Nari's eyes snapped open to the sound of laughter—high-pitched, carefree, impossible to ignore.
"Oh no… is that…?" she muttered, sitting up quickly.
The room was smaller, warmer, a bit cluttered with toys and tiny clothes. Two children—one with a mop of dark hair and bright eyes, another slightly younger—were chasing each other across the living room floor, squealing with joy.
Her wrist tingled. The charm bracelet was still there. Heart. Star. White flower. Her anchor, her proof.
Nari swung her legs off the bed slowly, taking in the apartment. It was cozy, lived-in, filled with small, colorful touches: stickers on the walls, a half-finished puzzle on the table, a bookshelf overflowing with picture books. She froze for a moment, panic and wonder mixing.
Oh… this is new. A mother. A young one. Okay, Nari… you can do this.
The older child noticed her moving and ran over immediately.
"Mom! Mom!" the little boy squealed, tugging at the hem of her shirt.
Nari froze. She glanced at him, eyes wide. Right, I'm… her mom here. Calm, Nari, calm.
"Good morning," she said, her voice steadying. "Did you sleep well?"
The younger child toddled over, clutching a stuffed rabbit. Nari smiled gently, trying to remember the small routines she must follow. Feeding them, getting them ready, keeping them safe… all entirely foreign, yet instinctively she moved.
She got out of bed, moving carefully around the scattered toys, and went into the kitchen. Coffee for herself, juice for the kids, breakfast prepared efficiently despite the strange, new rhythm of this life. Nari felt a flutter of anxiety as she measured cereal into bowls, poured juice, all while listening to the children chatter and laugh.
"Mom, can I have chocolate?" the older one asked, eyes wide.
Nari laughed softly. "Not yet, but soon. Finish your cereal first."
The children groaned dramatically but complied, and Nari felt a small surge of satisfaction. I can do this. I have to do this.
Dressing herself in a simple blouse and jeans, she glanced around the small apartment. Photos of her new family—herself in this life with the children—lined the walls. Nari picked one up carefully. She didn't remember these moments, yet her heart recognized the happiness in them.
She bent down to help the youngest tie shoelaces, her hands gentle, patient. "All done?" she asked.
"Yes!" the toddler shouted, beaming.
By 8:30, Nari stepped outside with the children, stroller ready for the younger one, hand firmly holding the older child's. The streets of Seoul looked familiar in a new way—busy, bustling, alive, but smaller from this apartment's neighborhood. Vendors shouted cheerfully, schoolchildren rushed past, and sunlight spilled warmly across the sidewalks.
Okay… step one. Survive the morning.
They stopped briefly at a small park so the children could play. Nari sat on a bench, hands clasped over the bracelet. She let herself breathe. Being a mother in this life meant responsibilities she hadn't experienced yet, but it also gave her a strange, soft warmth she hadn't felt before. Watching the children laugh, run, and stumble made her chest ache with affection.
As the morning went on, Nari did her best to handle the day: preparing lunch, cleaning up, reading storybooks, answering small questions, tying shoelaces again. She discovered a quiet rhythm in the chaos, an unexpected satisfaction in small achievements.
And then she saw him.
A man walking past the playground. He helped a lost toddler back onto his feet, smiling softly. Something about the curve of his eyes, the tilt of his head… Nari froze. It was him. Hanbin.
Her heart thundered. She wanted to call his name, to step into his path, to see if he recognized her. But the children needed her. One tugged at her hand, another dropped a toy. She blinked rapidly, and when she looked again, he had disappeared into the crowd.
Nari clenched the bracelet, feeling the warmth of the white flower. Her chest ached, but hope flared. Nine more chances. I'll get there.
Afternoon arrived, and Nari found herself at home with the children, preparing snacks and setting up quiet activities. She read picture books, guided the older child through homework, and listened as the younger one babbled nonsense words with glee. She laughed softly, enjoying the simple joy of it all.
Cooking dinner was a small adventure. Nari measured ingredients carefully, stirred gently, tasting along the way. The children hovered, excited to help, spilling a little here and there. Nari didn't scold. She simply smiled, laughing as flour dusted her hands and the floor.
Evening fell gently over the neighborhood. Nari carried the children to the balcony, letting them watch the last glimmers of sunlight over the city rooftops. They pointed excitedly at distant buildings, laughing at a stray cat climbing a fence. Nari's heart felt full in a way she hadn't expected.
And then she noticed it: a small patch of grass near the edge of the apartment building. A tiny, delicate white flower swayed softly in the breeze.
Her chest warmed. She didn't panic. She didn't cry. She smiled softly, gently brushing her fingers over the petals.
Another life. Another chance.
The bracelet pulsed warmly against her skin. Nari exhaled, letting herself savor the moment—the children laughing, the city glowing in the twilight, the brief glimpse of Hanbin earlier. She felt complete for this day: bright, cautious, alive, and hopeful.
Next time… she whispered, standing carefully. I'll get closer.
As the evening deepened, the world around her blurred: the apartment, the children, Seoul itself began to melt into soft light. Nari's lips curved into a determined smile. Another life was ending, but the journey wasn't over. The next life would be waiting, and with it, another chance to see him again.
The white flower swayed in the night breeze, delicate and certain, marking the promise of what was to come.