The next time it rained, Yoorin didn't hide.
She walked through the alley behind the bookstore with her hood down, letting the drizzle kiss her forehead. The old stone path gleamed slick and dark beneath her feet, but she barely noticed. Her thoughts were heavier than the clouds.
The photo.The writing.Choi Hana.
Everything in her life had been steady until last week—until the book appeared. Now, the rain didn't feel like weather. It felt like a message.
As she turned the corner, her eyes caught something odd near the back brick wall.
Letters.
Scratched faintly into the brick. Old. Half-worn by time and water. But still visible.
"하나"
Hana.
She froze. Her breath hitched.
Who would carve her old name here? And when?
The bookstore had been here for decades, owned by the same family. But this… this looked older. As if the wall had remembered what people had long forgotten.
Beneath the name, there were numbers:
"1914.4.3"
A date. Two years after the photograph.
What happened to her then?What happened to me?
Yoorin reached out and touched the name. The brick was wet and cold beneath her fingers.
But for a second, it pulsed with warmth.