The morning sun poured through the small glass windows of the flower shop, casting gentle streaks of gold across the petals of daisies, tulips, and baby's breath. Seoul's rush pulsed outside, but inside the shop was a different world—soft, fragrant, and quiet.
Seo Hena hummed softly to herself, tying a delicate pink ribbon around a bouquet of fresh peonies. Her apron was dusted with pollen, her hair loosely tied in a bun that had begun to fall apart hours ago. She looked effortlessly beautiful—modest, graceful, the kind of beauty that whispered rather than shouted.
"Unni, another online order just came through. Someone wants twenty red roses by noon!" her part-time co-worker called out from the back.
"Got it!" Hena answered cheerfully, wiping her hands on her apron as she turned toward the roses.
But as she reached for the flowers, her fingers hesitated. That feeling again—a quiet tug, deep in her chest. It wasn't sadness, exactly. It was more like... incompleteness. As if something important had been misplaced. A piece of her life she could never quite remember, yet always felt the absence of.
She often brushed it off. Not everyone had a picture-perfect past. She didn't remember much before her seventh birthday, when she woke up in a small hospital bed after a car accident. No visitors, no family. Only her name—Seo Hena—was known, written on a charm bracelet she'd worn. The rest was a blank slate.
She shook her head gently, brushing the thoughts away. Focus on the flowers, she told herself.
Meanwhile, across the city, another girl stared into a mirror.
At Seoul High Academy—a school of prestige and power—Seo Hara tightened her crimson uniform tie and brushed a final swipe of gloss over her lips. Her hair was sleek, her makeup sharp, and her gaze sharper. She was always in control. She had to be.
Everything in her life was curated: her social circle, her perfect GPA, her flawless public image. Teachers praised her, classmates envied her. But even among all the admiration, she often felt... agitated.
She glared at her reflection, tilting her head.
"Why do I feel like someone's watching me?" she muttered, shaking the unease from her shoulders. But as she turned to leave, her gaze flickered back—drawn toward the mirror again.
At that exact moment, in the flower shop's tiny backroom, Hena also stood in front of a mirror, her hands absently fixing her loose bun. Their reflections mirrored each other across the city—two faces identical yet unknown to one another. A silent, cinematic parallel.
Hena stepped back and smiled gently at herself. She always did this—practiced her smile. It helped her feel ready to face the world, even if inside she was filled with questions.
Hara, on the other hand, practiced her smirk—sharp, confident, and impenetrable. Her smile wasn't armor. It was a weapon.
At the flower shop, a bell rang as a tall, suited man stepped inside. Hena looked up, startled. He was impeccably dressed in a custom-tailored charcoal suit, his black hair swept back, and his cold aura immediately filled the room.
"Mr. Han... you're early," she said politely, recognizing one of her usual high-profile clients.
"Change in schedule," Mr. Han said briskly, glancing at his watch. "My boss needs the arrangement by eleven, not twelve."
Hena nodded, moving quickly. "I'll finish it now. Peonies, right?"
"White lilies this time," he corrected, eyes scanning her face for a moment too long. "He specifically asked for lilies."
As she worked, she felt his gaze linger—not in a leering way, but with curiosity. As if trying to place her.
"I hope your boss likes them," she said, handing over the bouquet wrapped in soft white paper.
"He's...particular," Mr. Han replied, before hesitating at the door. "You look familiar. Have we met before?"
She smiled politely. "I don't think so."
But once he left, a strange chill ran down her spine.
---
Back at Seoul High, Hara received a text from an unknown number:
"I saw her. She's in Seoul."
Her fingers froze mid-scroll.
"Who?" she replied.
"You already know."
The message sent a tremor down her spine. Her well-kept life, the one she'd worked so hard to build, suddenly felt like it was teetering.
Hara swallowed hard. She didn't believe in ghosts. But what if some shadows didn't stay buried?
---
Later that night, Hena sat at her small rooftop apartment, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Claire, her best friend, plopped beside her with a cup of cocoa in each hand.
"You know," Claire said, "I've always found it strange you can't remember your childhood."
"I've stopped asking," Hena replied softly, sipping her cocoa. "What's the point?"
Claire tilted her head. "Still... doesn't it ever scare you? That something—or someone—you forgot could just show up one day?"
Hena stared out at the city. Someone like me... could be out there.
She smiled faintly. "If they do, I hope they bring answers."
But in the same city, in a mansion high above Gangnam, Hara was staring into her mirror again.
And this time, her reflection didn't feel like her own.