By midweek, Yeonnam-dong had finally given in to the scent of spring. Plum blossoms lined the alley like soft clouds, petals fluttering like snow in reverse.
Jung Ha-joon stood on a stepladder outside the shop, brushing pollen off the sign with an old rag. Customers had come in steadily all morning—wedding season. Business was good. The greenhouse heater had finally been fixed. Even Glass, the stray cat, had stopped breaking pots and started sleeping in the sun like he owned the place.
But what lingered in his thoughts wasn't the shop or the flowers.
It was her.
Han Seo-jin.
She hadn't come by in two days—not that he was counting. But he noticed.
He tried not to think about the way she held the ranunculus, or the way her voice softened when she spoke about pain, or the fact that she was the first person to ask about the letter without pity.
It unsettled him how easily she'd gotten in.
So when the shop bell rang and he looked up, heart hitching—
—it wasn't her.
It was a different woman. One with glossy heels, perfect posture, and an expensive leather briefcase.
"Jung Ha-joon?" she asked, with a crisp tone and polite smile.
He nodded, wiping his hands on his apron.
She extended a business card. "I'm Lee Min-kyung. Project manager at Mirae Group."
He blinked. "Mirae…?"
She smiled. "You've been recommended as a consultant for our upcoming rooftop green space. We're working with an architecture firm for the new Mirae Tower development in the city." She glanced at the shop's lush interior. "One of your regular customers mentioned your greenhouse work."
Ha-joon's brows rose. He had no idea who would've recommended him.
"We'd like to discuss a possible collaboration."
He hesitated. The name Mirae Tower buzzed faintly in his memory.
Then he remembered.
Seo-jin.
It was the competition she'd mentioned that day—when her hands had trembled slightly around her teacup.
"I'm... flattered," he said carefully. "But I'm not really a corporate consultant."
"You'd be compensated well," Min-kyung said. "And you'd retain full design input for your portion of the project. It's a short-term role."
She slid a slim folder across the counter. "Just look it over."
And with a practiced smile, she left.
Upstairs, Han Seo-jin's laptop screen was filled with blueprints. Curved designs. Soft lines. Natural light wells. It looked less like an office tower and more like something organic, something that grew.
It terrified her.
She hadn't shown anyone—not even her old mentor. Not yet. The submission deadline was next week.
She leaned back, rubbing her temples. The ranunculus from Ha-joon sat quietly in a jar beside her, its petals starting to curl. Still, it remained oddly comforting.
A sudden buzz shook the table. Her phone.
Unknown Number.
She hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"
"Seo-jin-ssi?" A familiar voice, calm and warm. "It's been a while."
She froze. "Sun-woo?"
"I heard you're working on the Mirae Tower proposal."
"How did you get this number?"
There was a low chuckle. "Still sharp. I called your old firm. They're bitter you left."
Seo-jin's stomach tightened.
Kim Sun-woo. Her ex. Her former colleague. And the man who had once been both rival and lover—before choosing a promotion over her and leaving without a word.
"What do you want?" she asked coldly.
"To talk. To apologize, maybe." He paused. "And to warn you. Mirae's upper management is looking for a big-name team. You know what that means."
"They want flash," she said. "Surface."
"They want results. Fast. I'm one of the final three candidates. You're probably another." A beat. "But I saw your old portfolio. It's not your style to go soft and sentimental."
Seo-jin's fingers curled into her lap.
He was baiting her. Trying to shake her.
"I hope you bring your A-game," he added smoothly. "Otherwise, we'll both know who still finishes first."
The line went dead.
Seo-jin stared at the screen, jaw tight. She hated how easily his voice still got under her skin.
She stood, needing air.
Without thinking, she went downstairs and crossed the alley to the flower shop.
The bell jingled.
Ha-joon looked up from the counter, where a slim folder lay open.
"Hey," he said, surprised. "You're back."
"I needed to—" She stopped, eyes falling on the Mirae Group logo stamped on the folder.
He followed her gaze.
"I didn't say yes," he said quickly. "They just showed up this morning."
She raised an eyebrow. "You were offered the greenhouse design?"
"Apparently someone recommended me." He gave a half-shrug. "It felt… weird. I thought you should know."
Her heart pounded in her chest.
This wasn't what she wanted. She wasn't sure what was.
She sat across from him.
"There's someone else competing for the same project," she said, quieter. "Someone from my past."
He didn't ask who. Didn't need to.
"And if you work with Mirae, it might look like favoritism. It could disqualify me."
Ha-joon nodded slowly.
"I can say no," he offered.
She looked at him—really looked.
And something inside her cracked open.
"No," she said. "That's not fair. You should take it if you want it."
His eyes met hers. "Do you?"
"I don't know." She smiled tightly. "But I know I don't want to win because someone else shrank for me."
For a moment, the air between them buzzed with a thousand unsaid things.
"You're brave, Seo-jin-ssi," he said quietly.
She laughed once, dry and small. "No. I'm just tired of being scared."
He leaned forward, his hand brushing hers. Not holding. Just... close.
"I'll think about it," he said. "But if I do this—if I take the job—it won't be to compete with you. It'll be to stand beside you."
Her eyes softened. "You're strange, Jung Ha-joon."
He smiled. "I know."
And for the first time in years, Han Seo-jin didn't feel alone in her ambition.
She felt... seen.