver nodded, pulling into traffic.
As the car merged onto the main road, sunlight streamed through the window, casting shifting patterns across her lap.
She leaned back slightly, adjusting her bag on her knees.
Another day.
Another routine.
She didn't know that this ordinary morning would mark the beginning of something that would quietly change everything.
At this very moment, somewhere else in the same city—
Someone else was returning.
And neither of them knew how closely their paths were about to collide.