“I'm so tired.” The studio’s fluorescent lights blurred into a haze as Hana’s exhaustion threatened to engulf her. Despite her insistence on working pro bono, Heechul remained unyielding. The designs flowed from her fingertips, each stitch a memory, each fabric a whisper of their shared past.

“Jeonghee-ah.” Hana’s smile bloomed as she answered the call. “I’m sorry, I need to take this.” She excused herself, leaving the room in haste. The unexpected news sent her racing toward the hospital, her heart pounding in sync with the ambulance sirens.

“Mr. Kim, this is Heereum.” Her voice trembled as she left the voicemail. “Apologies, but I need to leave due to an emergency. This is my number if you need to contact me.” She abandoned her belongings, including the wallet that held her secrets.

Heechul picked up the wallet, expecting to find an ID belonging to the other stylist. Instead, he glimpsed a name that unraveled time: “Park Hana.”

Outside the operating room, Hana clung to hope. Her phone rang, and she answered without checking the caller ID. “Hana-yah, you left your things here.” His cold tone sliced through her, but his voice—the one she’d yearned for—shattered her composure. “Yah! What’s happening?! Where are you?”

“Ewha University Seoul Hospital.” The words escaped her lips, a lifeline thrown across the years.

“Where are you going?” Leeteuk’s inquiry halted Heechul’s determined stride. “Teukkie-ah, she’s back, and I nee