Morning light spilled through tall curtains into a room that wasn't hers. Nari's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she froze. This wasn't her apartment. The walls were cream-colored and spotless, a single framed photograph of a city skyline hung near the desk, and the bed she had slept in was neatly made, the sheets tucked perfectly.
Her wrist tingled. She glanced down.
The charm bracelet—heart, star, and white flower—still rested on her wrist. Familiar. Safe. Constant.
Nari took a deep breath. Okay. One step at a time.
Swinging her legs off the bed, she felt the cool hardwood beneath her feet. Her ears picked up faint sounds: traffic humming outside, a bird chirping, the distant clink of dishes. Someone else lived here. Someone whose life she had stepped into completely.
On the desk lay an ID card:
Name: Han EunbiAge: 24Occupation: AccountantCity: Seoul, South Korea
Nari exhaled slowly, steadying herself. She had no memory of this apartment, this family, this life—but she knew the rules. Observe, adapt, blend in. Keep the charm bracelet close, follow the path, and—when the time came—find Hanbin.
The bathroom was neat, minimalistic. Nari splashed cold water on her face, staring into the reflection. The woman looking back had sharp features, hair tied into a tidy bun, and subtle, professional makeup. It was Nari, but different—a version of her polished and adult, sophisticated.
Don't fidget. Don't overdo it. Just… move naturally.
She dressed carefully: a crisp white blouse tucked into a gray pencil skirt, a blazer draped over her shoulders, soft black flats completing the outfit. Each movement measured, cautious, precise.
Breakfast was simple—a slice of toast and a cup of tea from the counter. The kitchen smelled faintly of coffee, clean detergent, and morning air. Nari sat at the small table, studying the apartment carefully, taking mental notes: cupboards neatly labeled, a kettle in the corner, and the faint hum of a refrigerator.
No one appeared. She exhaled and allowed herself a moment of relief. Good. Step one accomplished.
By 8:15, Nari grabbed her bag and left the apartment. The streets of Seoul were alive with morning energy: delivery scooters weaving through traffic, children laughing as they walked to school, office workers hurrying to their buildings. She observed everything, careful not to draw attention, letting the rhythm of this new life settle around her.
The office building loomed tall and polished. Nari hesitated briefly at the entrance, pressing the elevator button with deliberate calm. She watched her reflection in the metal doors, adjusted her posture, and inhaled slowly. You've got this.
The office floor was calm but purposeful. Colleagues walked past, murmuring greetings to one another. Nari smiled politely, careful to keep her expression natural. A woman with glasses approached, brisk and confident.
"Eunbi, good morning. The quarterly reports are on your desk. Mr. Kim will review them by 10 AM," she said.
"Yes, thank you," Nari replied, voice steady. She took the files, filing them in her bag, noting every small movement, every subtle expectation. She needed to appear as Eunbi—competent, professional, composed—without giving herself away.
Sitting at the desk, Nari opened the first spreadsheet. Numbers sprawled across the page—assets, liabilities, account codes, balances. She let herself relax slightly. Numbers didn't lie. Numbers didn't judge. They were comforting in their predictability.
By mid-morning, Nari had adapted enough to allow her mind to wander. Her fingers brushed the white flower charm on her bracelet. Memories flickered: Hanbin on the swings, the plane overhead, the tiny flower in her hand. A faint ache of nostalgia, but also warmth.
She shook her head, refocusing. Spreadsheet. Numbers. Focus.
Lunch was spent walking through Seoul's streets. The city felt alive in a way that was simultaneously overwhelming and fascinating. Street vendors called out their offerings, a group of university students laughed as they passed, and children ran after a stray puppy.
And then she saw him.
He was helping a small child pick up a notebook that had fallen on the sidewalk. Dark hair, warm eyes, the curve of a smile she knew so well. Nari froze mid-step, her heart hammering.
It was Hanbin. Or something so close to him that her chest tightened at the sight. Her mind raced: Do I approach? Call his name? Run?
He glanced up for just a second, saw something—or someone—across the street, and continued walking. The child in his hand disappeared into the crowd before Nari could reach him.
Her fingers clenched the bracelet. Warmth pulsed from the white flower, and Nari smiled despite the fleeting encounter. Not despair. Hope. Nine more chances. Next time.
Back at the office, the afternoon passed in a blur of spreadsheets and reconciliations. Nari worked carefully, double-checking calculations, making small corrections, all while her thoughts lingered on that brief glimpse of him. She kept herself grounded—this life had to be lived fully, numbers verified, work done, appearances kept.
By 5:30, the office had quieted. The hum of machines and faint clatter of keyboards were all that remained. Nari packed her things, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. Today, she had walked the balance of being Eunbi perfectly—no mistakes, no suspicion, just competence.
Evening fell across Seoul in soft shades of pink and gold. Nari wandered through the city streets, letting herself breathe in the cool air. Cafés spilled warmth onto the sidewalks, couples laughed, children played, and vendors called out their final sales of the day.
And then she noticed it: a small patch of grass near the edge of her apartment building. Delicate, soft, glowing faintly in the evening light—the white flower.
Her chest warmed. She didn't panic, didn't cry. She simply smiled, softly, firmly, filled with quiet determination.
Another life. Another chance.
Nari knelt carefully by the flower, brushing her fingers over the petals. The warmth from the bracelet spread across her skin, a gentle reassurance. Around her, the city hummed quietly—the sounds of life, of Seoul, of a world that carried on regardless.
The day's events—the office, the commute, the brief glimpse of Hanbin—blurred gently as if folding into a memory. Nari exhaled, letting herself savor the moment: bright, careful, alive, and ready.
Next time, she whispered, standing and brushing the grass from her skirt. I'll get closer. I'll see him properly.
The white flower swayed in the evening breeze as the last hints of sunlight faded. Nari smiled, her heart full of hope and resolve. This life was complete. Tomorrow—or the next life—would bring her one step closer to him.