Two years later.
Abidjan's heat was thick, heavy—clinging to the skin like a forgotten truth.
The sun slipped between the shutters of a familiar café, painting golden lines across the worn wood of the table where Ami sat.
She stirred her iced tea absently, unaware of the whispers time had carved deep within her.
Her life had settled into a routine that never truly belonged to her.
Each morning, she woke up with the feeling of something missing—
not a person, not a place—
but a part of herself.
And then, by pure chance—or perhaps fate—she saw him again.
Arnold.
It was at the entrance of a bookstore.
The same awkward smile.
The same casual charm.
A flicker of something familiar, though it no longer sparked her heart.
Still, she agreed to a drink.
Then another.
Their conversations flowed easily, like they always had.
There was no pressure. No expectations.
Just a gentle, predictable comfort.
When he invited her to his apartment one evening, she hesitated—just for a second.
Then nodded.
But the moment she stepped over the threshold…
her body froze.
A wave of heat surged through her chest.
Her vision blurred.
The world twisted.
She dropped her bag. Her knees gave in.
She collapsed, her hands clutching the edge of the hallway table before darkness claimed her.
It felt like a fever, like fire.
But it wasn't pain.
It was memory.
A storm of images flooded her mind—so violent it almost tore her apart.
Seoul.
The snow falling silently on her coat.
Yo-han's eyes the moment they had met.
The bookstore. The strange dreams.
His voice—his voice on the phone.
The pain in his silence.
When Ami opened her eyes, she was back on Arnold's couch.
Her face drenched in sweat, her chest rising and falling in short, panicked breaths.
But everything had changed.
She remembered.
All of it.
She sat up slowly, her lips trembling.
Her first instinct was to call Yo-han.
But the number didn't go through.
Blocked.
She tried again. And again.
Nothing.
A crushing ache spread across her ribs.
He had shut her out.
Her breath caught.
A quiet sob escaped her lips, though no one heard it.
She had waited too long.
And now…
he had let go.
The next morning, without hesitation, Ami made a decision.
She bought a one-way ticket to Seoul.
No explanations.
No return date.
Just a simple reservation at the travel agency.
No round trip. No insurance.
Just her name.
And a deep, unwavering instinct in her chest.
She didn't tell anyone.
As if a voice deep within her whispered what she refused to say out loud:
"You're not coming back."