When the Han River Sleeps
Unspoken Goodbyes
The city hummed with the bustle of evening commuters, neon signs flickering as dusk faded fully into night. Yuna lingered near the 월드컵경기장 subway entrance, fingers pressed tightly around a folded note—Jihoon’s handwriting on fragile paper.
Her thoughts drifted to the conversation that morning, the hesitation lingering between them like the last light of day.
Jihoon had spoken softly about his past—about a loss that hung like a shadow behind every note he played. Yuna listened, heart heavy but steady. “It’s okay to be scared,” she whispered. “Even if it means letting someone see the cracks.”
But now, standing alone, the note seemed both a thread and a chasm.
Their time together had been a delicate dance—small moments filled with laughter and hope, but also silences pregnant with unsaid fears.
A sudden rain began, scattering droplets that blurred the city’s sharp edges. Yuna unfolded the note, words written between lines of music:
“When the river flows silent, I’ll find my way to you. Until then, wait beneath the lantern light.”
Tears pricked her eyes as she folded the paper carefully. The promise was fragile, but it was theirs.
The night deepened, and Yuna’s footsteps carried her home, each step echoing the river’s eternal song—one of longing, loss, and the enduring hope of return.