The black sedan rolled to a gentle stop in front of the Kim residence. Evening light spilled over the quiet neighborhood, washing the narrow street in shades of peach and lavender. The engine cut off, leaving only the faint chatter of cicadas and the distant honk of a passing bus. Tae Hyun stepped out slowly, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. His movements were steady but not free—he still carried the stiffness of a body that hadn't fully healed.
The front gate creaked open before he even reached it.
"Hyun-ah!" His mother's voice rang with warmth as she hurried down the steps, her apron still dusted with flour from the kitchen. Her face was alight with both relief and worry. She reached for him, cupping his face in her hands as though he were still the little boy who used to come home bruised from playground fights. "You're home. Finally home."
Tae Hyun's lips tugged into a faint smile. "I told you, Mom, I'm fine now."
"Fine?" She swatted his arm lightly, tears welling in her eyes despite her attempt to scold him. "Lying in a hospital bed for weeks isn't fine. Come inside, go freshen up. I'll make you something hot. Your favorite—seaweed soup and galbi. You need strength."
Behind her, another figure lingered by the doorway. Min-seo. Her posture was poised, her long hair framing her face like a curtain. She stood there, perfectly still, but her eyes betrayed her. They darted toward Tae Hyun again and again, filled with a desperation she couldn't voice aloud.
Please… please invite me in, she begged silently, clutching her bag with white knuckles. Just stop me for a moment. Let me see him a little longer.
But Mrs. Hannah turned to her with a polite smile. "Thank you for helping us today, Min-seo. Really, it means a lot. But you must be busy, right? We'll take it from here."
Min-seo's throat tightened. Her carefully rehearsed reply tumbled out automatically. "Yes… I—I have some business to take care of." She bowed slightly. "I'll get going then."
Her heels clicked against the stone path as she walked away, her chest aching with words she could never say. Why didn't you stop me? Why can't you see me, Tae Hyun?
Inside, Tae Hyun barely glanced back at her retreating figure. His mind was already elsewhere—crowded with restless thoughts and memories he couldn't shake.
His room smelled faintly of cedarwood and fresh laundry, exactly as he had left it weeks ago. The posters of race cars still hung on the walls, their glossy images gleaming in the dim light. Trophies lined the shelf, each one a frozen echo of victories past.
Tae Hyun dropped his bag on the bed and pulled out his phone. Without hesitation, he dialed a familiar number.
"Hyun-ah!" His manager's voice came through, cheerful yet tinged with concern. "You're home already? How's your condition?
"I'm fine," Tae Hyun said briskly, cutting to the chase. "Listen, is there any schedule lined up? Endorsements, shoots, interviews? Anything?"
There was a pause on the line. "Right now? No. We've postponed everything. You need rest."
"I don't want rest." His voice sharpened, frustration leaking through. "I've been lying in that bed for weeks. I can't keep wasting time. Give me something—anything."
On the other end, the manager sighed. "Hyun-ah… for years you've worked like a machine. You never stopped, never gave yourself a break. Even when you were exhausted, you pushed harder. This accident… maybe it's the universe telling you to slow down. Take a few days. Breathe."
"Don't lecture me," Tae Hyun muttered, pacing the room. His fingers tightened around the phone. "Just call me if something important comes up."
"Fine. But listen—don't try to run before you can walk. You're no use to anyone if you collapse again."
The line clicked dead before Tae Hyun could argue further.
He exhaled heavily, tossing the phone onto the bed. For a moment, silence filled the room. Then his eyes drifted to a corner of the bag he hadn't unpacked yet. Slowly, he pulled it open. Inside lay the gloves he had worn the day of the crash—scuffed, stained, and carrying the faintest trace of burnt rubber.
His chest tightened. The memory surged back—the roar of the engine, the screech of tires, the blur of speed, and then the searing pain as everything went black. And in the fragments of that chaos, a girl's face flickered.
Sita.
Her wide, tear-streaked eyes leaning over him. Her trembling voice calling his name. For reasons he couldn't explain, the memory clung to him more stubbornly than the crash itself.
He clenched the gloves in his fists, whispering under his breath, "Why do I keep thinking of you?"
Downstairs, the aroma of simmering broth filled the house. Mrs. Hannah stirred the pot with gentle hands, but her mind was heavy. She felt the air shift as her husband entered the kitchen.
He set down his briefcase quietly. "He's gone to his room?"
She nodded. "Already asking about work. That boy doesn't know how to stop." She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. "At least he's home now."
Mr. Kim's face darkened, the weight of the doctor's words still pressing against his chest. He waited until the sound of running water from the upstairs bathroom confirmed that Tae Hyun was out of earshot. Then he spoke low.
"Hannah… the doctor was clear. He can't go back. Not to racing."
Her hand stilled on the ladle. "What do you mean… can't?"
"The injuries—his body can't handle that kind of strain anymore. If he pushes himself, it could…" He swallowed hard. "It could cost him his life."
Mrs. Hannah's eyes filled with tears, blurring the steam rising from the pot. "No… no, that can't be. Racing is his dream. It's everything he's lived for."
"I know." His voice cracked, rare vulnerability bleeding through. "But we have to protect him. We can't let him destroy himself chasing something that's gone."
She gripped the counter, her knuckles white. "How are we supposed to tell him? He's stubborn. If he finds out, he'll fight. He'll resent us."
Mr. Kim placed a steady hand over hers. "We'll find another way. Another cure, another option. Something. He's too young for this to be the end."
Silence settled between them, heavy and suffocating. Upstairs, footsteps creaked as Tae Hyun moved about his room, unaware of the storm brewing just below.
That night, long after the house had gone quiet, Tae Hyun sat by his window. The city stretched before him, a sea of glowing lights and restless energy. He traced the scar hidden beneath his shirt absentmindedly, his mind refusing to rest.
On the desk lay the wilted gloves. Next to them, his phone screen lit up briefly with a missed call from an unknown number. He didn't return it.
Instead, he whispered into the empty room, words meant for no one, yet echoing with unspoken longing.
"I don't care what anyone says. I'll find a way back. I have to."
But in the silence that followed, only his own heartbeat answered.
And somewhere across town, Sita lay awake too, clutching the now-wilted bouquet of lilies, her heart weighed down by guilt she couldn't shake.
TO BE CONTINUED...