The rain had been falling all night, a gentle rhythm against the window that wrapped the small bedroom in a cocoon of sound. Seo Yun stirred in her sleep, her lashes trembling as her mind wandered into that strange place it had been visiting far too often lately.
There he was again tall, warm-eyed, and smiling at her as if the world had shrunk down to just the two of them. His fingers brushed her hair back with a familiarity that sent a shiver down her spine. They didn't speak, but she could hear his voice anyway, low and steady, saying her name like it was a prayer.
She reached out for him, desperate to feel that touch for real, but then the dream twisted. Shadows crawled in from the edges, faces she didn't recognize whispering things she couldn't quite catch. Her parents' faces appeared in flashes, only they didn't look like the ones she saw at home now. They were… different, softer, happier. And then, a figure in the distance. Watching her.
Seo Yun jerked awake, her breath caught in her throat. The early morning light spilled across her bed, pale and cold. She sat there for a long moment, trying to piece the dream together, but it slipped through her fingers like water. Why… why is life so different from before? she thought. Why does it feel like I've stepped into someone else's skin?
It had been two weeks since the accident. Two weeks of waking up in this body she was still learning to call hers. The mirror was both a stranger and a reminder, a stranger because her features felt almost unfamiliar, a reminder because the ache in her chest told her she should know who she was… and yet, everything felt slightly off.
Her parents, if she could call them that were kind. Her mother worked long hours at the restaurant, while her father kept mostly to himself. They treated her like family, but deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that something didn't quite fit.
Today, she'd promised to join her mother at the restaurant to help. Part of her wanted the distraction, the other part dreaded having to smile at strangers when her head was full of unanswered questions. Grabbing her phone, she scrolled through her contacts until she found Yuna. The call connected after a few rings.
"Yuna?" Seo Yun's voice was quiet, almost hesitant.
"Seo Yun! Oh my God, you sound better already! How's the recovery going?" Yuna's tone was bubbly, but there was an edge to it.
"I'm fine… I think. But… I need to ask you something." Seo Yun leaned back on her pillow, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers. "These dreams I keep having… and the people here… Yuna, how exactly did I end up like this? How did they become my parents?"
There was a pause.
"Seo Yun…" Yuna's voice softened, almost too carefully. "It's complicated. The accident changed a lot of things."
Seo Yun hesitated, then asked the question that had been lingering at the edge of her thoughts.
"And… that guy. The one who… keeps showing up in my dreams. Who is he?"
On the other end, Yuna's breath caught. She forced a laugh.
"Oh, him? He's just… a friend. Nothing important."
"Just a friend?" Seo Yun repeated, her heart sinking without her permission.
"Yeah. And speaking of friends" Yuna quickly changed the subject. "I can't wait to see you back on your feet. We should go shopping once you're stronger! And maybe get your favorite ice cream? You used to be obsessed."
Seo Yun smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah. That sounds nice."
They ended the call, but the silence that followed felt heavier than before. If he was "just a friend,"
why did her chest ache every time she thought of him? Why did her dreams feel so real, like she'd lived those moments before? She glanced at the clock. Time to get ready for the restaurant. With a sigh, she stood up and crossed to the mirror. For a moment, she studied her reflection, the soft curve of her lips, the faint trace of a scar near her temple, the way her eyes seemed to search for someone they couldn't find. And somewhere deep inside her, a quiet longing stirred, an ache for the man whose face she only knew in dreams, and whose absence felt like a wound she didn't understand.