The rain still whispered against the window when Sita sat by the edge of her bed, gently drying her damp hair with a worn towel. The world outside shimmered silver beneath the downpour, lantern lights flickering softly in the distance. For the first time in weeks, she felt a quiet calm bloom in her chest.
She reached for her diary — her one faithful companion — and wrote slowly, her words steady like the rhythm of raindrops:
"Today, I met the sweetest children. Their laughter felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. I only wish I could do more for Lily and Uncle Vallayi… I must begin working soon. They have given me so much; it's time I give back."
She closed the diary with a sigh, placed it gently on her nightstand, and slid under the thin blanket. The curtain near her bedside swayed in the breeze, brushing her face as if whispering good night. Sleep wrapped her swiftly, deep and unbroken, like that of a newborn child.
Far away, another story unfolded.
Tae Hyun, after years of living abroad, finally returned home. His father, Kim Ji-hoon, stood by the doorway of their hanok-style house, his shoulders stiff but his eyes bright with relief. Beside him was Hannah, Tae Hyun's aunt — the woman who had raised him after his mother, Rosie, passed away when he was still a child.
Hannah's eyes filled with tears the moment she saw him. She rushed forward and embraced him tightly, her voice trembling. "You've grown so much, my boy… your mother would be so proud."
Tae Hyun's throat tightened, but he forced a faint smile. "It's good to be home."
"Tell me," Hannah said gently, brushing his hair back like she used to when he was young, "what do you want to eat first? Something you've been craving all this time."
"Your kimchi stew," Tae Hyun answered with a small laugh.
Her eyes softened with warmth as she hurried to the kitchen, while Ji-hoon clapped his son's shoulder, his silence carrying more affection than words. That night, Tae Hyun ate until his stomach ached, every bite tasting of warmth and belonging. After dinner, lying in his childhood room surrounded by faded posters and familiar walls, he closed his eyes. For the first time in years, he felt at home.
The next morning, Sita shared her worries with Uncle Vallayi, her voice hesitant. Lily, sitting nearby with her usual spark of energy, spoke up quickly:
"You're amazing with languages, Sita! You speak more than seven. Why don't you try working as a translator?"
Sita smiled faintly but shook her head. "I never even went to college… Who would hire me? This is a new world for me, Lily. I don't know where I belong." Her words carried quiet disappointment, but her heart still longed for a chance.
Later, she remembered Angel — the little one she had helped days before. With the address Angel had given her, Sita walked through winding lanes until she reached a small gate. A hand-painted board above it read in bold, uneven letters: Our Home.
Inside, the sound of laughter and chaos greeted her. Children darted past, their small feet echoing against the stone floor, their voices rising like a storm. Some tugged at her clothes, others tried to guess her name, their innocent curiosity wrapping around her like a blanket of warmth.
For a moment, her chest tightened — they reminded her of herself, once searching for a place to belong.
After the visit, the woman in charge, Sister Mariam, approached her. Her eyes were kind, though lined with fatigue. "The children… they've taken to you quickly," she said softly. "They've lost so much, and it makes them stubborn, mischievous. Teachers don't stay long — the last one ran away after only a month. But you… you might be the one they need. Would you consider teaching here? Especially languages?"
Sita's breath caught. Her eyes stung with sudden tears. A job — not just a job, but a purpose. A place where she could help heal what was broken.
She bowed her head, her voice trembling. "Yes. Yes, I would be honored."
That evening, Sita returned home, her heart lighter than the rain-washed sky. Lily ran to her eagerly, and Sita could no longer contain her joy.
"I got a job," she whispered, as if afraid it was a dream. "At a place I never imagined. Starting tomorrow… I'll be teaching children."
Lily hugged her tightly, her small arms trembling with happiness. "See? I knew you'd find your way. You're meant for this."
Later that night, sleep finally claimed Tae Hyun. But it was not the peaceful kind — it came with a dream.
He was small again, his bare feet splashing against the wet sand of a quiet beach. The sea stretched endlessly, the sky painted in warm hues of sunset. Behind him, a familiar voice called out with laughter.
"Evan! Come back here, eat this last bite!"
He turned his head — his mother was chasing after him, holding out a rice ball, her bright smile glowing like sunlight. Her hair blew wildly in the sea breeze, her laughter carried like music.
"No, Mumma!" little Tae Hyun shouted, running faster, his giggles echoing across the shore.
The vision blurred, fading with the crashing of waves. The beach dissolved into darkness, and reality pulled him back. Lying in his bed, his body grown but his heart still fragile, tears slipped silently from the corners of his closed eyes. A faint smile touched his lips, as if clinging to the warmth of the memory.
At that moment, his aunt, Hannah, quietly entered the room. She stopped at the doorway, her heart tightening as she saw him sleeping, tears still glistening on his cheeks. Moving softly, she sat at his bedside and brushed the wetness away with her hand, her touch tender and careful.
"How unfair of God…" she thought, her chest heavy. "To give such sorrow to such an innocent boy. My baby hides it well, never letting anyone see his wounds… but I know. I know he is broken inside."
She pulled the blanket up gently, tucking it around him the way his mother once did. For a moment, she lingered — watching him breathe, wishing she could take his pain away. Then, with a silent prayer, she stood and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
The night deepened, but inside Tae Hyun's dream, his mother's laughter still lingered — calling him Evan across the waves — a sound that both healed and hurt, a memory that refused to fade.
TO BE CONTINUED...