The night came softly, wrapped in the scent of rain and steamed jasmine tea.
The four women had gathered in the living room, a rare pause after their long, separate days.
Lila sprawled across the couch, her apron still dusted with cocoa powder. "Mrs. Han said the customers liked my 'signature smiles.' I told her it's the caffeine."
Re-ha looked up from her sketchpad. "She's not wrong. You beam like a sugar rush."
Agani, sipping her tea, smiled faintly. "At least your job doesn't include fifty unread emails and a broken printer."
Nira laughed, closing the notebook she'd been grading essays in. "Or students who quote K-dramas as literary analysis."
They all burst out laughing. It was the kind of laughter that came easily now—warm, lived-in, belonging.
Rain tapped gently on the windows; the city outside glowed like liquid glass. Somewhere in the distance, a train whistled, soft and far away.
"Feels like home, doesn't it?" Lila murmured.
Agani nodded. "Yeah. It really does."
---
Hours passed quietly. One by one, the lights dimmed.
Re-ha packed away her fabrics, humming a half-finished tune.
Nira left a cup of tea beside Agani's desk before slipping into her room.
Lila checked the front door, locked it, and turned off the living-room lamp.
Only the faint orange glow from the streetlamp filtered through the window blinds.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The world was holding its breath.
---
The Knock
It was close to midnight when the first knock came.
Knock.
A slow, deliberate sound. Not loud—just enough to echo through the quiet house.
Lila stirred in her bed, frowning. She waited. Maybe she'd imagined it.
Then it came again.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
She sat up. The house was silent except for that sound—the measured rhythm, like someone certain of what they wanted.
"Probably delivery mistake," she muttered to herself, slipping on her gloves. "Or one of Re-ha's late-night fabric shipments."
But when she peeked through the hallway, every door was closed, the air heavy with sleep.
Another knock.
This time softer, almost hesitant.
Lila's heart picked up. She grabbed her cardigan, tiptoeing through the dark living room until she reached the front door.
"Hello?" she whispered.
No answer.
She hesitated, hand hovering over the handle. The street outside was empty—only the flicker of the streetlamp and the glimmer of rainwater on the pavement.
Taking a breath, she unlatched the door and pulled it open a crack.
Cold air rushed in. The street was deserted.
No footsteps. No figures. No cars.
Only the faint sound of dripping water from the gutters.
And then she saw it.
A single envelope, pale and rain-spotted, resting on the doorstep.
Lila crouched down and picked it up carefully. There was no name, no address—just a wax seal pressed into the back.
The seal bore a strange symbol: four small circles connected by a curved line, like petals around a flame.
Her stomach tightened. Something about it felt wrongly familiar.
She glanced around once more—still no one.
Then, clutching the letter, she closed the door quickly and locked it.
---
The Gathering
By the time she reached the hallway, her hands were trembling slightly. The letter felt heavier than it should have, as if the paper itself carried weight.
She switched on the living-room light and called out softly, "Agani? Re-ha? Nira?"
A few moments later, doors creaked open.
Agani appeared first, hair tousled, eyes half-awake. "Lila? What's going on?"
Lila held up the envelope. "Someone knocked on the door. When I opened it, no one was there—just this."
Nira joined them, her expression sharpening immediately. "A letter? At this hour?"
"Maybe it's a delivery," Re-ha said, though her voice lacked conviction. She tied her robe tighter and walked closer.
"No name?" Agani asked.
"None," Lila whispered. "But look at the seal."
They all leaned in. The wax shimmered faintly under the light—a deep bronze, almost alive.
Re-ha frowned. "Four circles and a curved line…"
"Like petals," Nira said softly.
"Or a flame," Agani added, her tone low.
For a moment, none of them spoke. The air seemed to thicken around that single piece of paper.
---
A Flicker of Memory
Re-ha reached for the envelope, but Lila pulled it back slightly. "Wait—what if it's—"
"Lila," Agani said gently, "it's just paper."
"Yeah, and so was that diary page," Lila muttered.
That silenced them all.
Nira exchanged a glance with Agani. "Do you think… this is connected?"
Agani hesitated. "I don't know. But the symbol—it's similar to the one Professor Lee mentioned. Four pieces bound by something."
Re-ha studied the seal again. "Then maybe this is another piece."
Her voice trembled ever so slightly—not from fear, but from something deeper. Recognition.
Agani noticed. "Re-ha… you've seen it before?"
Re-ha blinked, startled. "I—no, it's just… it feels familiar. Like I've dreamed of it or drawn it somewhere."
"On your designs?" Nira asked.
"Maybe," she whispered. "I'll check later."
Lila crossed her arms. "Well, we can't just stare at it all night."
Agani nodded. "You're right. Let's open it together."
---
The Letter
They gathered around the coffee table.
The clock on the wall ticked quietly—1:03 a.m.
Re-ha placed the envelope gently in the center. For a moment, no one moved.
The house felt too still. Even the rain had stopped, as if waiting.
Lila bit her lip. "Should we maybe burn it instead? You know, just to be safe?"
Agani smiled faintly. "Since when were you the cautious one?"
"Since mysterious midnight mail became our thing," Lila whispered.
Nira placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's all right. Whatever it is, we face it together."
Re-ha looked at each of them in turn—Agani, calm but tense; Nira, focused; Lila, wide-eyed but brave.
Then she broke the wax seal.
The sound was small—crack—but it echoed through the quiet house.
She unfolded the paper slowly.
For a long moment, she just looked at it.
Then her breath caught.
Her expression changed—first confusion, then disbelief, then something unreadable.
"Re-ha?" Agani asked softly. "What is it?"
Re-ha didn't answer. Her eyes moved across the page again, her lips parting as if to speak but no words came.
Finally, she looked up at them—face pale, eyes wide.
"Girls…" she whispered.
The clock on the wall ticked once, loud and clear.
"Re-ha?" Nira repeated. "What's wrong?"
Re-ha swallowed hard, voice barely a breath.
> "This… this handwriting—I know it."
---
Silence filled the room.
Outside, thunder rolled distantly across the sleeping city.
The four women stood frozen in the yellow light of the living room, the opened letter trembling slightly in Re-ha's hands.
No one spoke. No one breathed.
Then, somewhere deep in the quiet night, a clock began to tick again—slow, deliberate, and steady, as if answering the knock that had started it all.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.