Jihoon~
Are you angry because I didn't buy you the toys earlier?
The voice–so comforting and warm–washed over Jihoon like the first touch of sunlight after days of rain, chasing away the chill from his skin.
He turned.
There she was. His mother.
Her presence made no sense. She'd been gone for years. And yet, here she stood in the doorway of their old apartment, her face soft with concern, her eyes curved like crescent moons the way they used to when she smiled.
Oddly enough, none of it felt wrong.
Jihoon looked around. The peeling corners of the old wallpaper. The floral curtains that never quite matched the rug. His tiny hands rested against the hem of his oversized pajama shirt–one he remembered wearing when he was barely seven.
Jihoon didn't fully understand it was a dream.
Right now, this felt like his only reality.
