Hangeng released his album and stood tall. Just as his little sister had hoped, his wounds had healed, and he faced their words bravely.

He was still sad that he could not be there for the members of Super Junior. He was sad that they had to move on without him; that they had said some hurtful things, but it didn't scar him as they would have.

Nothing in this world is permanent, no matter how much we want things to stay the way they are. Even the stars in the sky fade over time.

He had succeeded, and shaken off the shackles that had held him back.

Heaven does redress injustices. Heaven does exist as the ultimate judge of everything after all, he thought.

"I may be a big super star today not as a member of Super Junior but as HanGeng. However, I would not be here if it weren't for my little sister," he muttered to himself. Someone who was once just a fan became my best friend and my little sister. She may not have been strong, but perhaps what one needs is not strength, but hope.

Hangeng grew, more and more, in fame as a popular singer and actor while his little sister became a famous writer. 

Because you held my hand and stood by my side; because you looked at me, saw me, and gave me strength.

They'd worked on songs together, she sometimes his lyricist, he sometimes her sole reader, but always each other's constant supporter, as well as stories, but the song and the story that could not be forgotten by the audiences, the one that enthralled them, was the one that sent out the message of hope that they had found. Though no one would ever find out the real story behind it, it always brought one or another to tears. It touched hearts.

There is hope.

The calligraphy they had written was hung in Hangeng's mother's shop. Anyone who has ever lain eyes on it wondered why such a work was on the wall. The calligrapher's name was nowhere to be found, and it wasn't the prettiest, but all his mother would say was, "It is the message that matters. The message is beautiful, isn't it?"

And, as she worked, she sang. She sang to herself, remembering the strength that hope can give.

Because I hope, I can believe

I can be reborn, and I can give hope

Just like the quiet chrysanthemum flower

~°~

Perhaps it is the wounded soul that can give the most resounding testimony of life because it is the one that experiencedlife. It is not perfect, it is mistaken. It has taken and it has given.

The scars it bears attest to it struggles. And now, it has become, from a single drop to a gentle, flowing river, a source of hope.

It hears, and it understands in ways that an unscarred soul cannot, because it has experienced.

Like the first drop of rain on the parched land, it may not be enough, but it begins the healing.

Even in the scorching desert, a beautiful desert flower can bloom.