It was quiet in the apartment.
Not the usual kind of quiet that came from routine — this one felt intentional. My parents had gone out. I had stepped out briefly to take a call.
For the first time in days, Ha-rin was alone.
She sat at the table with her phone in front of her.
The screen was dark.
She didn't turn it on.
"…Two weeks," she murmured.
The words sounded different when no one else was around to hear them.
No reassurance.No structure.No calm replies.
Just the weight of the decision waiting at the edge of everything.
She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling.
"…This was supposed to be simple," she said.
Work.Schedules.Comebacks.Fans.
Her life had always been built on clear steps. Move forward. Improve. Maintain.
Now everything felt… blurred.
She glanced toward the hallway, as if expecting someone to respond.
No one did.
"…I chose this," she said quietly.
Not out loud before.
Not this clearly.
The words stayed in the air.
She let out a breath.
"…I could still fix it," she added.
The thought came naturally.
Call the agency.
Agree to the post.
Agree to the appearances.
Smile.
Move forward like nothing had changed.
The world would return to its shape.
Her career would stay intact.
Everything would be predictable again.
Her fingers tapped lightly against the table.
"…But it wouldn't be real."
That part came slower.
She closed her eyes.
The image from the clinic returned — not the fear, not the secrecy.
Just the reality of it.
Unavoidable.
Quiet.
Present.
"…I don't want to go back," she admitted.
The admission felt heavier than the meeting.
Because this time, no one was asking.
No one was watching.
This was only hers.
She stood and walked to the window.
The city moved like it always did — unaware, uninterested.
"…If I keep going like this," she said softly, "…I lose something."
She paused.
"…But if I stop…"
She didn't finish.
Didn't need to.
Silence settled.
For once, it wasn't uncomfortable.
She rested her forehead lightly against the glass.
"…I'm not choosing perfectly," she said.
The thought steadied her.
"…I'm choosing honestly."
That felt different.
Not easier.
But clearer.
She stepped back from the window and returned to the table.
Her phone lit up briefly with a notification.
She looked at it.
Didn't pick it up.
"…You can wait," she said quietly.
Not to the agency.
Not to the world.
Just to the decision itself.
When I returned later, she was still sitting there.
Calm.
Not resolved.
But no longer divided.