Ha-rin wasn't just my best friend.
She was the daughter of Zilca, Korea's biggest fashion brand—born into a life of silk, chauffeurs, and limited-edition bags. The kind of girl you'd expect to turn her back the moment life got messy.
But when our world fell apart—when relatives treated us like a bad rumor and neighbors avoided our door—Ha-rin stayed.
She fed the twins. Helped with their homework. Slipped me envelopes of cash, calling it "extra pocket money," so I wouldn't feel ashamed. And when I broke down from exhaustion or grief, she pretended not to notice—just quietly picked up the slack.
She wasn't just a friend. She was family.
---
We were sitting on the swings outside her house, drinks in hand, shoes scraping the dirt.
I finally asked what had been burning in my chest all week.
"Ha-rin… what would you say if I told you I died?"
She choked on her iced Americano, hacking and slapping her chest. "What the hell?! Are you high?"
I shrugged. "Forget it."
She squinted at me. "Wait. You're serious?"
A breeze blew my hair into my face. Hers whipped into her eyes. The moment that was supposed to be emotional became a slapstick mess.
"Haa… even the universe won't let me be dramatic," I muttered, fixing my bangs.
"Tell me."
I hesitated.
"Ji-ah," she said, eyes narrowing. "You're not the type to joke with that face. Spill."
My voice cracked. "I love you."
She blinked. Then softened. "Okay. Go."
So I told her.
Everything.
How I'd died at 23. How Mom was murdered by the mafia for helping a child escape their grip. How Dad shut down. How I raised the twins alone. How I collapsed in a hospital hallway and never woke up.
And how I'd opened my eyes again… fifteen years old.
She didn't interrupt. Just listened—quiet, focused, the way only she could.
When I finally stopped, she sipped her drink.
"Then maybe," she said slowly, "this time… you can save your mom."
My chest clenched.
"That's why you came back, Ji-ah. This is your second chance. Let's not waste it."
---
That night, we camped in her room—wrapped in designer blankets, candles flickering like we were plotting a heist instead of rewriting fate.
We made a plan.
Follow Mom after her shift. Watch. Learn. Find the thread that started everything.
We packed essentials:
– A flashlight (because we were dramatic).
– Chewing gum (to look cool under streetlights).
– And a third member: Ha-rin's long-time admirer, desperate for her attention since middle school. We told him it was a dare from my conservative parents. He didn't ask questions.
(He ends up dating her in my past life—but that's a future headache.)
He'd guard the front while we snuck through the back of Mom's office.
Right before we left, Ha-rin zipped her jacket and looked at me.
"Ji-ah," she said, "if you hesitate now, you'll regret it forever."
This time, I wasn't alone.