It didn't start loudly.
That was the problem.
Ha-rin noticed it first when her phone wouldn't stop lighting up.
Not messages.Notifications.
She sat at the table, scrolling without opening anything, thumb moving slower with each line.
"…They're not saying anything directly," she said.
"That is how it usually begins," I replied.
"…Just questions."
"That is still noise."
She nodded once.
The headlines weren't accusations.They were curiosity disguised as concern.
Fans worry about Ha-rin's prolonged hiatus.Agency silent as speculation grows.Is Han Ha-rin preparing for a big change?
"…They always make it sound gentle," she muttered. "Like they care."
"Concern attracts attention," I said. "Attention attracts interpretation."
"…And interpretation turns into stories."
"Yes."
She set the phone face-down.
"…I didn't even leave the building today."
"That is irrelevant."
She frowned.
"…How."
"People do not need evidence," I replied. "They need patterns."
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossing loosely.
"…I hate patterns."
"That is unfortunate," I said. "You are famous."
She let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"…So this is what it feels like," she said. "Not being accused. Just… watched."
"Yes."
"…It's worse than I imagined."
"It often is."
She stood and walked to the window, peering through the curtain just enough to see the street below. Nothing unusual. Cars passing. People moving on.
"…They can't see anything," she said.
"No."
"…But they're still looking."
"Yes."
Her hand drifted to her stomach, slow and unthinking.
She stopped halfway.
Then continued.
This time, she didn't seem to notice the motion at all.
"…If they find out," she said quietly, "…it won't just be about me."
"No," I replied. "It will not."
She nodded.
"…They'll look at everything," she continued. "…Every picture. Every moment."
"That is why we reduce moments," I said.
She turned to look at me.
"…You make it sound so clean."
"It is not clean," I replied. "It is controlled."
She considered that.
"…How long can we control it."
"That depends," I said, "on how patient they are."
"…They're not."
"No."
She returned to the table and sat, fingers tapping lightly against the wood.
"…My manager hasn't called yet."
"That means they are deciding how."
"…I don't like that either."
"That is reasonable."
She picked up her phone again, hesitated, then turned it off completely.
The screen went dark.
"…I don't want to read it anymore."
"That is wise."
She leaned back, eyes closing briefly.
"…I thought the meeting would be the hard part."
"That was the beginning," I replied.
She opened her eyes.
"…You always say things like that so calmly."
"Panic does not improve outcomes."
"…It improves my blood pressure," she muttered.
I said nothing.
She exhaled, then laughed quietly at herself.
"…Okay," she said. "Okay. We deal with this."
"Yes."
"…One step at a time."
"Yes."
Her hand returned to her stomach again, more deliberately this time.
"…You're making things complicated," she murmured.
She paused.
"…But I don't want it any other way."
The words surprised her.
She didn't take them back.
Outside, the city continued its rhythm.
Inside, the silence felt tighter.
Not breaking.
Just waiting.