The next weekend, sunlight spilled freely over Aureum-ri — the kind of morning that carried the scent of salt, jasmine, and forgiveness.
Yoon Ha-rin and Kang Jae-hyun walked up the familiar stone path toward the small hillside café that overlooked the old village.
This time, they weren't alone.
Two cars were already parked near the gate.
From one stepped Ha-rin's mother, graceful as always, her eyes crinkling at the corners when she saw her daughter.
From the other emerged Chairman Kang — Jae-hyun's father, still tall, still commanding, but slower now, his sharpness softened by years.
For a second, no one moved.
Two families, two timelines, one unfinished story — standing again under the same sky that had watched them part long ago.
---
Ha-rin's mother broke the silence first.
"It's been… what, twenty years?" she said gently.
Chairman Kang nodded, looking out toward the sea. "A lifetime. And yet, the scent of this place never leaves."
Jae-hyun stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Father."
His father's gaze flickered toward him — then toward Ha-rin beside him.
"You brought her," he said quietly.
"Yes," Jae-hyun replied. "And I think you already know why."
The older man smiled — tired, but genuine. "Because your heart remembered before your mind did. Just like hers once did."
---
Over coffee and laughter, the years slowly folded away.
Stories came out — the accident by the river, the misunderstanding that had driven their families apart, the move to Nova City, the endless search for what had been lost.
Ha-rin's mother placed a hand on Jae-hyun's father's arm.
"You know," she said softly, "for a long time I blamed myself. I thought if we hadn't left, they might have grown up together, safely."
Chairman Kang shook his head. "If we hadn't left, they might never have learned to find each other again."
Ha-rin smiled, eyes shining. "I think the world just… needed time to let us grow up first."
Jae-hyun chuckled beside her. "And to teach us how to argue before we could actually talk."
The table erupted in laughter. Even the quiet breeze seemed to join in.
---
When lunch ended, they all walked down to the riverside together.
The same spot where a paper windmill once spun in a child's hand.
Chairman Kang looked over the water. "You saved my son that day, didn't you?"
Ha-rin nodded slowly. "It wasn't bravery, sir. It was… instinct."
He smiled, eyes soft. "Then may that same instinct guide you both for the rest of your lives."
Jae-hyun reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers.
No words this time — just gratitude, running deeper than language.
---
As the families stood together by the water, sunlight broke through the clouds, scattering gold across the surface.
Ha-rin's mother said quietly, "Maybe it's true what they say —
children carry the unfinished dreams of their parents and turn them into stories that end better."
Jae-hyun glanced at Ha-rin, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Then ours finally found its ending."
She smiled. "Not ending — beginning."
And as their parents watched, two generations of love finally stood side by side,
no longer haunted by yesterday — but thankful that yesterday had led them here.