"That's…" Julian pauses, his voice trailing off. "I'm very hesitant about that, to be honest. I mean… I know she's been having dreams. Dreams about the 1920s. When she was alive as Hannah."
He exhales, the sound barely above a whisper.
"And I'm afraid… if I say too much, if I provoke those memories, she might remember everything. Including…"
A silence drops heavy between them.
Eugene shifts in his seat, guilt crawling up his spine.
"Death," he says softly. "Right?"
"Yeah."
Eugene closes his eyes for a moment and lets out a breath.
"I'm sorry, June. I shouldn't have—" he stops, shaking his head at himself. "All this time… you were always there for me. At the wedding, being the MC, cheering me on like a real best friend. And I really didn't know what you were going through."
A small smile curls on Julian's lips—gentle, bittersweet. Though Eugene can't see it, it rests quietly in Julian's expression like an old memory revisited.
"No… it's me who chose not to share all of this with you," Julian says. His voice is calm, steady. "Things are still hard. But I'm waiting. Waiting to see how things will unfold… as they should. By God."
Eugene nods, even though the call is audio-only.
"Right. That's… that's great," he says. Wanting to shift the mood, he snaps his fingers as something comes to mind. "Oh! Karen's been talking about inviting you over to our newlywed house. When are you free, June?"
Julian lets out a soft laugh, the sound relaxed, grounding.
"Anytime you two are good. I'm free most weekday dinners and Saturdays," he says.
Eugene perks up.
"How about this Saturday? Lunch? You know our newlywed house isn't that far from your apartment."
Julian furrows his brows, glancing off to the side as he recalls something.
"This Saturday…" he murmurs. "Ah, sorry. That won't work. I'm running a marathon."
"Right!" Eugene says, snapping his fingers. "You mentioned training for one. I thought it was already over, though."
Julian chuckles.
"That was the last one. I'm going to another one."
Eugene grins.
"Man, you're on a roll. Maybe next time, I'll come run it with you."
Julian laughs again, shaking his head.
"You? In a marathon?" he teases. "It's a half-marathon this time—it'll take me over two and a half hours. I can't make you and Karen wait around that long."
"We'll do something along the track," Eugene says, brushing it off with a smile. "Besides, if I'm gonna join one eventually, I gotta see how it all works first, right? So—I'm coming. With Karen. I'll ask her, and if she's good with it, we're both gonna cheer you on."
Julian lets out another laugh, touched beneath the amusement.
Julian knows what Eugene is doing. Knows he's trying to be there—not just in words, but in presence. In action. Like a true friend.
And that… that alone is enough to warm his heart.
He sits back in his chair, letting the cool breeze from the open window brush against his face. The pages on his desk flutter gently, the candle beside him flickering in rhythm. The scent of sandalwood swirls with the air.
February, and the air is still sharp with winter's bite. On a Saturday morning, the wide expanse of Olympic Park thrums with energy. Breath clouds in the cold air as hundreds of runners shuffle, stretch, and gather at the starting line for the marathon.
Amid the crowd, Julian stands out—not because of anything flamboyant, but in his quiet composure. He wears black running pants, a light windbreaker zipped to his throat, and an Apple Watch that glints faintly under the pale winter sun.
A few steps away, Eugene and Karen watch him with amused eyes. Their laughter carries easily above the chatter of the crowd.
"Julian," Eugene calls out with a teasing smile, "this is a half marathon. So—how many minutes will it take for you?"
The question hangs light in the frosty air. Julian smirks, rubbing his hands together for warmth.
"Well, hopefully two hours and thirty minutes. Just my hope."
Karen folds her arms across her chest, nodding with exaggerated conviction.
"You can do it. I mean, you always run! Eugene told me."
At that, Eugene chuckles awkwardly, and Julian joins in with a small laugh.
"Yeah, I always run," Julian admits, "but honestly, my best score so far has only been around two hours and forty minutes."
"You'll do great," Eugene replies firmly, as though willing it into truth. He pulls out his phone and hands it to Karen. "Here, please take our picture."
Karen steps closer, the phone steady in her gloved hands. Julian and Eugene lean together, flashing V-signs toward the camera. The shutter clicks.
"Perfect. You two look super fresh today," Karen says, handing the phone back with a grin.
Eugene glances at the photo, his face softening into a smile. Then he pockets the phone and claps Julian on the shoulder.
"All right. Now get prepared. We'll be right here, doing our thing."
Julian laughs softly.
"Thanks, thanks."
He lifts a hand, waving at Karen and Eugene as they drift away into the sea of spectators. Then, turning back, he slips into place among the runners. The crowd tightens near the starting line, bodies shifting restlessly, sneakers scraping the cold pavement. The air buzzes with anticipation.
Julian fixes his gaze forward—on the wide park stretching beyond the gates, on the road that will carry him for the next twenty-one kilometers. His breath comes steady, measured, the way he's practiced. He waits, ears tuned for the sharp crack of the starting gun.
And then—his eyes falter.
Out beyond the crowd, just to the right of the marathon track, a figure catches his attention. A woman, standing still amid the flow of people. Her presence strikes him like a sudden chord.
Grace…?
Julian's breath stumbles. His eyes lock on her, unable to look away. She's dressed in a black padded jacket, her dark hair framing her face as she walks slowly toward the crowd, scanning the runners with faint surprise, as though she hadn't expected so many. She moves closer, unaware.
"Grace…" The name escapes his lips in the barest murmur, almost swallowed by the restless noise of the runners.
And then—the gunshot.
The air splits open. The mass of runners surges forward, and Julian is carried with them, his legs moving on instinct, his body falling into the practiced rhythm he knows so well. Yet his gaze keeps drifting sideways, drawn helplessly toward her.
She's walking along the edge of the track, her path and his momentarily aligned. For a heartbeat, it feels as though the crowd has parted just for them. He's running, she's approaching—and then, as if by some cruel trick, they pass by each other.
Grace doesn't see him. Her eyes stay fixed ahead, untouched by his desperate glance.
And just like that, she is behind him—swallowed by the crowd, vanishing into the blur of faces and noise.
Julian runs on, feet pounding against the frozen earth. But his chest is no longer only heaving with the effort of the race. His heartbeat races faster, louder, as though trying to catch up to what his eyes have just seen.
Grace.
"Hey, look what I brought."
Karen unzips the canvas bag at her feet and pulls out a steaming tumbler, along with neatly wrapped toast still warm in its paper.
She sets them on the small park bench where she and Eugene are sitting, just a short distance from the marathon starting line. The cold air seems to vanish for a moment as the rich scent of soup rises, steam curling into the frosty air.
"Wow, that looks good," Eugene says, eyes widening as the lid twists off and the hot soup breathes warmth into the February chill.
They smile at each other and dig in, hands cupped around the steaming cups like small fires against the cold. The crowd of runners continues to stir nearby, the hum of voices and shuffling footsteps wrapping around them like background music.
Then Eugene freezes. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of someone moving closer through the flow of people. His gaze sharpens—and lands directly on her.
Grace.
Their eyes meet—just for a second, but it feels longer. An unspoken recognition flickers between them, suspended in the cold morning air.
"Oh, hello," Grace says softly, her voice barely rising above the murmur of the crowd.
Eugene gives a knowing nod, his smile polite but faintly weighted.
"Hi, nice to see you again."
Karen, sensing the shift, turns to glance behind her.
"Who's that?"
Eugene hesitates, buying himself a moment.
"Oh… she's, um—she's a customer. She came by my studio a few days ago."
"Oh, I see." Karen's expression brightens into an easy smile. She lifts a hand in greeting. "Hi, nice to meet you."
Grace returns the gesture with a gentle smile of her own.
"Hi. Have a great day."
She steps as if to continue past them, her stride calm, but just as she moves to slip by, Eugene speaks up stopping her in her tracks.