It was supposed to be just a weekend drive.
At least, that's what Yoon Ha-rin told herself when she found Kang Jae-hyun waiting by his car that Saturday morning — hair slightly tousled, sleeves rolled, holding two take-out coffees and that disarming half-smile that could ruin logic.
"Morning," he said.
"You said casual drive, not business meeting, right?"
"Promise." He opened the passenger door for her. "No spreadsheets, no boardrooms, just… air."
She hesitated. "And where exactly are we going?"
He grinned. "I'll let the road decide."
---
The city faded quickly behind them.
Skyscrapers gave way to fields, then quiet stretches of highway lined with yellow wildflowers bending in the wind.
The hum of the car, the rhythm of tires, and the faint music from the stereo wrapped them in easy silence.
Ha-rin rested her chin on her hand, watching sunlight flicker through the window. "You always drive without a plan?"
"Sometimes plans get in the way of what we're supposed to find," he said, eyes on the road.
She smiled. "That sounds poetic. Did you rehearse that?"
"Only since I met you."
She laughed — that unguarded, bell-clear laugh he'd missed without knowing it.
---
Two hours later, the highway curved toward the sea.
A sign flashed by: Aureum-ri — 7 km.
Ha-rin's breath caught. "Jae-hyun… this road…"
He nodded slowly. "I didn't plan this. I swear I didn't. The GPS just… picked it."
The air grew quieter.
The closer they got, the heavier the silence became — not sad, but thick with memory trying to bloom.
When they finally stopped by the old riverside, Ha-rin stepped out first.
The breeze was soft, carrying the scent of wet grass and wild jasmine.
"This place," Jae-hyun murmured, walking beside her, "it feels like I've stood here before."
Ha-rin's eyes shimmered. "You have."
---
They followed the narrow dirt path to where the stream curved under a small wooden bridge.
The windmill field was gone, replaced by wildflowers.
But the air — that same gentle, sweet scent — it hadn't changed.
Jae-hyun knelt near the edge, fingertips grazing the water.
"I dreamed of this exact sound," he whispered. "The river… and a girl calling my name."
Ha-rin crouched beside him, voice trembling. "She was scared. You were too. But she pulled you out. And when your parents left, you promised to come back."
He turned to her slowly, eyes wide. "How do you know that?"
Her smile was soft, trembling. "Because I was the girl."
For a moment, everything stopped — the wind, the sound of water, the years between them.
Recognition unfolded in his gaze like dawn.
He reached for her hand — hesitant, reverent — and when their fingers touched, the weight of a lifetime lifted.
> "Ha-rin," he breathed, "it was you…"
Tears blurred her vision, but she was smiling through them. "I told you not to forget me."
He pulled her gently into his arms. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just home.
The river murmured beside them, the wind carried the scent of jasmine, and somewhere deep in the hills, time finally exhaled —
relieved that two lost pieces had found their way back to each other.
---
As the sun dipped low, they sat side by side by the water's edge, hands still joined.
No more guessing. No more pretending.
Just the quiet certainty that love, once real, never really ends —
it simply waits at the same place until hearts remember how to return.