The drive to the training center was quiet, but not in the awkward, heavy way that left the air thick. It was the kind of quiet that carried warmth—an easy, unhurried silence that didn't need to be filled.
Ji-hye had her seat leaned back just enough to get comfortable, her sports bag resting between her legs. Her hair was tied neatly into a ponytail, a few loose strands catching the sunlight streaming through the window. She gazed out at the blur of passing streets and winter-bare trees, the corners of her lips curved in a soft, unguarded smile.
Every so often, when the radio cycled through a familiar track, she would hum along—quietly, under her breath. The sound was almost lost beneath the low, steady purr of the engine, but he caught it every time. Her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh in time with the beat, the smallest, unconscious sign that her mood was lighter than usual.
