Gyeongju, 1914 – Mid-Summer
The storm didn't come with thunder.It came with silence.
The kind that wraps around a village like a hand over a mouth. Too many men in uniform. Too few reasons given. Seon noticed it before anyone else.
And Hana felt it the day the almond tree stopped dropping petals altogether.
They sat in their usual place—though now Seon no longer brought his sketchbook.
"They raided my school," he said, eyes on the horizon. "Took the poetry, burned the foreign books."
"Why?"
"Because knowledge is dangerous now."
His voice was hollow.
She touched his sleeve lightly.
"You're still here."
"Not for long."
He didn't say it harshly. Just honestly. There was no longer space for soft words.
"They want me in Kyoto. Training for civil service."
"Will you go?"
"If I don't, they'll send my father instead."
Hana's breath caught.
"You're protecting them."
He nodded.
They sat in silence again. The tree above them was still, as if even the wind had stopped coming.
"I don't want to forget you," she whispered.
"You won't."
"But if you leave—"
He reached into his sleeve and pulled something out. Folded cloth. Inside, a piece of parchment. A miniature painting.
Of her. Standing beneath the almond tree. Hair caught mid-turn. Eyes like dusk.
"This is for you," he said.
She held it like it was breakable.
"Why now?"
"Because I can't carry you with me the way I want. But I want you to know—I will come back."
"When?"
"When the tree blooms again."
Her fingers curled tightly around the image.
"Promise?"
"On the first petal of spring."
They stood.
No goodbye.
Because goodbye was too final.