The growing storm outside probably reflects her inner turmoil the best. She can’t sit patiently and wait for the minutes to tick away. She wants to bite her nails, but it’d be a shame later on. She’d punch the seat in front of her, but that would make things uncomfortable for the rest of the flight.

With a heavy sigh, Taehee turns to her left, looking out the window. That one hour and forty-five minutes she has to endure sitting, envisioning what to say to him, once they are face to face.

Kim Jongin. What could she possibly say to him, after almost nine years?

Nice seeing you again. Of course not. She’d claw at his eyes the second she sees him.

Go back to hell, where you belong. Yeah, that’s more like it.

Her heart is aching, her body shaking. He’s been hiding for almost a decade, without a notice. He left, despite her pleading, and his departure caused her to have Jongmin sooner. The pain was unbearable.

She wanted to die. So many times, she was at a thread’s distance of cutting her veins or throat. Of jumping off the building or throwing herself in front of a speeding car.

But Taehee hadn’t done any of that. Partly because of Jongmin and also because something didn’t feel right. Deep inside, she knew he was alive. And couldn’t wait for the perfect moment to throw all of these years of bitterness into his face.

“Kim Jongin, you’re out,” Taehee thinks, as she notices the dark clouds gathering over the sky.

The storm will set loose. The one in nature and the one in her heart.

✢

Getting the hang of life hadn’t been an easy thing for Jongin. He still limps, and feels the need to cover the mark of the scar left on the side of his face. It’s not a sight to behold, though it gives him a mysterious look.

Kim Jongin has been lost in time, confused between being burned to death and lying in a nearly comatose-like state. Everyone has thought him dead, so he needed a change of identity as well.

Nothing much, just a change of dialect and language. And now, he’s become Jin Zhong Ren. He is working as a Department Head in Yi Fan’s trading company.

“Have a good day,” Yi Fan says as he heads to his office, wearing a forced smile.

Zhong Ren pities his friend, really. He doesn’t know anything related to Taehee, Sehun or Haeun, but from his friend’s words, they’re all alive. And Yi Fan has acted as a sacrifice, to push away the Evil, and bring forth peace, between the couple. How much he succeeded, that’s a mystery.

Some other workers bow to him, as Zhong Ren limps his way into his office, helped by his crane. Another day of signing papers and wasting time.

“Jongmin,” that name leaves his lips automatically, and he can’t hold back the flurry of feelings, which suddenly turn into a storm.

He hasn’t met his son yet, he has no idea how he looks like. True, it was his choice not to dig up information about them. At least not yet. Zhong Ren can’t show up for now, not until he becomes human again.

The man has so many things to apologize about, so many hugs to give and love to offer. But not yet. It’s not the right time yet. He has to properly heal, before showing up in front of them.

Hours click by, and it’s finally time for him to return to the mansion. His health is in a poor state, and fatigue is his latest arch nemesis. Zhong Ren can’t do many things, before getting so tired.

Limping out from the building and headed to the black car awaiting him, the man ruffles up his hair, before trying to remember when the last time was that he had a haircut. Or shaved.

A sigh leaves his lips, and Zhong Ren is at a five minute walk away from the car. Nothing could go wrong, right?

“You haven’t changed at all.” A voice says from the darkness.

The man stops immediately. The woman – because it belongs to her – speaks in Korean. The language seems so unfamiliar, but at the same time homelike. Maybe because of the fact that he knows the voice. He would recognize it anywhere, even in the deepest pits of Hell.

Turning around, he tries to make out her figure, although she’s engulfed by the shadows. That person, is she a phantasm, a fruit of his sick mind, or reality? If it’s the latter, then how did she find him?

“Who are you?” His question is meant more for a dare, than an actual inquisition. He can’t talk to shadows – he can’t hold a conversation with her being hidden.

Though he’s being a hypocrite right now, by thinking that. Because that’s what he’s done for so many years, in all honesty. He hid, he cheated, he lied; he played Death. Why shouldn’t she do the same?

“I’d call myself your worst nightmare, but I doubt I mean so much to you.” She says, in her mother tongue, each word thrown straight into his heart.

The clicks of her heels echo in the lot, and soon, she’s out from the dark, covered in the neon light. Zhong Ren holds his breath for a moment, when ashy brown eyes take in the form before him.

What remained of his beautiful and bright Taehee is maybe her skin-tone, although even that seems artificial, right now. She’s just as short as in his memories, though she wears heeled ankle boots. Her hair is longer, wilder and black. She wears a black trench coat and black jeans. The contrast between her clothes and her skin is scary. Her usual warm and chocolate eyes are gone, replaced by a dull, almost faded brown. Her plump lips are pale, colorless.

Where had his goddess disappeared?

“Taehee…” Her name sticks in his throat, and he has difficulties in saying it. How strange, in his mind, it sounded warmer, homelike, safe.

But as he says her name and looks at her figure, something doesn’t quite click. He’s faced with a stranger. She’s changed.

“Hello…” She hesitates, for the dramatic side of the reunion. “Zhong Ren, if I’m