Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

XII. Bonds

The lonely child

Bond (noun/verb)

1. n. Connection. a close and lasting relationship between people.

Ex. The bond between parents and children is usually very strong.

1. v. to develop a close and lasting relationship.

Ex. The wolf and his master bonded quickly.

1. Interpersonal. A shared emotion, interest, or experience that connects people..

'In psychology, a bond is defined as a strong and enduring emotional or interpersonal connection between individuals, characterized by mutual affection, trust and shared experiences. This vital interactive process often involves attachment between parents and infants, romantic partners, or friends.

When this connection is broken, it triggers a complex and often painful process that is similar to grief or withdrawal from addiction. Psychologically, this involves emotional turbulence, cognitive dissonance and potential shifts in self-identity. Healing from a broken bond often follows a non-linear path, which can trigger other unresolved processes.'

“That's the stupidest cat I've ever seen”

Rumi jerked her head up and turned to face Jinu, frowning deeply as if he had personally insulted her. After staring at him for a long moment without saying anything, her expression heavy with quiet annoyance, she squeezed the small, trembling bundle in her arms more gently.

The cat—if that ungainly, filthy creature could even be called a cat—was little more than a handful of bones wrapped in matted fur that had lost all trace of its original color. The ears were too big for his head, the legs too thin, and his eyes seemed to be looking in different directions, as if he couldn't decide where in the world to focus his attention.

Even in that deplorable state, however, Rumi could do nothing but pull him closer to her chest in an attempt to shield the little animal from Jinu's offensive words.

The alleyway they were standing in was narrow and damp in the shadows, while the areas where the sun managed to filter through the buildings were scorching hot. That year, summer had arrived with an almost personal cruelty, the sun deciding that nobody deserved a break. The air in that particular corner of the city was thick and sticky, smelling of accumulated garbage and hot concrete. However, they were both accustomed to worse places and neither of them seemed particularly bothered by the smell.

Sweat trickled down Rumi's temples, sticking strands of dark purple hair to her face, but she didn't seem to notice. Jinu, in a similar state, also seemed oblivious; leaning against the wall, arms crossed and his shirt bunched up around his back, he watched Rumi with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance that he didn't bother to hide.

“You’re the only stupid one here,” Rumi finally snapped.

Jinu gaped, clearly offended.

"Hey-!"

“I’m serious,” she insisted, settling the cat more carefully in her arms. “What’s wrong with you?”

Jinu let out a snort, uncrossing his arms only to vaguely point at the animal.

“The only thing wrong here is that cat.” he paused, searching for the next thing to say as the cat let out a high-pitched, clumsy meow, “It’s basically a walking bag of pests. You shouldn’t even have it on you; you could get sick.”

The kitten responded as if it understood, stretching one of his tiny claws into the air without hitting anything at all. Jinu narrowed his eyes.

“Look! He doesn’t even know where he is.”

Rumi rolled her eyes.

“He’s scared and clearly hungry… thirsty, maybe both. Who knows how long he’s been here.”

“He’s empty,” Jinu replied with conviction, tapping his own head with his knuckles to prove a point. “I swear, there’s nothing in there.”

To reinforce Jinu's point, the cat slowly turned his head towards the boy, then towards the wall, then back towards Rumi again, as if he had forgotten what he was doing along the way. Rumi hugged him a little tighter.

“He needs help,” she stated confidently.

Jinu let out a dry, incredulous laugh.

“Like everyone else in this life,” he replied sarcastically. “And what do you plan to do? Sing to him until the Grim Reaper comes for his soul?”

“I’ll take him with me.” The response was immediate and firm.

Jinu stared at her in disbelief, waiting for the punchline of a joke that clearly wasn't going to come.

“Rumi…”

"No."

“Rumi, listen to me—“

"No."

“We don’t have space.”

“I’ll make room.”

“We have no food.”

“We will share.”

"Malsook doesn't even like animals!"

“Did she tell you that?” Rumi challenged.

“With the amount of traps and poison she sets around the store, it’s an obvious conclusion to draw,” Jinu stated.

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t like animals.”

“Tell that to the poor rats I have to take out dead every week.”

Rumi narrowed her eyes, clearly frustrated by Jinu's refusal to support her decision. The cat meowed again, wriggling in her arms and scratching her with his tiny claws. The girl didn't even flinch; she was too focused on continuing her staring contest with Jinu.

The boy clenched his jaw in exasperation.

“Our sleeping space is already cramped enough with the four of us. Where do you plan to put that thing?” he asked this time.

"He can sleep with me."

“Don’t even think about it! We share the same mattress!”

"If it bothers you so much, you can switch with Baby or Mystery and go back to the ground."

Jinu let his arms fall to his sides in exasperation, staring up at the sky as if searching for patience somewhere between the stifling heat and the distant noise of the city.

“You’re going to catch fleas,” he finally muttered, looking at her again. “I’m serious.”

Rumi raised an eyebrow.

"The way you scratch yourself sometimes, I'd say you've already caught them and there hasn't been any problem so far," she declared.

Jinu opened his mouth, indignant.

“I don’t have fleas!” he shouted. “You know it’s allergies!”

But Rumi wasn't looking at him anymore. Her attention had returned completely to the small animal, whose meows had become a constant, desperate murmur, almost like he feared the world would forget about him if he stopped making himself known. Rumi's dirty, rough fingers moved with unexpected gentleness as she stroked his head.

“Relax, you’re safe now,” she whispered.

The kitten blinked slowly. And, for the first time since Rumi had picked him up from the garbage bags, he lay still in her arms, closing his eyes.

Jinu watched them silently for a few seconds. This was long enough for his expression to change almost imperceptibly, and for him to finally relax. Then he sighed loudly — a clear sign of surrender. Crouching down in front of Rumi, he rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his head until he was at the cat's eye level. Jinu looked at the animal closely, narrowing his eyes with a critical expression, almost like evaluating a defective object. The cat looked back at him with the absolute, empty determination of one who simply exists, without the mental capacity to understand anything more.

Jinu frowned.

“You could have chosen a smarter one, you know?”

The cat opened the mouth and meowed, a ridiculously off-key but defiant sound nonetheless. Rumi let out a small laugh.

“I think he is cute,” she replied. “He just needs a chance.”

Jinu snorted.

“And a bath. Urgently.”

"Will you help me with that?"

“Of course not.”

Jinu stood up with a low grunt, brushing the dust off his trousers, and avoided looking at the cat again. Meeting the feline gaze would mean accepting a responsibility he wasn't willing to bear so soon. Rumi, on the other hand, stood up more carefully, cradling the small animal against her chest and trying to protect him from their surroundings.

There was no further discussion on the way back. Not because the matter was settled, but because they both knew that insisting would be pointless.

The air vibrated above the asphalt, thick and heavy with smoke and that acrid smell that lingered in the alleyways where garbage had been sitting for too long. Rumi and Jinu moved forward silently at first, their steps gliding along the edges of the sidewalk, away from the steady stream of pedestrians that filled the main avenues.

Their way of moving around wasn't a casual decision; they had quickly learned that it was best to remain isolated from the rest of the population of Seoul. From the moment they arrived in the city, a year ago now, they understood that there were spaces that didn't belong to them, spaces where they could never fit in. That moving through the city center, among clean shop windows and people in a hurry, meant exposing themselves more than necessary: ​​long stares, awkward gestures, and hands clutching handbags more tightly.

So they moved along the margins. Side streets, narrow passages, and shadows that offered no real refuge, but at least disguised their presence.

Jinu walked with his hands in his pockets as usual, occasionally kicking a loose stone and avoiding puddles of dirty water more out of reflex than any real attention to where he was going. Every now and then, he glanced quickly at Rumi, making sure that neither she nor the cat had suddenly disappeared halfway there.

“If he dies, I’m not going to bury him,” he muttered at some point, without stopping.

Rumi didn't even look at him.

“He’s not going to die,” she stated.

The cat emitted a weak meow, as if he wanted to support the claim without actually having the energy to do so.

The journey took longer than necessary. Not because it was far, but because the heat slowed everything down. Each step required more effort than needed, and each breath drew in hot air that didn't refresh, but rather exhausted.

When they finally turned toward the neighborhood where the music shop was located, the surroundings changed almost imperceptibly. The streets were narrower, the facades more worn, old signs hanging crooked over doors that creaked open. There were no shiny shop windows, no flashy lights. Just small businesses, some closed, others surviving more on habit than customers.

Malsook's shop was nestled between two storefronts that seemed forgotten by time. The slightly tilted sign advertised musical instruments in a typeface that had seen better days. Through the smudged glass, one could make out vague silhouettes of hanging guitars, poorly polished trumpets, stacked boxes, and dust accumulating in corners that no one seemed to clean regularly. It wasn't a flashy place, but it was theirs. Or at least, the closest thing to a place they could call home.

Rumi paused for a second in front of the door, adjusting her grip on the cat, who now lay silent, exhausted, barely a small warm mass against her chest.

Jinu glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You can still return it,” he said, without much conviction. “Save yourself the disappointment that will come when it doesn’t survive the month.”

Rumi huffed stubbornly and pushed open the door, ringing the bell with a soft tinkling sound that announced her entrance.

The air inside the shop was different. Fresher, though not completely clean. There was a lingering smell of old wood, metal ropes, and dust, mixed with something more minty that probably came from the tea Malsook always left forgotten in some corner while taking inventory.

Behind the counter, the woman barely moved. Malsook glanced up just enough to recognize them; her eyes, old but stern, scanned them quickly, assessing their condition without needing to ask. It was a gaze accustomed to them, one that no longer needed to inquire about the reasons why her charges arrived dirty every day.

Rumi, Jinu, Mystery and Baby.

Four names that didn't mean much to anyone, but that, somehow, had ended up there, under the tutelage of someone who seemed to understand them better than anyone else, even though sometimes her actions weren't entirely motivated by compassion.

Their encounter with Malsook had initially been an accident, a chance meeting. They were looking for a place to spend the night. She had stumbled upon four bodies too thin, too tired, and too wary to be completely ignored. A brief conversation was all it took for the old woman to decide to take them with her, but not before laying down clear rules that would govern them from then on.

“Don’t attract anyone’s attention.”

“Don’t ask too many questions.”

“Earn my trust and I will help you achieve much more in life.”

“Nothing in this life is free. You help me, and I help you. Understood?”

The storage space beneath the shop that Malsook offered them wasn't meant for anyone to live in, much less for four teens during the most critical years of their lives. It was damp in winter, stifling in summer, and barely big enough to move around without tripping over the boxes piled up along the edges. There were no real beds, just a shared mattress and some rags that served as makeshift blankets. But it worked for them. Or rather, they'd made it work.

Over time, every corner had acquired its own logic: one place to leave their few belongings, another to sleep, and yet another to hide what they wanted to keep secure. It wasn't comfortable, but it was safer than being on the streets, risking being caught. And Baby, Mistery, and Jinu at least had the option of working for Malsook…

“You're late,” Malsook said stiffly in her raspy voice, fixing her dark eyes on Jinu. “The others have already gone ahead.”

Jinu simply smiled, showing no trace of guilt, which earned a low chuckle from the woman. Malsook shook her head and looked down at Rumi then, carefully examining the animal in her arms. The woman clicked her tongue in obvious disapproval, but contrary to what Jinu had expected, she nodded toward the bathroom behind the counter.

“You’d better clean that animal well if you plan on leaving it here,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Rumi replied immediately.

“I don't want any disasters or destruction in my store.”

“No, ma’am.”

Malsook nodded.

“You can keep it then, but come back in two hours to help me close up. Understood?” She narrowed her eyes. “Not a minute later.”

Too grateful to protest, Rumi nodded quickly. With a defeated sigh, Jinu headed straight for the trapdoor leading to the basement without waiting, pushing it open with his foot before descending the first few steps.

“I’ll go get some towels,” he exclaimed.

“You should get going instead,” Malsook interjected more seriously. “I don’t pay you to do what you want, boy”

“I’ll do it after this,” Jinu promised, his humor gone. “Baby and Mystery can take care of it in the meantime.”

Malsook let out an annoyed sniff but said nothing more.

The sound of the trapdoor closing behind Jinu brought a brief silence to the shop, one of those suspended moments where the heat, the dust, and the stillness seemed to settle with greater weight. Rumi wasted no time and circled the counter with quick steps, almost fearing that at any second Malsook might change her mind.

The bathroom was small, barely a narrow rectangle with faded tiles and a bathtub stained from years of use where Rumi left the cat. The first contact with the water was utterly chaotic. The cat writhed in every conceivable way, letting out a sound that seemed too loud for its size, trying to escape in contradictory directions at the same time. Rumi pursed her lips, gripping it more firmly by the scruff of the neck, hoping not to hurt him too much.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” she muttered under her breath, “It’s necessary, okay?”

Water ran down the small body, carrying dirt in dark streaks that faded toward the drain. Rumi took some soap, rubbing it between her hands before applying it with clumsy but careful movements.

“Don’t drink it,” she added when the cat tilted his head, trying to lick the foam.

The animal persisted.

Rumi sighed, gently deflecting his snout with two fingers as she tried to balance holding him, washing him, and preventing him from poisoning himself in the process; her shirt was soon soaked in the front. It was at that moment that the door opened. Jinu appeared in the frame, a couple of folded towels tucked under his arm, pausing for a moment to take in the scene.

The boy let out a small, humorous snort through his nose before entering and, without making any comment, he set the towels aside and crouched down next to Rumi, resting an arm on the porcelain rim.

“Give it to me,” he finally said, holding out his hands.

Rumi did not protest.

She handed the cat over carefully, and Jinu held it more firmly than she did, but gently. His fingers found a point of equilibrium almost immediately, immobilizing it enough to stop him from spinning like a broken machine.

“Stay still, little rat,” he murmured, in a low tone that wasn’t entirely serious.

The cat looked at him with that same blank, slightly out-of-touch expression, but surprisingly, he stopped struggling so much. Rumi seized the moment, picked up the pot again, and began rinsing off the foam with more confident movements now, the water sliding over the already clean fur, revealing a tabby and grayish color that hadn't been visible before beneath the dirt.

Silence settled between them after that, broken only by the sound of the water, the cat's small, resigned meows, and the occasional brush of hands against its wet fur. Jinu tilted his head slightly at one point, observing the animal with critical attention and evaluating whether all that effort had been worthwhile.

“What are you going to call him?” he suddenly asked.

Rumi didn't respond immediately. She looked at Jinu with obvious confusion at the sudden interest before turning her attention back to the animal. Now clean and soaking wet, with his fur lying unevenly against his body and his ears slightly drooping, he looked a bit more cartoonish than when she had found him.

A small smile began to form on her face.

“He does look a little ridiculous,” She admitted, with a hint of amusement.

Jinu let out a laugh.

“Stupid, you mean.” He nodded.

Rumi shoved Jinu with her shoulder without thinking twice, splashing him in the process. The water hit his shirt, leaving dark stains that spread quickly.

“You brat!” he protested, stepping back a little. “Look what you did! I have to work later; in case you’ve forgotten.”

But laughter had already settled between them, light and contagious. Rumi turned her gaze back to the cat, tilting her head slightly, assessing once more.

“Derpy…” she murmured, testing the name under her breath.

“Derpy? You could be a little more original, you know?” Jinu mocked.

“What’s wrong with it?” Rumi glared at him..

“Nothing, nothing… it’s yours after all.” Jinu laughed, handing the cat to the girl.

Rumi nodded finally, satisfied.

“Yes…” she finally said, lifting kitten up to her face. “Derpy. You and I will be good friends, I’m sure of it.”

The little animal stopped meowing completely, looking back at Rumi with renewed attention.

///

The piano was in a corner of the studio.

It didn't take up too much space; it was small compared to more professional and flashy pianos, but it didn't go unnoticed either. It had that quiet presence of important objects, which don't need to impose themselves to attract attention: clean lines, well-maintained dark wood, and the discreet gleam of the keys, which caught the light from the window at different times of the day.

Rumi had discovered it almost by accident, but ever since, the image of that small but elegant instrument still did not completely leave her mind.

It had only been a few days since she started staying at Zoey and Mira's house. She still moved cautiously, feeling that every step needed justification, as if the ground could give way beneath her feet at any moment if she assumed too soon that she belonged there. Sometimes a part of her feared that one day she would wake up back on the streets, with the open sky as her only roof and the sound of cars in the background as her personal lullaby. But as the days passed, the fear ceased to be an overwhelming anguish and became more of a fleeting anxiety, coming and going depending on her mood.

Cleaning had been easy at first. Natural, even. A way to keep her hands busy, to tidy up something external when the internal had yet to find its form or identity. A way, too, to justify her stay. She had walked through the house with that silent intention, picking up what wasn't out of place but could be better, adjusting small details that no one had asked her to touch.

The studio had been one of those places.

The door was always ajar and Rumi had peeked inside first before entering, almost expecting to find something she shouldn't see or hear a scolding behind her. But it was one of those days when she had the house to herself, so it wasn't surprising to find the room completely empty. Only the faint hum of the professional sound equipment at rest filled the space.

And there was the piano.

She didn't dare touch it that day. Instead, she stood there and observed it from a distance, as if to approach it would imply something more than simply acknowledging its existence. Her fingers moved barely at all, restraining an impulse that never quite materialized.

Rumi left after a long pause, during which she didn't know why she felt the overwhelming urge to cry. Although deep down she knew very well the reasons for it.

The question came weeks later.

By then, Rumi was moving around the house with less stiffness. Not completely free, not entirely comfortable, but there was a clear difference. One that was noticeable in the small gestures; in the way she left her things in certain places, in how she allowed herself to stay longer in a room without feeling like an intruder, and in how she felt increasingly at ease sharing the space with Mira or Zoey without little Ru present.

That afternoon, Zoey was in the studio working, as she often did. Music drifted in through the half-open door, mingling with the click of the controls and the low murmur of her voice as she tested something aloud. Rumi stood leaning against the doorframe, watching without interrupting, as she sometimes did, finding comfort in Zoey's voice and the various melodies she was working on.

Her eyes, however, weren't on the console that time. They always ended up drifting towards the solitary instrument in the corner.

“Do you ever play it?” she finally asked, with a certain shyness that was already becoming a habit for her in that house.

Zoey looked up at her, initially confused, blinking rapidly to try and shift her focus away from her work.

“The piano?” she inquired, following Rumi’s gaze.

Rumi nodded.

Zoey barely turned in her chair towards her, lost in thought.

“Very little,” she admitted with a smile. “Sometimes I use it to get ideas, basic things. But, to be honest, it’s not my strong suit.”

There was something carefree in her honest tone, without any real guilt about admitting something that would have been shameful in someone else. Mira, who had just passed by the door with a cup of tea in her hand, stopped long enough to listen.

“We got it on sale a few years ago, when we were just starting to date,” Mira explained, leaning against Rumi’s back with a half-smile while looking her wife. “Zoey insisted on buying it just because, and she learned to play it the hard way over the next few months.”

“That’s not true! I’ve always known how to play,” Zoey defended herself, crossing her arms.

“Twinkle, Little Star doesn’t count, jagiya.” Mira joked.

Rumi said nothing more during the rest of the exchange. Her gaze was still fixed on the instrument, and her skin vibrating where she felt Mira's touch, a sensation she didn't understand but didn't entirely dislike.

She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something about the presence of that forgotten piano in the corner that didn't sit right with her. It wasn't a judgement; but more like a quiet, unsettling feeling. A piano like that, left to gather dust, seemed sad to her. But she didn't dare say so aloud — it wasn't her place, after all.

Zoey's noticing of Rumi’s fixation was not surprising, although it was uncomfortable. Days later, in a similar situation, she casually uttered the phrase while adjusting the levels on the console.

“If you want to play, you can do it whenever you want.”

Rumi, sitting next to her, looked up in embarrassment at being discovered.

“It's okay,” Zoey added, turning slightly towards her and winking. “Really. I’m sure you’d make better use of it than I have. Maybe you could convince Rumi to learn how to play, too.”

Rumi simply nodded, feeling an overwhelming urge to start making music, her fingers tingling. However, she remained where she was, silently watching Zoey work while the other woman talked non-stop about her latest composition and her upcoming projects.

She did not approach the piano that day, nor on the days that followed, determined to maintain her distance and respect the spaces that she felt did not yet belong to her.

The last time she had sat down at a piano seemed to belong to another life and a very different Rumi. In a different context too, one that bore no resemblance to the present. In dusty corners and with poorly tuned keys, under the constant supervision of a woman whom Rumi came to believe could have been a good teacher, were it not for the fact that her real interest lay not in the musical abilities of the young people under her care, but in what they could get for her.

The fact that she no longer played the piano was not just a matter of time passing and not access to the instrument, but also of distance from everything that had happened during those turbulent years.

The hands forget.

Or so Rumi thought.

But it's not exactly forgetting. It's more of a disconnection. A blank space where before there was something automatic and reflective, something that didn't need to be thought about to happen. And now, every time Rumi entered the studio with Zoey, that space became increasingly evident.

Zoey had continued teaching Rumi about editing, about layering sounds, about how to build a mix without losing anything in the process. And Rumi always listened, trying to understand how someone as brilliant as Zoey could take the time to explain things to someone like her. But Rumi appreciated nonetheless the dedication with which Zoey taught and introduced her to a new world she thought she'd never have the chance to explore.

A world where music could exist without representing something strictly negative or forbidden.

December brought with it a different kind of cold, one that didn't just linger on the skin, but seemed to seep deeper, settling into the bones with stubborn patience. The cold wasn't a new enemy for Rumi, but it felt strange that night. She'd been lying awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, following the shadows cast by the distant streetlights as they filtered through the window.

Sleep wouldn't come, and Derpy wasn't helping either. The cat had decided that his ideal sleeping spot was right on top of her ribs. Under other circumstances, that wouldn't have been a particularly serious matter for Rumi; but Derpy had been gaining weight like never before since they'd moved there, and now Rumi felt the cat on her differently. It wasn't a bad thing, but it was different from what she was used to, like so many other things.

“…really buddy, you’re heavy” Rumi murmured in a low voice, barely a whisper.

Derpy responded with a slight movement, adjusting himself, which in practice meant digging his claws into a particularly uncomfortable spot between Rumi's breasts. Rumi closed her eyes for a second, suppressing the urge to push him away carelessly. Instead, she simply exhaled slowly, trying to find a comfortable position in which to fall back asleep, but at that moment that was a losing battle, and she knew it.

The room was large. Too large, at least for her. The walls stretched farther than her eye was used to taking in before reaching a limit. There was space between the furniture, space on the floor, space even in the air… and yet, there wasn't enough for her to feel completely comfortable.

Or maybe she was just too used to the tiny mess in her car.

Her few belongings barely occupied a corner and two drawers of the wardrobe Mira had set out for her. A few carefully folded garments, a couple of objects that didn't quite have a fixed place, as if they weren't yet sure they could stay. Sometimes, when Rumi stopped to look at it, the room seemed to belong to another world, and she expected that at any moment someone might come in and tell her there was a mistake. But that particular night, the space felt unusually cramped. Not physically, but in a way she didn't know how to name.

She turned her head toward the window, searching for Sussie, and found him huddled on the windowsill, his beak tucked into his feathers, a small, motionless ball barely visible in the dim light. Beyond the glass, the snow fell steadily, silently, covering the outside world with a seemingly endless patience.

Rumi stared at him for a few seconds, until the discomfort returned. A slight but persistent pressure in her chest, an uncomfortable reminder of something that hadn't quite healed yet. It wasn't exactly pain, but it wasn't easy to ignore most of the time either. The doctors had said it would go away, that it was just a matter of time, and with enough patience and by following the treatment, everything would eventually get better.

Rumi wasn't so sure about those words. Her body seemed to move at a different pace than she was used to, a slower, more restrained one.

She shifted under the blankets once again, trying to get more comfortable, but the accumulated heat suddenly became uncomfortable and sticky. Derpy protested with a low sound as the movement forced him to readjust, digging his claws in during the process.

Rumi let out a longer sigh this time.

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t working” she murmured, though she didn’t sound particularly remorseful.

She sat up then. The cold greeted her immediately, running down her arms in a brief but sufficient shiver to fully rouse her. She sat on the edge of the bed for a second, automatically sweeping her hair to one side before standing up. Derpy looked at her, clearly offended. His tail twitched once, slowly, like a silent accusation of being suddenly abandoned. Sussie didn't even flinch.

The house was silent as she left the room. Rumi wandered aimlessly for a while. Her steps were soft and measured, maintaining her habit of not making unnecessary noise so as not to disturb anyone. She passed by the living room, where long shadows stretched across the furniture, and continued down the hallway until she stopped in front of little Ru's room. Rumi stood there for a moment, watching her sleep, wanting to make sure the cold wasn't bothering her and that the blankets were sufficient, even though she knew Mira and Zoey always made sure of that.

Even so, se stared, just to confirm that everything was in order, and then continued walking, not thinking too much about where she was going.

The studio greeted her with that same restrained stillness, the faint hum of the idle equipment vibrating in the background like a constant presence. The door was ajar, as it often was throughout the day. The piano was there, as always, but this time closer. Much closer. There was no distance between her and the instrument now. Her feet had carried her there without asking permission, without giving her time to decide whether it was a good idea or not.

The piano bench gave way with a soft creak as she sat down, a small sound that seemed too loud in the silence of the sleeping house. Her hands rested on her lap for a moment, then rose until her fingertips brushed the keys in a touch both familiar and distant.

Rumi slid her fingers along the surface, without pressing, letting that gesture take her back to a time when sitting down at a piano didn't involve doubt, when her hands knew what to do even before her mind formulated it. A time when there was enthusiasm. When there was intention.

Rumi let her hands rest again, closed her eyes, and for a moment, there was no piano. Only thought.

Zoey

Mira

She could do nothing but think about the way they moved around the house, positive and poised, with the quiet confidence that everything had its place in their world. She thought about how easily they spoke, how easily they made decisions, how easily they held everything together. Rumi thought about the warmth of their voices and the way they always looked at her, just waiting to hear Rumi’s opinion, to give her space, wanting to get to know her.

They were incredible.

Not in an idealized sense, but in a tangible, concrete one.

Rumi saw it in the details: in how Zoey bent over her work with a concentration that seemed unbreakable but then could turn around and give Rumi a big smile as if nothing had happened; in how Mira organized, solved and contained without needing extra words but still took the time to find out how Rumi’s day had been.

And then was her…

Rumi inhaled slowly.

There were days when she didn't know where she fit into all of this; she didn’t know how Zoey and Mira could look at her and not feel repulsed. Rumi felt so out of place sometimes, having arrived in a place that operated without strict rules, with people who wanted to see her for much more than she could offer. It wasn't that she didn't want to feel comfortable; she tried, it felt good to be there. However, something inside Rumi just didn't feel quite right.

The doctors spoke of progress, recovery, and time, always attentive to any discomfort Rumi might express. And her body, though slow, was responding. But that wasn't enough. There was another part that bothered her, one that wasn't visible in tests or medical examinations, one that lagged behind, stuck in an eternal limbo from which she couldn't escape.

She opened her eyes as the pressure in her chest returned, more defined now, less easy to ignore. It wasn't pain yet, but a persistent ache, as if something were trying to force its way out from within.

Not knowing how to stop the nagging feeling, her fingers moved before she could think too much about it, and soon the music filled the room. Rumi wasn't searching for a specific melody. There was no structure, no clear intention. Just movement. Her mind lagged behind, somewhere between what she felt and what she couldn't quite name, while her hands continued, sketching a melody she hadn't rehearsed.

Rumi tilted her head slightly, her lips parting only slightly as a murmur escaped, low, almost inaudible at first. A line of voice that leaned against the music, testing the space and feeling the air.

I've been messed up late

Been talking to myself a lot

But I'm trying to embrace

Just teetering on self-destruct

Rumi sang, initially without raising her voice too high, fearing she would break the calm if she did, but not holding back completely either. The melody sustained her, guided her, and her voice glided over it, carrying the weight she hadn't known how to release otherwise.

I'm sorry if the music is too loud for us to talk

But when it turns to silence,

I'll be left here with my thoughts

She thought about Mira and Zoey once more, about how they had changed her world without asking for anything in return; how they continued to surprise her every day, and teach her new things. She thought about what she felt she should be, about what she still hadn't achieved. She thought about everything she owed them and how she didn't know how to repay them.

Because beyond anything they could say, Rumi was certain that she wouldn't be there at that moment, alive, if it weren't for them…

I hope it doesn't turn you off

Still, I need some comfort here

I'm not looking for your sympathy

Just help me not to disappear

And so I make the music too loud for us to talk

'Cause when it turns to silence, I'll be left here with my thoughts

And in that awkward space between the misery of not knowing how to improve and the desire to be a little more, the pressure in her chest didn't disappear but changed slightly, shifted a little. As if, at last, she were finding a way out.

'Cause I need something

Oh, I need someone

My heart is racing.

Can't take another minute in this room

If I needed somewhere

Where would I go?

When I need perspective and the darkness seems relentless

I've been talkin' to myself

I've been talkin' to myself

Even though she knew it wasn't ideal, Rumi stayed there in a room that didn't feel like home yet, surrounded by cold and silence that had become anything but silent. She let everything she couldn't name filter through the keys and her voice without worrying about how it sounded or who might hear her.

She stayed playing until dawn and, for the first time in a long time, didn't try to contain her own emotions.

///

Somehow, the days spent in the café had found their way into Rumi's new routine. Not all at once, nor with immediate ease, but with the patient slowness with which unfamiliar things gradually become familiar.

At first, it had all been noise and chaos: commands that she couldn't quite remember, timings that she couldn't measure accurately, and eyes that felt too close for comfort, judging her as she tried to follow the orders she had received quickly. But Romance didn't rush her. He never did. He moved between the kitchen and the counter with a steady calm, correcting her without being intrusive and explaining things in a way that didn't make her feel clumsy. He made mistakes part of the process rather than something to be avoided at all costs, so Rumi quickly felt comfortable with him.

Meanwhile, Abby…

Rumi couldn't help but think of Jinu the first time she was truly alone with Abby, not only listening to him talk but also observing him.

It wasn't something physical—though his exaggerated muscles seemed like a private joke of the universe—but rather that boundless energy and the ease with which he expressed himself, jumping from one topic to another without warning, as if silence were something he needed to avoid at all costs. But talking to Abby was easy. Yes, the man was disorganized, but he was also familiar in a way that Rumi hadn't expected to find in someone like him. He had more patience than he let on, too.

It was simply different.

Everything there was different, really.

The café didn't have the quiet weight that sometimes hung over Zoey, Mira, and little Ru's house, where every gesture seemed laden with something deeper and more delicate that Rumi didn't quite understand and that sometimes frightened her a little when she thought about it too much. With Romance and Abby, things were more direct and immediate. There was laughter, noise, constant movement, and little accidents that made everything easier.

And Rumi found herself fitting in with them, although there were days when she still felt out of place, moments when something inside reminded her that this hadn't been her world for a long time. But these moments became less frequent as time went on, and much more bearable.

The only thing she couldn't change were the slow afternoons.

Those hours when the place seemed suspended in time, when the constant murmur faded and all that remained was the low hum of the machines and the invisible ticking of the clock moving far too slowly. There were no orders to prepare, no tables to urgently clean, only the eternal wait.

Rumi had learned to fill those spaces with small tasks, sometimes unnecessary, but enough to keep her hands moving. Cleaning what was already clean and tidying what was already tidy. It drove Abby crazy with her overwhelming need to leave everything perfectly symmetrical, but Rumi preferred to do anything to avoid sitting still and spend more time with her thoughts.

However, those little activities weren't enough to distract her completely, so it was quite easy to see Bobby through the glass that day, walking along the sidewalk with that same steady but cheerful posture that Rumi remembered so well.

Time didn't stop with his arrival, but part of Rumi did succumb to a kind of panic paralysis out of sheer shock at seeing the man after so many months. Her hands, which until that moment had been arranging some utensils near the sweets display, stopped moving.

She hadn't thought about Bobby for weeks; she'd avoided it. Thinking about Bobby meant opening a door she wasn't ready to walk through. It meant remembering the hospital, the voices, the initial confusion of being there… and it also meant thinking about that woman. Remembering the way she'd walked in and the certainty in her voice as she spoke the words Rumi refused to even repeat in her head.

Bobby was someone Rumi had grown to appreciate during their outings and conversations about trivial things; she even missed him. But discovering that he was connected to a part of Rumi's past that she had rarely stopped to analyze over the years was mortifying in more ways than one.

The café door opened with a soft creak, but to Rumi the sound seemed too loud. Her anxiety must have been obvious somehow, because Sussie reacted first from across the café, and with a flap of wings, he sliced ​​through the air before Rumi could even move. The bird landed on her head with a small squawk that wasn't exactly aggressive, but caught Romance attention anyway.

Derpy, from behind the counter, lazily raised his head, one eye opening just enough to assess the situation. His tail twitched once before settling, but his gaze remained fixed on Rumi, sensing the change in her.

Rumi swallowed hard and waited for Bobby to finish approaching. The man walked forward with a confident stride, but there was something about his expression that didn't quite match that firmness. A slight tension in his shoulders, a smile that seemed forced.

“Hello, Rumi,” he greeted in a soft voice. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Rumi forced herself to smile back, keeping her hands still behind the counter. She could sense Romance's gaze from the coffee machines; the man was making a phenomenal effort to appear discreet as he dried the porcelain cups stacked to one side.

“Bobby…” Rumi murmured, grateful that her voice came out calmer than she actually felt.

“It’s so comforting to see you’re back on your feet and recovered,” Bobby commented. “Is everything go well with your appointments at the hospital?”

Rumi looked away slightly.

“Yes, everything’s fine. I have another cardiology appointment next week.” As she spoke, she took out the small notebook she used for taking orders. “Would you like anything?

Bobby did not respond immediately.

His gaze swept across the counter with an attention that seemed exaggerated for the context, lingering on the displayed sweets as if each one required careful evaluation. His fingers drummed once against the polished surface of the counter, and for a moment he gave the impression that he was actually considering what to order.

Sussie moved quickly then. With a small hop, he descended from Rumi's head to the edge of the counter, settling precisely in front of Bobby. With his head tilted slightly to one side, his dark eye fixed on the man with a critical intensity that needed no translation.

Bobby let out a low laugh when he noticed the bird's attention.

“He’s still just as wary as the first day,” he remarked.

Rumi couldn't help but let a small smile appear on her face. Her fingers rose to gently brush Sussie's beak.

“He’s a good bodyguard,” she replied.

The familiarity of the exchange helped to sustain the moment, but unfortunately it didn't last very long. Rumi took a deep breath and decided to address the issue head on.

“What do you really want, Bobby?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “You haven’t approach me this whole time, and now…”

She left the sentence hanging in the air. Her hands remained still behind the counter, but her posture changed, aligning herself with the intention of not letting it be diluted by unnecessary courtesies.

Bobby looked surprised for a second and then smiled, this time with a bit more honesty, although still tinged with some discomfort.

“Well, in my defense,” he began, raising his hands slightly, “sweets are still a pretty valid reason. You know I love them.”

Rumi looked at him silently for a long moment, long enough for the pressure to be evident. He exhaled, resigned.

“But… I’m here about something a bit more personal.” He admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “I can understand if you really don’t want to talk. If that’s the case, I can leave right away and pretend nothing happened.”

Rumi twisted her lips into a grimace, carefully weighing his words, and then nodded slightly. She decided, for the time being, to treat him like any other customer.

“What are you going to order?” she asked, taking notes.

Bobby mentioned a couple of things without much conviction, and Rumi meticulously noted everything down, avoiding looking up more than necessary. Sussie returned to her position at her head, while Derpy strolled languidly across the counter, walking among the sample glasses arranged next to the cash register.

A few steps away, Romance had already abandoned any pretense of discretion. The cup he'd been holding had been forgotten in his hands, and his attention was clearly fixed on the scene before him, watching Bobby with blatant and open interest. Rumi ignored the urge to look in his direction and tell him to mind his own business; the shop was his. She supposed he had the right to snoop.

Rumi moved efficiently, preparing the order with the same level of concentration that she displayed during the busiest moments of the day. Each gesture was measured and each movement clean. She needed all the control possible to avoid succumbing to her anxiety at that moment.

When she returned to the counter, she carefully placed the items in front of Bobby.

“Here you go.”

He took the bag, but didn't move from his spot. His smile disappeared.

“Rumi, I have a message for you.” He paused for a moment when he noticed Rumi closing her eyes and sighing. “It’s more of a proposal to meet and talk, actually. Today, if possible.”

“I’m not interested in seeing anyone.” Rumi’s reply was curt, her golden eyes opening once more to fix an annoyed glare on Bobby.

Bobby lowered his head slightly, nodding as if he had expected that reaction.

“I understand. I truly understand.” His voice softened even further, and for the first time since he'd entered, he seemed genuinely uncomfortable. “And believe me, I'm the first to want to respect your wishes. The only reason I'm here is precisely because of that,” he added. “We thought that showing up unannounced wouldn't be the wisest course of action. This is the best compromise I could come up with before making any drastic moves.”

Rumi frowned, not fully understanding.

"Who is we?”

Bobby looked up again.

“Poppy wants to talk to you,” he explained. “She keeps insisting. I’ve tried to hold her back, but I know her well enough to know that my efforts won’t amount to much very soon.”

The name didn't produce the immediate reaction he seemed to be expecting. Rumi merely tilted her head to one side, genuinely confused.

"And who is Poppy?"

The silence that followed was brief, but long enough for another voice to slip into the scene.

“Lee Poppy. The third member of the Sunlight Sisters,” Romance said, with an interested expression. “I had heard rumors that she was back in the city, but I didn’t think they were true.”

The name Sunlight Sisters hung in the air, with a weight Rumi hadn't anticipated. It echoed in her memory like something foreign. She remembered the times Zoey had tried to explain who they are, the sparkle in her eyes when she spoke of them, the clear idealization she held for the group even though she tried to hide it, the details that seemed important but that Rumi, at those moments in the hospital, had barely retained. Not out of deliberate disinterest, but because her mind had been preoccupied with dealing with much more immediate and more urgent matters.

Celine and Mi-Yeong, however... She had learned those names.

She had kept them inside her mind with a practical, almost strategic intention. To know who they were, to be able to identify them somehow so she could anticipate if any of them reappeared. It was also a form of control, minimal, but sufficient for Rumi at that time.

The third one, however, was not that important. That one had definitely not entered her map of possibilities.

Rumi frowned even more, as if she could rearrange her own memories in that gesture, but all she found was an uncomfortable emptiness. For a second, she even allowed herself to think—with a certain quiet irritation—that perhaps she should have paid closer attention when Zoey talked about them. Although, to be fair to herself, she hadn't been in a position to do so.

The memory of the hospital passed like a brief shadow, and with it, the unsettling feeling that was now settling in her stomach, like a misplaced weight. She could understand, to a certain extent, why the other two women wanted to talk to her. But this…

“And why so much interest from this Polly?” she finally asked, her tone drier than she intended.

“Poppy,” the men corrected simultaneously. Bobby patiently, Romance with mild amusement.

Rumi rolled her eyes.

“Whatever” she said. “Why?”

Bobby hesitated slightly; not for lack of a response, but because of the nature of the answer.

“I can’t tell you exactly why. I don’t have details of what she wants to talk about, although I could guess,” he admitted. “But I do know that if you don’t agree to see her today, she’ll probably come herself another day.”

The way he said it didn't sound like a warning, but rather a desperate explanation. Romance let out a soft snort, leaning more heavily against the coffee machine.

“That doesn't sound like someone who's respectful of other people's space,” he commented in a tone that was almost joking, but his words still had a certain sharpness to them.

Rumi remained silent, but inside she agreed. Bobby ran a hand over the back of his neck, looking distressed.

“Poppy has never been particularly patient,” he explained. “And even less so when something matters to her.”

“I don't see why I matter so much to her,” Rumi replied.

“And I could explain in many ways,” Bobby said carefully, “but I know that whatever I might say, you won’t be able to fully believe it…”

The silence that followed was heavy with unease. Rumi felt her breathing become slightly erratic; her pulse quicken without warning. It was subtle, but enough to bring back the pressure in her chest. Derpy moved once more, brushing warmly against her side insistently. Rumi lowered her gaze slightly, letting the contact anchor her for a second to the present.

With a long exhalation, she placed both hands on the counter, feeling the firm surface under her palms as the perfect support for what she was about to say.

“Listen, Bobby, I appreciate you making the effort to come and explain… this, whatever it is. I really do,” she finally said, looking up at him. “But I have absolutely no interest or reason to see her or anyone else over this matter. Not now, not in three months, not ever. You can go and tell them that, word for word, and see if they can understand.”

“Rumi, I…”

“Tell them to forget about me, and I’ll do the same,” she interrupted. “We’ve lived that way all these years, and from what I understand, everything worked out great for them, so I don’t know how difficult it can be to continue pretending I don’t exist.”

“It’s not what you think…”

"I don’t care."

They stared at each other for a long moment; Rumi practically trembling with rage, Bobby's eyes glazed over. Finally, the man nodded, his shoulders slumped slightly in sadness.

“I understand,” he murmured, looking away. “Sorry to bother you.”

He took the bag with his order, this time without hesitation, and stepped back. His smile returned, faint, more tired than before, as he wished Romance a good afternoon. Rumi watched him turn and walk toward the door, each step marking the imminent closure of something that hadn't quite opened yet.

And then remorse crept in, silent yet insistent, pressing on her mind with intent. Rumi knew she hadn't been fair to him, that she had no right to attack the messenger over something he wasn't at all responsible for… but still… her anger got the better of her.

But Bobby was… Bobby.

The man was completely free of malice. Rumi knew this well; she had recognized his innocence and sincerity in the short time she had known him. However much his actions weighed on her, she understood that he hadn't done them with the intention of causing harm.

That, in a way, bothered her even more.

Rumi brought a hand to her temples, massaging them insistently as she felt the headache start to set in.

“Bobby…” she called.

The man stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned to face her immediately. Rumi turned her head to the side, unable to look at him, and felt Sussie lightly tickle her hair. She swallowed hard before speaking.

“I never told you this, but… thank you for your help at the hospital, and everything else.” she said, letting her hand fall again. “I know you took care of all the expenses, talk with the doctors and… just… thank you.”

Her words were softer and less defensive. She was honest about her feelings. Bobby relaxed a little, appreciating the attempt to mend things, and realizing that their connection, however small, was still intact.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He replied, “Take care, okay? And if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Rumi nodded.

Bobby didn't add anything else.

He held her gaze for just a second, as if he wanted to say something that was no longer relevant, and then opened the door. The soft tinkling sound filled the air again, identical to before and yet completely different. This time it brought no anticipation, no pent-up tension, but a kind of emptiness that settled in as soon as the man disappeared beyond the glass.

Rumi didn't move at first. She stayed behind the counter, her hands still resting on the surface, feeling that removing them too soon would mean accepting a great defeat. Derpy was the first to demand her attention after a short while. He approached with that quiet persistence that characterized him, rubbing his muzzle against Rumi's arm, seeking contact without quite asking for it. Rumi let her fingers move almost instinctively up to Derpy's paws, stroking his fur in short, repetitive, barely conscious movements.

Sussie, for her part, didn't leave his post. He continued gently pecking at Rumi's hair with that restless curiosity that seemed to surface whenever something about her changed. A constant reminder that she wasn't alone, even though at that moment she felt exactly that way.

The young woman closed her eyes for a moment, feeling that the air did not seem to reach her lungs fast enough.

Romance, meanwhile, moved around her with deliberate slowness. He picked up already cleaned plates and arranged them with unnecessary care on the shelves, also adjusting the position of the sweets in the display case as if order could do anything to ease the tension that still hung in the air. He made no comment about what had just happened, but his presence and attempt to help were evident, and Rumi appreciated it. But there was something about that closeness, that silent effort to hold onto the moment, that made her feel trapped.

“Romance…” Her voice came out lower than she expected.

The man barely turned around.

"Yeah?"

Rumi hesitated, not because she didn't know what she wanted to say, but because saying it meant acknowledging that she couldn't handle her own emotions at that moment.

“Can I leave earlier?”

The surprise passed across Romance's face so quickly it was barely noticeable. It wasn't something Rumi had asked for, not like that, but he didn't ask any questions.

“Of course,” he replied immediately, with the same naturalness with which he accepted everything else. “No problem.”

He moved a little closer, resting a hand on the edge of the counter and evaluating her with more direct attention this time.

“Do you want me to call Zoey or Mira?” he asked after a pause. “So they can come pick you up.”

What Rumi wanted most in life was to say yes.

The image appeared with painful clarity: the front door, the warmth of the living room; Zoey's voice filling the space, Mira's firm presence as an undeniable anchor point, and little Ru's joy. Rumi could almost feel the obvious relief that would come from not having to weather a storm alone, as she had so many times before.

For a second, Rumi was about to accept it; she wanted to tell Romance that she would call them herself. But the next second, something else intervened, a quieter, more rigid side that told her she had no right to bother Zoey and Mira anymore. A side that whispered in her ear how much she was already taking from the other two women, without even deigning to give them anything more than words in return.

No.

She couldn't keep bothering them like that.

Rumi swallowed and shook her head.

“No… it’s okay,” she said, forcing a slight firmness into her tone. “I just want to walk for a while. I can take the bus later.”

Romance didn't seem convinced. His gaze lingered on her as if he were weighing up whether to insist, but in the end he nodded.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Take the day off tomorrow too. Abby and I can manage.”

Rumi nodded.

The next few minutes passed in functional silence. Rumi gathered her things with automatic movements, avoiding giving much thought to what she was doing. Derpy easily jumped onto her shoulder when Rumi clicked her tongue, as usual, and settled naturally against her neck. Sussie, meanwhile, reclaimed her position on her head, asserting his place when Rumi put on her old cap. As she stepped through the door, the sound of the clinking bell signaled the change once more.

Outside, the air felt different; it was purer, but not necessarily lighter. The city's rhythm continued around her as if nothing had changed, as if her world hadn't just shifted slightly off-axis. Rumi wandered aimlessly for a long time, letting her footsteps dictate her path while her mind became entangled in endless loops. Sometimes she quickened her pace as if trying to escape something, and at others she slowed to almost a standstill, trapped by thoughts and ideas that couldn't quite take shape.

The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, stretching its shadows across the sidewalk, when weariness began to settle in her legs. It wasn't entirely physical exhaustion but a denser, quieter fatigue that accumulates in the chest and head.

Rumi cursed under her breath for not having her guitar with her.

Her fingers flexed involuntarily, searching for the touch of nonexistent strings. For years, music had been her simplest way to exist without overthinking. Standing in a corner, playing, and letting the noise of the world mingle with what flowed from her hands was a way to disappear without truly vanishing. No one ever really looked at her. No one stayed long enough to make her uncomfortable. And that, at the time, had been enough. And in a way, it was what she needed now.

But Rumi was also supposed to be someone else. Someone who was supposed to leave her nomadic side behind. She was supposed to be a more stable, functional, and responsible adult. She had a job now, a roof over her head, and people waiting for her at the end of the day. That should have been enough. Years ago, she would have killed for exactly this.

And yet, as she walked with her hands in her pockets and her head down, none of it felt solid. It was as if she were playing a role for which she didn't yet have the full script.

Derpy let out a long meow from her shoulder, clearly irritated by the lack of direction, and settled himself roughly against her neck. Sussie, from her head, responded with a low croak, as if he also had an opinion about it.

Rumi exhaled, tired.

“Okay, I get it… I’ll look for a bus now” she told them.

That's when she saw it.

The shop window appeared almost by magic, intercepting her line of sight with a flash of color that quickly caught her attention. It wasn't a large or particularly flashy shop, but there was something about its delicate and understated decor that broke with the monotony of the other shops around it and compelled Rumi to stop.

The norigae hung in a row on a transparent display case, suspended like tiny fragments of history frozen in time. Soft-colored silks, intricate knots, and beads captured the light of the setting sun in a subtle, almost intimate way. Some were simple; others, more elaborate, seemed too beautiful to touch. Rumi didn't realize how long she stood there looking at them. As a child, she had felt a strange fascination with norigae; their striking yet elegant designs captivated her. But, over time, more pressing matters had forced her to forget about them and leave her childhood desires and curiosity behind.

Derpy meowed again, more insistently this time, nudging her jaw slightly with his head. Rumi barely reacted, too focused on the details: the way the threads intertwined, the precision of the knots, the sense of intention in each piece.

“Are you interested in any of them?”

The voice pulled her from her reverie.

Rumi barely turned her head and found herself face to face with an older woman who had left the shop unnoticed. She had a kind and open expression; the kind that doesn't intrude, but also doesn't allow you to go completely unnoticed.

Rumi instinctively straightened up slightly in front of her.

“No, thanks,” she replied. “I was just looking.”

The woman smiled.

“Looking is fine,” she said gently. “But you can also get closer if you want, dear. They don’t bite.”

The attempt at humor was so simple that Rumi couldn't help but crack a small smile in return. She hesitated for a second, then, almost without realizing it, took a couple of steps toward the display case. Closer up, the details became even more apparent. Each piece had a distinct visual weight, a different intention. They weren't random decorations; there was something personal in each one.

“You can also make your own more personalized ones if you want,” the woman added, leaning slightly against the door frame. “Choose the talismans and the colors. Anything you want them to represent.”

Rumi barely frowned, thoughtful.

“Represent?”

“Wishes, protection, memories or feelings,” the woman replied patiently. “Many people come here to create something personal that they can have with them in their most difficult moments. Others come simply to give them as gifts to the people they love most.”

While listening to the explanation, Rumi looked at the norigae again with attention, but this time not as mere decorative objects.

She thought of Zoey… Her easy laughter, the way she filled every without asking permission, and the warmth of her smile. She thought of Mira… Her effortless way of holding up the world and her kindness disguised as indifference.

Two distinct yet balanced extremes. Two new constants in Rumi's life.

Her fingers moved lightly inside her pockets with unease, as she quickly calculated how much money she had on her and when her next payday would be. Rumi felt a little stupid and inadequate at that moment, but still, she wanted to do something nice for them for once.

“If I wanted to make two,” she swallowed, still hesitating, “how much would it cost?”

The woman did not respond immediately. However, her gaze softened slightly, as if she had understood something beyond words.

“It depends on what you want to put in them,” she said calmly, opening the shop door again to invite Rumi in. “But we can look at them together and choose the best one for what you need to express.”

Rumi nodded, and for the first time all day, she felt no need to move.

///

The first time Rumi understood, with unbearable clarity, that she was completely alone in the world, it didn't happen amidst the noise or immediate danger. It wasn't during the escape, nor in the instant when things broke beyond repair.

It was later.

Three months later, to be exact.

Night found her suddenly awake, as if someone had violently ripped her from sleep. Her breathing was ragged, too rapid for the silence that surrounded her, and for a moment she didn't know where she was. The metal roof above her was different, the shadows didn't quite fit, and the air smelled different from what she was used to. But the weight in her chest, that incessant, sharp discomfort, that was the same. Always the same.

She sat up, barely, and placed a hand on her sternum, trying to contain something stirring within her. In her lap, Derpy stirred, whimpering in confusion at the sudden movement. Rumi reacted purely by reflex, pulling him towards her with an almost desperate urgency.

“I’m here,” she murmured, though it wasn’t clear whether she was speaking to the cat or to herself. “I’m here… we’re okay.”

But that wasn't entirely true. As soon as she closed her eyes, everything came flooding back.

The dark street.

The deafening noise.

The extreme confusion of bodies colliding with each other.

And the screams.

The memory didn't come as a coherent image, but as overlapping fragments. The first thing was always Jinu's voice, cutting through the air with a desperation Rumi had never heard from him before.

“Go away, Rumi! RUN!”

The second thing she always felt again was his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back with undeniable force. It wasn't gratuitous roughness, it was filled with fear. A fear that distorted his voice and tensed every muscle in his body, preparing him to respond violently to any perceived threat.

Rumi remembered stumbling, holding Derpy tightly as the cat trembled in her arms, unaware of the gravity of the situation. She also remembered the cold asphalt beneath her bare feet and the dizzying feeling of confusion.

“What did you do?” she demanded, her voice breaking without her realizing it. “Jinu! What did you do!?”

But Jinu wasn't looking at her, not really. His eyes darted back and forth over his shoulder, into the darkness of the street, where shadows weren't just shadows. Where hurried footsteps echoed with a rhythm that left no room for doubt. Where voices—too many voices—drew with the menacing warning of destroying everything in their path.

Behind them, Baby was shouting.

“Jinu, now! We have to go!”

Mystery was no longer with them. Rumi remembered seeing him disappear down one of the side alleys, his silhouette swallowed by the shadows without looking back. Baby went after him, but not before turning around, his eyes wide, staring at Jinu with an urgency that needed no words.

“JINU!”

Everything was moving too fast, everything except Jinu. He lingered there longer than he should have, hesitating for longer than the situation seemed to allow. Rumi had seen it. She had felt it. That instant when he seemed torn between running toward her or doing the exact opposite. And for a moment, a very brief but real one, she believed he would stay.

She thought he wouldn't leave her.

“Rumi…” His name sounded different then, lower and more serious. “You have to leave.”

She took a step towards him, clinging to that possibility.

“You don’t have to do this, and you know it. None of you,” she insisted, her voice breaking, her fingers tightening against Derpy’s bristling fur. “Jinu, please—”

He swallowed and took a step back.

“Go to Guryong, do you hear me?” he said quickly. “Hide there for a few days. Wait until everything has calmed down, and then you can return to Malsook’s.”

Rumi frowned, confused, trying to follow the thread of words amidst the chaos. She heard a gunshot that startled her, and Jinu took another step back in alarm, looking around wildly.

“What about you?” she asked, wanting to remain calm despite everything.

Another pause, shorter and more dangerous.

“We’ll see each other here,” he finally replied, turning to look at her one more time. “I’ll see you soon.”

The world seemed to be collapsing around her, but that phrase remained suspended, intact for a long time inside her. Rumi blinked back tears.

“Do you promise?” The question came out more childish than she would have liked, more fragile than a sixteen-year-old girl should be allowed to show. But in that moment, that was all she needed. Something firm to hold onto. “Do you promise to be here?”

Jinu nodded, without hesitating this time.

"I promise."

And then he left.

There was no goodbye. No further attempt to reach out. Just one last glance—one that Rumi couldn't interpret at the time—and then his figure retreating, turning, and disappearing in the same direction Baby and Mystery had already vanished. The noise swallowed him up. The night erased him, along with everything else.

And Rumi was left alone in the middle of the street, the echo of that promise vibrating in her chest before she was forced to run in the opposite direction alongside Derpy. To flee with her heart pounding in her chest as more shots pierced the air, shattering the tranquility of her life.

The memory always ended there, but the nightmare didn't.

Because what came next was worse.

The days in Guryong, hidden in the car they had all tried so hard to repair. The long wait while she kept hearing terrible news of what was happening in the heart of Seoul. Returning to Malsook's shop with her heart hanging by a thread, staring at the closed storefronts with desolation, waiting in the alleyways for them to return, and looking around with hope every time someone crossed the street, convinced it would be him.

But Jinu never appeared.

And it was on one of those nights, three months later, waking with Jinu's name stuck in her throat and silence as her only response, that something inside Rumi finally gave way. Not with a bang or tears, but with a cold, precise, and undeniable certainty that that promise would never be kept.

Rumi looked down at Derpy, who was now asleep again in her arms, oblivious to everything, breathing with that simple calm that she no longer remembered how to imitate. Her fingers gently sank into his fur.

Outside, the night continued its indifferent course.

For the first time since arriving in the city, Rumi wasn't thinking about what she would do the next day, where she would go, or how she would cope. She just sat there in the darkness, holding onto the only being that hadn't abandoned her. She understood, without needing to put it into words, that from that moment on, she would have to learn to cope alone.

///

Night had fully settled when Rumi resumed her journey back, the colder air clinging to her skin with a persistence that neither bothered nor comforted her. There was something about that nocturnal silence—broken only by the distant murmur of the city—that allowed her to think with almost uncanny clarity.

Part of her felt strangely light.

The norigae rested safely in her pants pockets, their weight almost imperceptible yet enough to remind her of their presence. She had chosen and prepared them with more care than she cared to admit, paying attention to details she would normally have overlooked, such as colors, textures and small symbols that she didn't quite understand, but which seemed appropriate and comforting when she looked at them. She didn't know if it was enough or if they made sense. Nevertheless, she had bought them, spending far more than she should have. She had felt good about it, even proud.

Just for them.

It wasn't much, but she wanted to believe that with those norigae she could show what she felt and what she hadn't been able to properly express during those months living with Mira, Zoey and little Ru. She wanted to believe it was enough.

However, that feeling could barely hold up against the other reality that was beginning to forcefully assert itself.

She had missed the last bus.

Rumi exhaled heavily and dug her hands deeper into her pockets, adjusting her shoulders slightly under the weight of Derpy, who didn't seem particularly pleased with the situation. The cat let out a long, plaintive meow and dug his claws into the fabric just enough to make his displeasure known.

“I know…” she murmured listlessly. “I don’t want to walk either.”

Sussie, flying overhead, let out a small, dry squawk, as if confirming that the night was officially ruined.

As she walked along the sidewalk, avoiding the lighter sections out of sheer habit, Rumi couldn't help but revisit the idea she'd had a few hours earlier. She'd imagined the scene with almost ludicrous simplicity: arriving home, awkwardly pulling out the norigae, and handing them over without quite knowing what to say. Perhaps during dinner. Perhaps when little Ru was talking nonstop, as always, filling the silences where Rumi still struggled to find her own voice.

It would have been a surprise. A good one, she hoped. Something small.

Something… normal, but with weight.

Now her whole plan was pointless. Dinner had probably been over long ago. The house would be quiet, or nearly so. The little girl was surely already asleep, same with Mira and Zoey. And Rumi… well, Rumi was there, walking alone in the middle of the night as if nothing had really changed. As if all her efforts only served to remind her that she couldn't be completely normal.

A brief, humorless laugh escaped her lips.

“How stupid…” she muttered to herself.

Derpy responded with another meow, this time shorter, snuggling against her neck as if seeking warmth or, perhaps, simply a little stability.

Rumi kept walking and a few steps ahead, she noticed something different.

The car was parked a few meters ahead, aligned with the kerb like any other, and yet it immediately stood out from all the other vehicles. Not because of its size or its particularly striking shape, but because of the quiet presence that only extremely expensive things possess. The shiny paintwork reflected the streetlights with almost flawless clarity and the tyres were clean with no visible signs of wear, suggesting that the car was relatively new.

Rumi glanced at it as she passed, assessing it with that practical eye she'd learned to develop over the years. She knew its worth. Or at least, she had a pretty good idea of it. It wasn't unusual to see cars like that in that area. Mira and Zoey lived in a neighborhood that, while not excessively ostentatious, was definitely not modest. Even so, that particular car stood out even by those standards.

She whistled softly, barely in appreciation, but didn't stop; she had no reason to. And for a moment, she thought that would be all.

Of course, her luck was a mocking entity in itself, always delighted to make Rumi's life miserable.

A few seconds later, the sound of the car door opening broke the silence, sharp and precise. Then came the thud of it closing. Then footsteps approached from behind. Quick. Too quick to be a mere coincidence.

Rumi didn't turn immediately; she didn't need to. Her body reacted purely on instinct, her muscles barely tensing, imperceptibly adjusting her posture, lowering her center of gravity slightly as her fingers loosened in her pockets. Derpy, sensitive to this change, raised his head alertly, eyes narrowing as he watched the person approaching from behind. Sussie reacted as well, beginning to fly lower.

Rumi kept walking, but she was now more alert. In her years on the streets, situations like this weren't new or unusual. It wasn't even particularly surprising. She had learned to recognize the pattern: the quick approach, the misplaced confidence and the mistaken belief that she could be bought or used in anyway men wanted.

“Easy money, darling”, Some would say.

“Just a fun night”, others would mock.

Rumi clenched her jaw slightly, feeling a familiar, old irritation begin to stir within her. She'd lost count of how many times she'd had to deal with men like this. How many times she'd ended up with bloody knuckles or stiff legs after making sure they understood—in the most direct and violent way possible—that they'd picked the wrong person.

An image flashed through her mind, brief but clear: Baby laughing, leaning against a wall, shaking his head after seeing one of those guys double over on the floor in pain.

“If there’s one thing you do well,” he had once told her, "it's kicking egos... and other things."

Rumi almost smiled.

Almost.

Because tonight she had neither the desire, the patience, or the mood to deal with some perverted jerk. She exhaled slowly, her steps barely slowing as her mind quickly calculated the possibilities. She didn't know who exactly was behind her but she could guess what they wanted. And she knew how those stories ended if she wasn't careful enough.

She didn't think about it too much.

Instead of continuing down the main avenue—the one she knew by heart, the one that would have taken her straight home—she turned at the next corner with a clean, almost casual movement, as if she had simply changed her mind at the last second. The side alley was narrower and worse lit. A dead-end stretch between buildings where the light from a single streetlamp barely managed to cast long shadows against the concrete.

Perfect.

“Tsk,” she clicked her tongue as soon as she crossed the corner, shaking her shoulder slightly. “Go.”

Derpy reacted instantly. He leaped nimbly from her shoulder, landing softly against the wall. His tail bristled slightly, and his eyes fixed intently on the alley entrance. Sussie swooped down and perched atop the lamppost, like a tiny sentinel.

Rumi pressed herself against the wall in silence, mentally counting the seconds. The silhouette appeared, turning the corner with the same momentum with which it had followed Rumi. There was no pause, no hesitation. Only movement.

Big mistake.

Rumi moved before the other person had finished processing the space and situation. She closed her hand precisely on the lapel of the other person's coat and pulled hard enough to throw their advancing body off balance. The impact against the wall was sharp and decisive, accompanied by the muffled sound of air escaping from surprised lungs. The movement was clean and practiced. Rumi's other arm was already raised, her fist firm and ready to descend without hesitation.

"WAIT!"

Under other circumstances, that wouldn't have been enough to stop Rumi, but something didn't fit with that voice and the situation. There was no arrogance, no insinuation, none of that dirty undertone she'd learned to identify without a doubt. Only fear.

Rumi froze mid-stride, the blow suspended in the space between intention and execution. A woman?, she thought, bewildered. She lowered her fist just enough to avoid striking, but not enough to relax. Her grip on the coat didn't loosen; her fingers remained firm, tense, and ready to react to any unexpected movement.

Rumi blinked a couple of time, trying to adjust her vision better, and under the dim light of the streetlamp, the woman's face became visible. Considerably older than her, with wavy hair slightly disheveled from being pulled. Her brown eyes were wide open, not in defiance, but in genuine surprise and distress that had not yet fully dissipated. The woman's hands rose slowly, palms facing out in an instinctive gesture of surrender.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said quickly, the words tumbling over each other. “I’m sorry, really, I wasn’t planning to upset you or anything.”

Rumi looked at her as if she couldn't quite process what she was seeing. The confusion lasted less time than the irritation.

“Who the fuck are you?” she spat, her voice low but sharp and laced with annoyance. “Why the hell were you following me?”

The woman swallowed, clearly aware of the position she was in, but without trying to get away.

“My name is Poppy” she replied immediately. “Bobby told you about me today…”

Rumi blinked again, and this time, the surprise was more evident. The echo of her conversation with Bobby, just hours before, returned with unsettling clarity. The name that had meant nothing then now had a face and a presence, her ragged breath against the wall Rumi herself had pushed it against.

Rumi's fingers loosened slightly.

“…Poppy?” She repeated it more quietly, needing to make sure she had heard correctly.

The woman nodded quickly, still with her hands raised, although now her breathing was beginning to stabilize little by little.

“Yes,” said Poppy, giving a small grimace that was supposed to be a smile but didn't quite work. “I suppose this wasn't the best way to introduce myself, was it?”

Rumi let out a short, incredulous groan.

Of all the possibilities she had considered in those few seconds, this hadn't even crossed her mind. She loosened her grip enough to release the coat, but didn't take a step back. Her eyes remained fixed on the woman as she assessed and reconstructed the situation piece by piece. In the midst of that small, tense circle, Rumi stood firm, her body poised, although she didn't know exactly why.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked then, with a renewed sharpness in her voice. “Do you want a one-way ticket to the hospital? Because believe me, I can still do it.”

Poppy's expression contorted again with alarm, shaking her head.

“Okay, no… I think there are better ways to handle this,” she replied quickly. “I just want to talk.”

“Screw you,” Rumi snapped, finally walking away from her.

“Rumi, please, just give me one chance,” Poppy pleaded.

“I thought I was clear enough with Bobby today,” Rumi said, turning to leave the alley. “I don’t want to talk. In fact, I don’t want to see you, any of you, anywhere near me.”

Rumi walked back out into the street at a brisk pace, her anger propelling her forward more quickly than usual. Derpy came running after her, meowing insistently. Rumi couldn't quite tell whether it was out of displeasure or something else. She hadn't heard Sussie, but she was sure the magpie would find his way back to her any minute.

Poppy swore under her breath and hurried to follow, her clumsy footsteps echoing against the sidewalk. Now that she was paying closer attention, Rumi could make out the distinctive sound of heels, and felt irritation reverberate in her chest at not having noticed that slight detail earlier.

Of course, it's not as if that made much of a difference to the final result.

“I just want to clear a few things up with you,” Poppy exclaimed, trying to keep up.

Rumi snorted.

“I have nothing to clear up with a crazy, unhinged woman who stalks people.”

A brief pause, and then:

“Okay, fine. I admit that my ideas don’t always have the best results,” Poppy replied, trying to joke.

“Fuck off,” was Rumi’s only response.

Poppy finally seemed to stop playing around and started running, moving fast enough to catch up with Rumi and block her path, stopping her in her tracks. Derpy growled at her immediately, her tabby fur bristling and his claws unsheathed, while Rumi just glared at her, her golden eyes flashing with fury.

The woman returned her gaze with the same intensity, but where Rumi seemed ready to start fighting, Poppy only appeared desperate.

“You're a real lunatic,” Rumi exclaimed, unable to hide her surprise and anger at the woman's incredible persistence. “What’s wrong with you that you can’t understand I want you to leave me alone?!”

Poppy put one hand to her temples, clearly exhausted.

“There are a lot of things wrong with me, to be honest, but I didn’t come here to talk about my personal failings,” Poppy replied wearily. “That’s another conversation we can have over a few beers… or something stronger.”

Much to her dismay, all Rumi could do was snort with humor.

Taking advantage of the slight opening, Poppy looked at her once more, almost pleadingly. Now that there was more light, Rumi could see the dark circles under her eyes and how much shorter she was in comparison.

“Rumi, please give me just an hour of your time, maybe even less, to listen to me,” Poppy pleaded once more. “You don’t even have to say anything if you don’t want to. I just need you to hear what I have to say, and after this, I promise to keep my distance. I won’t bother you again.”

Rumi narrowed her eyes.

“How can you even expect me to trust your word?” she exclaimed disdainfully. “I don’t know you, you’re nobody to me. Just a damn stalker who’s done nothing but bother me all damn day…”

Poppy was clearly upset by her words, and Rumi felt a pang of regret for being so harsh.

The older woman sighed.

“I know your impression of me so far hasn’t been very good,” she began. “I think that’s exactly what Mira was trying to tell me when…”

She couldn't finish.

The name fell between them like a spark in gasoline.

The reaction was immediate and visceral, as if something primal had kicked in beneath Rumi’s skin before her rational mind could intervene. She took a step forward, closing the distance between them to almost nothing and forcing Poppy to take a half-step back out of pure reflex. This time, her hands didn't touch her, but the tension in her shoulders made it clear that she was close to doing so. Derpy, at her feet, let out a deep growl, his back bristling as if mirroring his owner's tension exactly. Somewhere above their heads, Sussie flapped the wings insistently.

“What did you just say?” Rumi voice came out low, dangerous, barely held back by a thread of control.

Poppy held her gaze, though there was now a clear hint of caution in her eyes. Not fear, exactly, but an awareness of having crossed a line she hadn't known existed until that moment. She raised her hands again in an attempt to appear calm, but this only served to highlight how badly she was misreading the situation.

“I spoke with Mira a few days ago and…”

“You have no right.” Rumi’s voice cut her off like a sharp blow. She took another step, forcing Poppy back until her back was almost touching the nearest wall. “You have no damn right to go near any of them.”

Each word came out measured, but charged with a contained fury that seemed to have been waiting precisely for that opportunity to manifest itself.

“I know you all have a special relationship and I just wanted to…”

“You know nothing,” Rumi spat, pointing a firm finger at her, eyes flashing. “You don’t know who they are to me, you don’t know what they do for me, you know absolutely nothing about me! And yet you have the nerve to show up—” her voice cracked slightly, not from weakness, but from the intensity of what she was saying, “intruding into my life as if it belonged to you.”

“Rumi, I…”

“No.” Rumi interrupted her sharply, pushing with her hand “Don’t you ever mention their names again, or even think about bothering them with stupid excuses or I swear to every fucking god out there that you’ll feel by my hands what is like to be reduced to a bloody mess and be left in the nearest ally.”

The silence that followed was brief but heavy. The city continued to pulse around them — engines in the distance, an isolated laugh from a house, the constant murmur of nightlife — but within that small space between them, it all seemed to have been compressed.

Poppy exhaled slowly and brought a hand to the back of her neck, an awkward, almost childlike gesture that contrasted with the intensity of the moment. The fear was clear in her eyes, as was a strange sense of recognition.

“Okay, this all been clearly a mistake and I’m sorry,” she admitted, more to herself than to Rumi. “But I didn’t do anything with the intention you think. I’m not going to hurt anyone. I don’t even think I can…”

“And what exactly is your intention?” Rumi retorted, her frustration seeping in. “Because so far all you’ve done is follow me, ignore everything I say, and show up in the middle of the night as if you have some right over me and what I do.”

Poppy pressed her lips together, processing each word without interrupting this time. There was something about the way Rumi spoke—that mixture of anger and something deeper, more ancient—that finally seemed to compel her to truly listen.

“My intention...” she began, hesitating for the first time since her arrival. “My intention is to fix something that broke a long time ago.”

Rumi let out a short, humorless laugh.

"And why it has to be you, exactly?"

Poppy didn't answer immediately. Her gaze wavered slightly as she searched for the right version of herself to give the answer, but she couldn't quite find it.

“Because I’m someone who was there with you when everything fell apart,” she finally said, more quietly. “Even if you don’t remember. I was there.”

This made Rumi feel even more lost. She frowned, her anger clouded by bewilderment. It didn't disarm her, not by a long shot, but it did sow a different kind of discomfort: less clear and harder to address.

“You talk as if I know you,” she said, although this time there was a minimal doubt in the background of the sentence.

“I did. We were kind of close in the past.” Poppy held her gaze now, with a more honest firmness. “I used to joke that I was your favorite aunt, even though I knew that spot was shared with someone else. Maybe I wasn’t even in the running. I don’t know for sure anymore.”

Rumi's pulse faltered for a moment, not because she believed her, but because she couldn't completely dismiss the possibility. Her mind, without permission, tried to rummage through memories that were already broken fragments, incomplete pieces of a life she had learned to bury out of necessity rather than choice. A life that seemed more like a dream than reality.

Blurred faces.

Voices that were confused in the fog of memories.

Places she couldn't identify.

Nothing concrete.

Nothing useful.

And that only irritated her more.

“If that’s your big argument to keep me listening, you’re way off,” she replied, her expression hardening again. “Because it means nothing.”

Poppy nodded slowly, as if she had expected exactly that reaction.

“I know.” She ran a hand over her face, letting out a sigh she no longer tried to hide. “That’s why I need you to listen to me. That’s all. I’m not asking you to trust me, or to change anything, or to—”

“You already are,” Rumi interrupted, taking a step back this time. “You’re asking for too much from the moment you decide not to respect a simple ‘no’.”

The words hung between them, sharper than before. Poppy closed her eyes for a second, absorbing the blow without defending herself. When she opened them again, there was something different about them. Not urgency or desperate insistence, but a more restrained resolve.

“I know,” Poppy repeated, barely nodding. “But I’m not doing this just for you or me.”

That made Rumi frown, a minimal crack in her reaction, but enough for Poppy to continue.

“It’s for them too… for your mothers…”

The air seemed to grow even colder; the mention of them stirred something uncomfortable inside Rumi.

Poppy held Rumi's gaze, as if the continuation of the conversation depended on it. She had stopped moving and gesturing awkwardly. Even her breathing seemed to have settled into a slower, more deliberate rhythm. For the first time since she appeared, it seemed as if she was truly present in the moment.

“I know you’re angry,” she began. “And, to be honest, I don’t think I can ever fully grasp the magnitude of what you must be feeling. Of what you’ve felt all these years.” She paused briefly, just long enough to avoid sounding condescending. “But I know enough about you and what your life has been like to understand that it hasn’t been easy. And that showing up like this—” she gestured vaguely between them, “—myself, Celine, Mi-Yeong… we must have only made things worse. We turned your world upside down, we caused you pain, and I’m deeply sorry about all of it.”

Rumi did not respond, but forced herself to turn her face to the side. There was something in her eyes that was beginning to tighten from within, a hot, uncomfortable pressure that made her vision burn. She blinked slowly once, trying to contain it all. She wasn't going to cry, she didn't want to cry. Much less in front of this woman.

Poppy continued, sensing that resistance, but without backing down.

“You have every right in the world to be upset,” she added, more firmly. “To be furious, confused… to hate everything.”

Her voice broke only in the next sentence.

“But if you’re going to hate someone, hate me. Be angry with me.”

That made Rumi react. Her eyebrows furrowed, disbelief seeping uninvited into her expression.

Poppy took a step forward, small but decisive.

“All of this…” she gestured between them, then toward the street, toward something that wasn’t there but seemed to envelop everything, “…is my fault. I’m the reason you’re here. The reason they… the reason everything fell apart like this. Be angry with me. Hate me all you want; I don’t care if you really hit me even. Do your worst and make me feel pain, send me to the hospital like you said you will, I don’t care! But please, please, give your mothers a chance. All they want is to see you and talk to you, just once.”

Rumi felt her lip tremble slightly, a lump forming in her throat. Her mind exploded into utter chaos, racing in a thousand directions at once. She tried to bring order to it all, but Poppy didn't give her a chance to regroup, noticing immediately that she had managed to breach part of the barrier Rumi was holding high.

“Your mother’s love you,” she said then, and this time there was no possible control over her voice. It broke with a sincerity that couldn't be faked. “They love you so much that it's painful to watch. They have loved you all these years, more than you could ever imagine. It's something that no one could ever explain or understand.”

Rumi gritted her teeth.

“Shut up,” she whispered.

But Poppy shook her head.

“No,” she insisted firmly. “You need to know this.”

Her eyes shone now.

“You were… you are their miracle. The one thing they didn’t expect to have, but against all odds, you were born. And losing you…” she swallowed, looking away for barely a second before meeting Rumi’s gaze again with tears in her eyes. “It wasn't just about losing a daughter. They lost themselves, too. Without you, they lost the meaning of their entire world.”

Rumi took another step back, this time more obviously.

“I told you to stop,” she said, but her voice no longer had the same sharpness as before.

Poppy took a deep breath, as if she had to tear each next word from herself.

“You can't keep thinking that they abandoned you or didn't love you,” she continued more slowly, measuring each syllable. “It wasn't like that. It never was. They looked for you; all of us looked for you. Mi-Yeong never stopped hoping; she never stopped believing that you were still alive. And all these years, she’s done nothing but hold onto that same hope.”

Rumi brought a hand to her face, rubbing it insistently in an attempt to regain control.

“What do you mean it’s your fault?” she asked then, trying to steer the conversation toward easier ground. “What did you do? What happened?”

For a moment, it seemed as if Poppy was about to answer. She parted her lips, ready to reply, but then her expression wavered, as if she were on the verge of crossing a threshold she had been avoiding for years. In the end, she closed her eyes tightly and shook her head.

“I can’t tell you that.”

Rumi's change was immediate. The confusion evaporated, replaced by fury. It was a more familiar and manageable feeling, which she clung to tightly.

“Then what the hell is the point of all this?!” she exploded, screaming into the night. “Why are you even here, giving me all that speech if you’re just going to stay silent about the most important thing?!”

Poppy swallowed hard.

“Because all I want,” she replied, “is for you to come back to them.”

Rumi let out a short, incredulous laugh.

“You’re doing a wonderful job achieving that.”

“How can I be sure you’ll actually go see them after you know everything?” Poppy continued, ignoring the sarcasm. “How can be sure you’ll give them a real opportunity if I tell you what happened?”

“Is that really your excuse? Is your grand plan really for me to go off like a nosy little brat towards them to find out the biggest piece of gossip in history?” Rumi shook her head “Be for real…”

“I want you to know the whole truth from the right people.”

The silence turned harsh.

“You're a manipulative bastard,” Rumi said bluntly.

Poppy nodded without hesitation.

"If that's how you want to see it, then yes, I am."

That threw Rumi off a little.

“I made a mistake years ago. A big one,” Poppy added. Now, there was something heavier than superficial guilt in her voice. “If this is the only way I can fix it now, even if it means burning every bridge behind me, then so be it.”

Rumi did know what to say.

The weight of Poppy's words still hung in the air, like a thick fog that wouldn't quite lift. For a few more seconds she held her gaze, but something inside her began to close up, to withdraw with the same speed with which it had opened just moments before.

In the end, she was the one who broke off contact. She looked up at the dark sky, letting the faint light of the streetlamps linger at the edges of her vision. There were no stars, only an opaque, indifferent expanse that offered neither answers nor solace. She exhaled slowly, as if with that gesture she could expel everything that had accumulated in her chest.

She had wasted too much time.

The night had already gone on longer than she had wanted.

Her hand moved towards her trouser pocket almost instinctively and immediately found the norigae. The familiar texture of the small ornaments between her fingers was enough to anchor her, however precariously. She squeezed them lightly, feeling their edges and shapes, and remembering the moment she had chosen them and the brief flash of calm and security she had felt then.

All Rumi wanted now was to go back to Zoey and Mira. To return to that house that still seemed too big, to that room that never quite felt completely hers. To crawl under the covers, with Derpy taking up more space than necessary and Sussie watching from some corner, and simply… stop thinking. Stop feeling.

The truth was that Rumi no longer wanted to get up. But reality had never been kind enough to accommodate her needs. That night, in particular, it seemed determined to remind her of that fact.

The silence between them stretched long enough to become permanent, and Poppy understood it. There was no insistence, no further attempt to force the conversation. Instead, she moved with restrained calm, reaching inside her coat. She pulled out a slim wallet and, from it, a business card. Then, with a pen that appeared between her fingers just as quickly, she wrote something on the back. The soft sound of the stroke on the paper was the only thing that broke the silence. Rumi watched her out of the corner of her eye without saying a word.

When Poppy finished, she handed her the card. Rumi hesitated for barely a second before taking it, her fingers brushing the cardboard with a caution that wasn't quite distrust, but neither was it acceptance. She held it without looking at it, as if the simple act of reading that number implied something she wasn't yet ready to face.

“I’ll keep my word,” Poppy said then. Her tone had changed again, sounding firm. “I won’t bother you anymore. Not you… or Mira or Zoey. I can promise you that.”

Rumi did not look up, but her hand tightened slightly around the card.

“But if someday…” Poppy continued, pausing briefly, “if someday you want to talk or you need answers, call me. No matter the time or place, I’ll come for you.”

Rumi swallowed, but didn't answer. She didn't know what to say without it sounding like she didn't truly mean it.

Poppy watched her for a few more seconds, waiting for something that never came. Then she took a step back, turning just to leave, but something stopped her. She looked at Rumi again, more intently, her eyes scanning the young woman's face with a different intensity, as if she were searching for someone else within her. As if, for a moment, Rumi weren't just Rumi.

The gesture was brief, but clear enough to leave a latent discomfort in the air.

Finally, Poppy lowered her gaze and when she spoke, she did so almost in a whisper.

“Please think about what I told you.”

Poppy didn't wait for an answer.

She turned around for good this time and walked back the way she had come. Her footsteps sounded different now, heavier, as if each one carried something she hadn't been able to let go of. Rumi heard the car door open and close, the engine start, and finally, the vehicle drive away, taking with it the last outsider on that street.

Rumi remained motionless for a while longer, the card still in her hand and the norigae pressing against her palm from her pocket. Derpy approached her leg, rubbing insistently against it, as if trying to draw her attention back to the present, while Sussie squawked near her ear, sounding uncomfortable with the stillness.

Rumi's mind was a tangled mess. Images, words, promises, guilt… all jumbled together without order, without clear logic. Poppy's voice kept echoing, overlapping with others she'd rather forget. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, and when she opened them again, the world was exactly the same.

But not her.

And that was the real problem.

///

There was a time when Rumi's world was confined to the cramped space of the back seat of the Saja Mobile, with the warm weight of Derpy nestled against her side.

One year.

For twelve months, her nights were fragmented and her days began with no promise of improvement, ending exactly the same way. The car wasn't a home; it was a temporary refuge that she had learned to occupy as though it were, adjusting her body to its impossible angles, bending her legs in ways that hurt at first and then simply ceased to be felt. Rumi had always adapted to little, but she now realized that there was always room for more misery.

The metal trapped the cold in winter and the heat in summer. There was no respite. But at least it had walls.. At least it was a place where she could close her eyes without fearing, every second, that someone would drag her out.

The absence of Jinu, Baby, and Mystery wasn't a silent void. It was constant noise. An echo that appeared at the most unexpected moments: in the reflection of a window, in someone else's laughter that didn't belong to any of the boys, in the way her hand still sometimes reached for someone else when she turned over in her sleep.

But there was no one there, only Derpy. And most of the time, Rumi told herself that the cat had to be enough.

There were nights when she would sit with him on the hood of the car, gazing at a city that wasn't hers, speaking in hushed tones as if the cat could respond with more than clumsy meows and glances full of intent but incapable of revealing what they truly felt. Rumi would tell him nonsensical things, fragments of memories and thoughts she couldn't hold onto on her own. Sometimes she laughed and sometimes she said nothing at all.

Because even Derpy, with his constant presence, wasn't always enough to help her cope with everything.

No one had explained to Rumi that loneliness could be like this.

Not as a simple absence, but as something active and persistent. A painful pressure that settled in her chest and wouldn't go away; that distorted the colors of the day, that made sounds seem more distant, that made even the air seem heavier when she breathed it. There were days when Rumi walked among people and felt that she wasn't really there, as if she had already disappeared and no one had noticed, or even cared.

And in those days, not even Derpy could pull her completely out of that dark place from which there seemed to be no escape. Though he tried. In his clumsy, insistent way, Derpy sought to bring her back every time. Rubbing himself against her, taking up space, demanding attention with the only strategy he knew: being there. Always.

It was on one of those dark and depressing days that Rumi found Sussie.

Namsan Park was no different from others she had visited. Tall trees, leaves piling up along the edges of the paths, and benches occupied by people who existed only within their own lives, oblivious to everything else. Rumi had arrived there without a clear intention, dragging her feet more out of inertia than by choice, her guitar slung over her shoulder. Derpy walked beside her, sniffing every corner as if the world still held something new to offer.

The high-pitched, irregular shriek was the first thing Rumi heard. A persistent, even slightly unpleasant, sound. Rumi ignored it at first. She had learned to filter out that kind of noise from her daily life, to not get caught up in every little thing that sounded like a problem she couldn't solve. But the sound didn't stop. It repeated itself over and over until it became impossible to ignore, forcing her to search for its source along the edges of the park.

Soon, she discovered a small, unprotected mass on the ground, among roots and damp leaves. A baby bird barely covered by a patchy layer of developing feathers, its pink skin visible in several places, its eyes half-open and unfocused and beak opened and closed in a desperate rhythm, emitting a sound that wasn't exactly a call but pure need.

Rumi stood still in her place at first, observing the poor bird with an empty expression.

Derpy, as he had done so many times before, decided to investigate first. His body tensed with immediate interest, his steps becoming quieter and more calculated. He approached with the sharp curiosity of a predator who didn't fully understand what was in front of, but who recognized the opportunity to obtain prey.

Rumi stopped him with a curt gesture.

"No."

The cat hesitated but moved forward a little further anyway.

Rumi clicked her tongue firmly and nudged him aside with her foot just enough to break the direct line of sight to the bird. Derpy protested with a small mew, but backed away and sat a few steps from the other animal, looking at it with obvious displeasure.

The screeching continued, and when Rumi looked down at the creature again, she understood the sad fate to which it was condemned. There was no mother nearby, no nest in sight to return it to. No tree around offered a clear answer, and even if it did… it was too late. A little bird like that, fallen and exposed, had little chance of survival.

A living being that was completely alone in the world.

The thought came to her with cold clarity. Rumi knew enough to recognize that the bird would soon die, and for a moment—brief, but significant—she considered ending its life with her own hands. It would be quick. It was cleaner and more compassionate than leaving it there, exposed to the cold, to hunger, or something worse. Something that would eventually happen anyway.

Her fingers tensed slightly at her sides with clear intent. But soon the bird opened its beak again, and that broken sound pierced the air with an insistence that seemed to know nothing of probabilities or endings. It was only crying for help.

Rumi sighed shakily then, feeling after so long that something before her was even more alone than she was.

She knelt down in front of it. The ground was damp and cold, but she didn't care. Leaning in carefully, she moved as if the slightest rough movement could break something that already seemed close to breaking on its own. Her rough, weathered hands closed with unexpected gentleness around the small body.

The bird fit perfectly in her palms, light and bony. Up close it looked even uglier, but if Rumi looked at her own arms or her reflection in a mirror, she knew there wasn't really much difference between them. The bird, at least, if it was lucky, might be able to change its appearance over time. Rumi would never have that chance.

She pressed her lips together, feeling the burning in her eyes rise unbidden.

“I’m sorry…” she murmured, her voice low, breaking down with a feeling she couldn’t quite understand. “You don’t deserve this.”

She didn't know if she was talking about the world, the fall, or herself. Perhaps about all of them at the same time.

The small beak opened again, searching for something that wasn't there. Rumi tightened her grip around it, protecting it from the cold air, the elements, and everything she had almost done to it. She clumsily removed her jacket, opened one of the inside pockets, and carefully placed the bird inside. The movement was slow, almost ceremonial, making sure it was sheltered enough, that the warmth of her own body could sustain it, even if only for a little while.

Derpy protested as soon as he saw her move with a short, confused meow. Rumi picked him up without much fanfare, settling him against her side with her other hand busy protecting the pocket where the small new creature now rested.

“Don’t you dare do anything to him, understand?” she muttered, more out of habit than any real threat.

Derpy looked at her, his large eyes assessing the situation with that characteristic emptiness, but he didn't press the issue. He snuggled against her, still restless, but without the tension of before.

She soon left the park behind as she made her way back to the car. She had no plan and no idea what the future held. The only thing she was sure of was the decision she had made — a decision she could no longer undo.

At first, though, she had no idea what to do.

Rumi had many books. They were old and worn, on various subjects; many she had received from Jinu or Mistery as gifts, others she had found in dumpsters or had been given to her by people who barely looked at her. Over the years, she had learned many things from them: chords, lyrics, fragments of stories that weren't hers, and all sorts of practical things that would be useful in her daily life. But none of them talked about this, none explained how to sustain the life of something so small, so close to death.

With Derpy it had been different. Chaotic, yes. Clumsy too, and full of mistakes. But Rumi had had Jinu, Baby, and Mystery to help her. Even Malsook, on occasion, had contributed to the cat's survival. With Derpy there had been laughter, arguments, and shared training attempts that lightened the burden of each failure.

Now there was nobody else there. Just her, and that bird that wouldn't stop screeching.

The first few days were a constant exercise in trial and error. Rumi improvised warmth with fabrics, searched for food by asking around, observing and learning as she went. Every small advance felt like a miracle; every setback, like an impending death sentence. During that time, she slept less and ate only what was necessary, worried about the survival of an animal she felt she had condemned. And, without fully realizing it, her existence began to revolve around that tiny life that depended entirely on her.

There was something about the process that felt good. A feeling that wasn't like surviving out of mere habit. It was more intentional and present. The bird, like Derpy, ceased to be an impulsive decision and became a purpose.

To Rumi's surprise, Derpy stopped trying to approach with questionable intentions. He watched her closely, though, and stayed near. But there was something about the way Rumi protected the bird that even the cat seemed to understand. As if there were a new hierarchy in that small, makeshift world they shared. As if, for once, he knew where not to cross.

Time passed.

Slow at first. Then, almost without Rumi noticing, feathers began to cover the bare skin. The clumsy movements became firmer. The desperate screech transformed into more defined and confident sounds. And one day, without any exact moment to mark it, the bird no longer seemed on the verge of disappearing. Against all logic and prediction, it had survived.

Rumi watched him for a long time one afternoon, sitting on the hood of the car, with Derpy curled up beside her and a children's book about Korean birds in her lap. The bird moved with more confidence now, pecking and watching, existing with a presence it hadn't had before.

“You’re a magpie,” she muttered, after comparing him to several pictures.

The discovery amused her. There was something symbolic about it; she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was, but she felt it. Magpies were special in Korea, and this one seemed to be even more exceptional.

A little while later, as she was tuning her guitar and humming a song she'd heard on the radio a few days back, the bird landed on her foot, staring intently at her.

“Do you like that song?” she asked, briefly stroking his beak.

The bird squawked and Rumi thought she knew what it meant. She played for a while, watching with pleasure as the bird perched closer and closer to the guitar, seemingly wanting to feel the vibrations of the strings rather than listen to the music.

We've both been sound asleep

Wake up, little Sussie, and weep

The movie's over, it's four o'clock

And we're in trouble deep

Wake up, little Sussie

Wake up, little Sussie

Well, what are we gonna tell your mom?

What are we gonna tell your pa?

What are we gonna tell our friends when they say, "Ooh-la-la?"

Wake up, little Sussie

Months later, Rumi returned to the park. To the same place where it all began, under the same trees that had once seemed like executioners, and which now appeared only as old friends. Or perhaps it was she who had changed her perspective. She held the bird in her hands again, but it was no longer the same trembling creature. There was weight and firmness in it, real life in that small body that flew with agility and grace.

Rumi remembers taking a deep breath, thinking about the sad goodbye but feeling it was necessary nonetheless; Derpy, snuggled on her shoulder, kept purring. Rumi had done what she had to do, what was right, and she wanted to convince herself that was enough.

“You can go,” she said softly, raising the bird to eye level. “I hope you have a good life.”

She opened her hands and the magpie flew away.

The movement was swift, clean. A decisive flap of wings that carried it far away in a matter of seconds, disappearing among the branches, into the open sky that had always belonged to her. Rumi watched until she could no longer see it, and the silence that remained in its absence was… different. Emptier than she had expected.

She lowered her hands slowly, while her chest tightened uncomfortably; a bitter mixture of pride and loss that she couldn't quite reconcile.

“It’s alright,” she murmured, gently stroking Derpy’s snout. “We did well, don’t you think?”

She stood there a few more minutes, staring at the line of trees, expecting nothing in particular. And just as she was about to leave, she heard another quick, familiar flapping of wings. Rumi barely had time to turn her head before a light weight landed on top of her. Small claws gripped her hair without hesitation.

Rumi blinked in surprise.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

The bird began pecking hard at her skull, eliciting a groan from the girl. She tried shaking her head to force the animal away, but only succeeded in making the bird cling tighter to her hair. Rumi finally frowned.

“Do you really want to stay?” she exclaimed, still unable to quite believe it.

In response, she received a squawk from the bird and an annoyed meow from Derpy that made her laugh. The cat didn't seem very happy with the new change of plans.

“Well, okay, yeah, you can stay,” she said, laughing, feeling the pecks again, this time more gently. “You can stay, Sussie… We’ll be good friends.”

Rumi left the park an hour later, feeling lighter than she had in months and thinking with some optimism that perhaps, loneliness wasn't so bad after all when it left surprises like that along the way.

///

Rumi is, above all, a supreme coward. There was no elegant way to say it, no metaphor that could soften it enough to make it any less true.

The room was silent, now too small for the multitude of thoughts that inhabited it. On the mattress, in front of her, the two norigae lay with an almost accusatory stillness. Their fine, carefully intertwined threads caught the lamp's dim light and reflected it back in soft glimmers, as if trying to draw her attention again and again.

And there they remained.

Intact.

Not delivered.

Rumi rested her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, interlacing her fingers and studying them with a mixture of self-annoyance and frustration. She had spent far too much time thinking about every detail and tiny embellishment. Thinking about Mira. Thinking about Zoey. She had been thinking too much, apparently. And all for nothing, since Rumi remained in the same position.

A sigh escaped her without permission.

Ridiculous.

That had been the plan, wasn't it? To hand out the gifts as if it weren't costing her an absurd amount of effort. But no.

Because Zoey had left.

Well, she hadn't left like that. She hadn't disappeared, hadn't been ripped from her life like so many other things. Rumi knew that. It was only a business trip, something temporary, logical, grown-up things. Something normal people did all the time without the world falling apart. And yet, Rumi’s golden gaze slowly drifted toward the closed bedroom door time and time again. There was something about Zoey's absence those days that she didn't know how to process.

It wasn't abandonment. It couldn't be, because Rumi knew perfectly well what abandonment really was. But there was a part of her—a small, persistent, and deeply irritating part—that couldn't quite grasp the difference, and that infuriated her. It infuriated her because she had no right to feel that way. Not when she knew perfectly well what it was like to truly lose someone. Not when she had the evidence, day after day, that Zoey was coming back. That Mira was still there. That little Ru was still running around the house as if everything were permanent and safe; as if the world had no cracks.

Rumi closed her eyes, clenching her jaw slightly in frustration.

Little Ru had taken it badly at first. That much was clear. Rumi had seen it in the way she clung to Zoey before she left, in how she asked twice more than necessary when her would return, as if the answer could change if she insisted enough. Rumi had watched from a distance, as always, feeling something uncomfortable in her chest that she couldn't name because she was invading a space that wasn't hers.

Perhaps that's why the norigae were still there. Because it wasn't just about handing them over, it was… everything that came with it.

Gratitude.

Keen.

Recognition.

Vulnerability.

Too much stuff for something so small.

She opened her eyes again and stretched out her hand, taking one of the norigae between her fingers. She turned it slowly, observing the details as if it were the first time she had seen them and didn't know them by heart.

She had specifically chosen that one for Mira. It was more understated and elegant than Zoey's and less noisy. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile appeared on her lips as she thought about how little that description matched Mira's reality when she danced in the living room as if she were alone in the world.

Rumi's chest tensed slightly.

Yes, Mira was still there, and yet Rumi hadn't gone with her all those days. She hadn't even tried to approach the studio when she was rehearsing, or the kitchen, or any place where she could find her without seeming suspicious. She'd had opportunities, several, and she'd let them all slip by.

Coward, her mind said once more.

Rumi gently lowered the norigae onto the mattress again and leaned back, staring at the ceiling as if expecting to find answers written in the invisible cracks of the paint, but all she found was silence. And memories.

Because, as if her own emotional clumsiness weren't enough, her mind decided—once again—to drag her back to the other night. To that dimly lit street, to that insistent voice.

To Poppy.

The name slipped through her thoughts with irritating ease. Rumi brought a hand to her forehead, covering her eyes as if that could block out what was coming next. But it didn't. It never worked that way. The words kept coming back. Sometimes, Rumi wished she didn't remember thing so precisely. There was something cruel about being able to reconstruct every conversation word for word, as if her mind insisted on not allowing her to reinterpret anything, on not giving her room to soften the edges.

"Hate me."

"Your mothers love you..."

Her stomach clenched.

She turned her head slightly, as if she could shake off the words. She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about Celine. She didn't want to think about Mi-Yeong. She didn't want to think about what guilt meant coming from someone like Poppy. She didn't want to think about everything that had happened in her life and how different everything would have been if she'd had each of those women present at every crucial stage of her development.

Mira had told Rumi that not all parent-child relationships were doomed to fail. But that only applied to people who had a relationship with their own parents to begin with. Rumi had absolutely nothing of that, unless she take into account one particular man… but he wasn’t really the best example of a good parental figure.

Her hand slowly descended from her face to her chest, barely pressing, as if trying to contain something that wouldn't quite take shape. That same something that wouldn't let her move forward. That wouldn't let her get better…

knock, knock.

The sound was soft and respectful, but to Rumi it was as if a bomb had exploded in front of her. Her body reacted before her mind. She leaped out of bed as if she'd been caught in a wrong act, her heart pounding in her chest with absurd violence for something as simple as someone knocking on the door. Her eyes darted around the room until they landed—inevitably—on the norigae on the mattress.

Absolute panic seized her.

“Shit…” she whispered.

She lunged at them clumsily, picking them up as if they were incriminating evidence. In her haste to hide, she took a misstep at the foot of the bed.

The pained meow was the first indication that she had made a mistake.

Derpy protested with offended fury when Rumi's foot landed directly on his tail. The cat reacted purely on instinct, spinning with surprising speed to dig her claws into Rumi's ankle.

“Ah—! Sorry, sorry, sorry!” exclaimed Rumi, stumbling to avoid falling on her furry friend.

Chaos ensued immediately.

Startled by the noise, Sussie spread his wings in an abrupt flapping motion, soaring erratically around the room, squawking indignantly as if the whole thing were a personal affront. Rumi, caught in the middle of the mess she herself had created, jumped back, still clutching the norigae tightly as she tried to calm them both down.

"Okay, okay! It was an accident, Derpy, I'm sorry!" she said with wide eyes. "Sussie, get down!"

The cat looked at her with a mixture of deep betrayal and absolute judgment, its tail bristling, pride wounded.

Another soft knock on the door.

“Rumi?”

Mira's voice echoed through the wood with a calm, confused air. Rumi froze; she glanced at the norigae in her hands, then at the wardrobe, and finally at the door. The decision was made in less than a second. She rushed to the wardrobe, yanked open the drawer, and shoved the norigae inside without ceremony, slamming it shut as if that could erase them from existence.

She took a couple of deep breaths, smoothed down her shirt with nervous hands, and hurried to the door. Mira was on the other side, leaning slightly against the frame, one eyebrow raised and a barely contained smile on her lips.

“Is everything alright?” she asked with genuine interest, glancing into the room.

Rumi nodded too quickly.

“Yes, yes. Everything’s fine.” Her smile was forced, tight at the edges.

Mira watched her for another second and then let out a small laugh.

“It didn’t seem like it,” she replied.

Rumi opened her mouth, but couldn't think of anything useful to say, so she closed it again, opting for a neutral expression that convinced no one. Mira shook her head, amused, before changing the subject with a naturalness that Rumi appreciated.

“Hey, I have to go out for a couple of hours,” she explained, crossing his arms. “A work meeting. Nothing too exciting.”

Rumi nodded, this time more calmly.

"Alright."

“Would you mind staying with Rumi for a while?” Mira added. “It shouldn’t take long. I’ll bring dinner.”

The answer came before Rumi could even think of it.

“Yeah, sure. Not problem at all.”

Mira studied her for another moment, as if measuring something invisible in her expression, and then nodded contentedly.

“Perfect, thank you.” She smiled. “You’re amazing.”

Rumi stood a little straighter at that.

The exchange ended there, simple, uncomplicated. Like so many things Rumi still didn't know how to handle. She left the room almost immediately, closing the door behind her with unnecessary care, leaving inside a still-resentful Derpy and a Sussie who was finally starting to perch back on the window, both clearly at odds with life.

When she entered the living room, the television was already on, filling the space with vibrant colors and exaggerated sounds from an animated film that Rumi didn't recognize. Little Ru was sitting on the floor, completely absorbed in the screen.

Rumi settled onto the sofa beside her, sinking into the cushions and trying—without much success—to shake off the anxiety that still throbbed beneath her skin. A few minutes passed, maybe more; only the sound of the television filled the space, but Rumi wasn't really watching anything. Her mind was still caught between the closed drawer in her room and the words she couldn't seem to stop talking about.

Until she felt a sudden weight on her legs.

Without warning, Little Ru climbed onto the sofa and settled directly onto Rumi's lap, making herself comfortable as though she belonged there. Rumi blinked in surprise and looked down at her. The girl had stopped watching television and was now looking at her with large brown eyes that belied her age.

Rumi raised her eyebrows slightly.

"What's wrong?"

The little girl didn't respond immediately. She rested her hands on Rumi's as if she needed to anchor herself before saying something important. And then—

“Would you love me if I were a zombie?”

Silence.

Rumi stared at her, trying to process the words, searching for the logical connection between the film, life itself, and that question. Then, unable to stop herself, she laughed.

"What?"

The little girl frowned slightly, insistently.

“If I were a zombie,” she repeated with complete seriousness, “would you still love me?”

Rumi leaned back against the sofa, still with a smile on her face, shaking her head slightly.

“I don’t know where you get these ideas…” she said, but her hands, almost unconsciously, shifted to hold the girl more securely. She looked at her with amusement. “It all depends. Would you want to eat me if you were a zombie?”

The girl looked genuinely alarmed.

“No!” she shouted.

“Then yes, I would love you just the same,” Rumi replied.

The little girl narrowed her eyes then.

“So if I eat you, you won’t love me?” she asked, this time with a pout.

“It’s very difficult to feel anything if I’m in your stomach, don’t you think?” The laughter was now clear in Rumi’s tone.

Little Ru nodded, completely serious.

"You're right."

There was a long pause during which the two Rumis stared at each other. The older one smiled, while the younger one considered the imagined situation seriously.

“What if I try to bite you but not eat you?” the girl then asked. “Would you love me?”

Rumi let out another laugh, softer this time.

“Yes, I would still love you.”

"Really?"

“Really, really,” She paused briefly, slightly tilling her head. “But I would put you on a leash or something. For safety.”

The little girl looked at her in horror.

“Rumi!”

The indignation was immediate. Rumi wrinkled her nose slightly, with an amused glint in her eye that wasn't always there.

“What? It’s a practical solution.”

The little girl firmly denied it, crossing her arms.

“That’s not love,” she exclaimed with certainty.

Rumi hummed, thoughtful.

“Maybe you’re right,” she admitted with mock solemnity. “Then I’ll just lock you in the bathroom and slip food under the door.”

“Rumi!”

The protest elicited another laugh from her. Rumi placed a hand on the girl's head to ruffle her hair, trying to make the girl stop pouting.

“Don’t make that face,” she told her. “If it makes you feel better, you’d be a very cute zombie.”

That seemed to cheer the girl up a little.

"Do you think so?"

“I’m sure of that.”

Rumi let out the last echo of her laughter and, without thinking too much, decided to push the game a little further, wanting to stretch out that light moment before it dissolved again.

“Well…” she murmured, observing the girl with a genuine curiosity she made no attempt to hide. “What about you?”

The girl looked at her.

"Me?"

Rumi narrowed her eyes slightly, a shadow of a smile still drawn on her lips.

“Would you love me if I were a zombie?” she asked back.

There was no doubt.

“Yes!” The answer was immediate, as natural as breathing.

Rumi blinked. Something about that speed, that honest certainty, unsettled her more than she expected.

“Even if I tried to bite you?”

The girl nodded with complete conviction.

“Yes. Because you are my Rumi.”

Rumi froze for a moment. The air seemed to grow slightly thicker in her lungs as she processed those words, repeating them in her mind as though they were a foreign language she needed to decipher.

The fingers that rested on the girl's head barely closed.

“…your Rumi?” she finally asked, in a lower, softer voice, afraid of breaking the illusion of the moment if she spoke too loudly.

Little Ru tilted her head towards her, imitating the gesture she has seen a thousand times by now.

“Yes,” she began, with that simple logic that only children handle so naturally. “Eomma and Mama always say that,” she continued, settling more comfortably on Rumi’s lap, completely oblivious to the little emotional earthquake she was causing. “They say I’m their Rumi.”

Rumi swallowed. Her eyes remained fixed on the girl, but her mind was elsewhere, trying to piece together fragments she didn't know existed. The little girl continued, calm and sure of what she was saying.

“And if I am the Rumi of Eomma and Mama, then you are my Rumi.”

Rumi swallowed hard.

“And what does that mean?” she asked.

The child frowned for a second, as if she were organizing her thoughts.

“You are mine,” she finally said. “Like my Eomma and Mama are mine too.”

She paused briefly, looking at the older woman with a seriousness and conviction that didn't lose an ounce of its sweetness. The lump in Rumi's throat tightened, and her lips parted slightly, but nothing came out. Nothing that made sense anyway. Nothing that wouldn't shatter the moment in a way she wasn't ready to face.

The little girl, however, didn't need elaborate answers. She continued, as if she were revealing a universal truth that adults simply forgot over time.

“You told me that all Rumi’s are special,” she recalled.

Feeling a little faint, Rumi could only nod.

“Yes, I did say that…”

“If we’re special, then everyone needs a Rumi to love,” the girl stated.

Rumi lowered her gaze slowly, observing the little girl's face, so calm, so certain of something that, for her—the Rumi who had been through so much and had forgotten how to truly love—was completely uncharted territory. Her hands moved almost without permission, tightening her embrace around the child to draw her closer to her chest.

“And what if that Rumi…” she whispered, “…doesn’t know how?”

Little Ru blinked, genuinely confused.

"How what?"

Rumi exhaled slowly, barely resting her chin on the little girl's head.

“How to be someone else’s Rumi.”

The answer came quickly. Not because the girl fully understood the question, but because, for her, the answer required no understanding, only certainty.

“If we don’t know how to do something, we learn it.”

Simple and straightforward.

Rumi closed her eyes, holding back tears.

“I guess you’re right,” she whispered.

They didn’t see anything more for a while.

The little girl settled more comfortably on Rumi's lap, turning her head slightly to continue watching television, but still clinging to the older woman's clothes. Rumi tried to focus on what was happening on the screen too, but couldn't.

After a while, she gave up, choosing to focus on the warmth radiating from the little girl and the rapid beating of her own heart.

“Hey, little Ru.”

“Hmh?”

“You are my Rumi too.”

The little girl pressed herself even closer to her chest.

///

Rumi could do nothing but pace back and forth.

From the wall to the window, from the window to the door, and from the door to the center of the room, only to turn around and repeat the circuit like a caged tiger.

Her teeth gripped the edge of her thumb insistently, an old, almost forgotten habit that resurfaced only when her mind was racing too fast for its own good. She thought about everything she was going to do. About everything she shouldn't do. About how ridiculous it was to even be considering it.

From her bed, Derpy watched her with utter boredom. His bright eyes followed her every move with the patience of someone who had seen this spectacle far too many times. His tail wagged slowly from side to side, keeping time with Rumi's steps like a living metronome. Sussie, meanwhile, had found a much more productive occupation. He hopped around the nightstand, eagerly pecking at the seeds Rumi had left for him a while ago, completely oblivious to the existential conflict unfolding just a few feet away.

Rumi stopped abruptly after a few minutes. A long, heavy sigh escaped from deep within her chest, carrying with it all the tension accumulated during that constant back and forth she had maintained for what seemed like an eternity.

She ran a hand over her face.

“This is ridiculous…” she muttered to herself.

The word hung in the air, bouncing gently off the walls of the room.

More than ridiculous, it went against everything she had ever promised herself. Against her instinct to always keep her distance. Against that part of her that had learned, by force, to stay out of it, to not open doors she wasn't sure she could close later. And now there she was. Feeling this absurd and insistent need to pursue people she had told herself for years she didn't need. But now, for the first time since she had become aware of who she was, she wanted to understand.

Rumi pressed her lips together.

“How complicated can it be?” she exclaimed.

Derpy responded with a dry, somewhat judgmental meow.

Rumi turned her head towards him.

“Yes, well. Thanks for the support, you don’t know how much I appreciate your honesty,” she replied sarcastically.

The cat blinked slowly, without moving from his spot. Rumi exhaled again, trying to control her train of thought and gather enough courage to make the right decision. If she kept wasting time like this, she would regret it.

She turned toward the door before she could think about it much longer. Derpy was soon up, leaping nimbly from the bed to follow her, his body gliding across the floor with lazy grace. Sussie, after one last hurried peck, flapped her wings and followed too, like a restless little shadow marking the end of a strange procession.

The house was dimly lit. Streetlight filtered through the windows, casting long, soft shadows on the floor. Mira and little Ru were asleep; Zoey was probably getting ready to come back, if she wasn't already on the plane. Rumi wasn't entirely sure how time changes worked, to be honest, but that was the least of her worries now.

When she reached the room, she paused for a second, searching for the house’s phone in the darkness, while feeling her pulse begin to accelerate again.

She picked up the receiver and dialed the number without hesitation. They were burned into her memory, not through deliberate practice, but through involuntary repetition. From having looked at that damned card too many times, hating herself a little more each time.

The phone rang several times until Rumi heard the characteristic click before the call went to answering machine. She clenched her jaw, hung up, and dialed again, this time more firmly and decisively. The ring came back…

Once.

Two.

Three-

“Who the hell are you?” the voice on the other end exploded, laden with irritation and sluggish with sleep. “Do you have any idea what time it is? If this is a joke or you’re trying to sell me something, I swear—”

Rumi couldn't contain the malicious smile that slid across her lips.

“You said I could call you no matter the time.” She interrupted brazenly, taking a seat in the armchair next to the phone. “I’m just following your instructions.”

The silence on the other end was immediate. Rumi was sure she heard the other woman choke on her own saliva so she waited a moment for Poppy to compose herself, giving Derpy a warning look as she saw the cat begin sniffing the living room plant, clearly intending to bite it.

“Rumi?” Poppy finally spoke, her voice completely incredulous. “I didn’t think you actually…”

She fell silent abruptly, clearly at a loss for words. Rumi hummed, slightly pleased to finally have some control over the situation.

“I want answers,” she said seriously. “Real answers. No games, evasions, or half-truths.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Poppy replied, sounding clearly flustered from the other end of the line. Rumi could hear hurried movement and doors opening and closing. “I can come get you right now and…”

"No."

That made Poppy stop abruptly.

“No? What do you mean no?” she asked, confused. “You just said…”

Rumi massaged her temples, telling herself that she had come this far, and she had to commit to her decision.

“There is a small path that leads to a hill near the National Theatre, in Namsan Park,” she explained after a moment. “If it hasn’t been changed, it should still be there, and many people don’t know about it or visit it, so it’s private.”

Poppy seemed insecure.

“I think I know where it is, but Rumi, we could go somewhere else,” she began, clearing her throat. “Your mothers’ house or…”

“I’ll be waiting there for you all in two hours,” Rumi interrupted, frowning. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

“Are you going there by yourself? At this time?” Poppy replied, now sounding worried. “I have no problem taking you and then coming back for…”

After letting out a long sigh, Rumi hung up without waiting for Poppy to finish. She hoped that would be enough for her to understand.

The silence that followed the end of the call wasn't a relief, but a dense pressure that settled inside Rumi like a hand pushing her. For a few seconds, she remained motionless in the armchair, the phone still warm between her fingers, her gaze lost somewhere in the room, as if her mind were trying to reach it from afar.

She had taken the final step. She had done it on her own terms, with the cold precision of someone who had learned not to yield ground without weighing every consequence… and yet, now that everything was underway, the certainty she had felt seconds before began to crack with a dull unease.

She exhaled slowly, bringing a hand to her face and rubbing her temples once more, hoping that this action would bring order to the whirlwind that was beginning to form in her head. Two hours. She had said two hours as if it were nothing, as if she weren't about to face something she had been avoiding for years.

Her eyes drifted to the window; the city slept in that deceptive calm of early morning, where everything seems paused, suspended but never truly still.

That's when the weight of the hour hit her.

It was too late… or rather, too early.

Rumi slowly lowered her hand, glancing at her phone's clock with a mixture of annoyance and belated realization: 3:35 a.m. If she left now without any concrete certainty of when she would return, it would be like disappearing. Again, like so many other times these past months. The thought sent an uncomfortable pang through her chest. Her gaze hardened slightly, not from anger, but from dissatisfaction with herself.

She remembered the other night.

The dimly lit kitchen, the sound of the can as she tried to open it, the whisper she gave Derpy to quiet him… and then the two figures entering, their hair disheveled, their eyes still heavy with sleep but filled with something Rumi hadn't been able to process at that moment: relief. A relief so immediate, so genuine, that it was almost embarrassing that it was directed toward her.

“Could you leave us a message next time?”

It had sounded simple then, practical, and reasonable. It was something normal people did when they lived together. And Rumi wanted to be someone who resembled that idea of ​​a reasonable human being, not an outcast of society. But now, standing in the middle of the living room, the decision throbbing in her veins, that request took on a completely different weight.

She could leave a message, of course she could. It was easy: a couple of words, a vague excuse, something that said, "I went out, I'll be back later." Something enough to cover the surface without giving too many explanations.

But it wasn't.

Rumi's jaw tightened slightly, her gaze drifting to the ground. If she thought about it—and unfortunately, she always did with everything—a message guaranteed nothing. It didn't ensure a return. It didn't truly soothe the recipient's unease. It was a formality, not a promise of return. And Zoey and Mira hadn't offered Rumi formalities, but something deeper that she felt she had to reciprocate in some way. The thought made her uncomfortable, because it ventured into territory Rumi had been avoiding for so long that she no longer knew how to navigate it. It was a much greater commitment than she was used to.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone.

She would be failing Zoey and Mira if she didn't do something more to show them that Rumi would still be there after everything.

The idea didn't come as an external accusation, but as a quiet, uncomfortably honest certainty. Because it wasn't about rules or permissions… it was about trust. And Rumi, with all her resilience, with all her need for independence, knew perfectly well how fragile trust could be when someone decided to break it without warning.

“They just need a message…” she murmured to herself, but not even her own voice managed to fully convince her.

No.

It wasn't enough.

Her gaze then shifted, almost instinctively, to the other side of the room.

Derpy sat there, with that absurd dignity that seemed completely out of proportion to his awkwardly chaotic nature, watching her intently. Further on, perched by the window, Sussie huddled together, a small, dark silhouette against the dim light filtering in from outside.

Perhaps, Rumi could demonstrate in another way that she had reasons to return.

Rumi studied her little companions in silence, and in that silence, something inside her broke a little. She had tried to leave them behind once, a few days ago; she had wanted to prove to herself that she could do it, that she could be normal. Functional. An independent person in the way the world seemed to demand. Someone who left her pets at home and came back every afternoon to feed and cuddle them.

But Derpy and Sussie weren't just simple pets to her, they never had been.

The memory elicited a slight, almost imperceptible gesture from her.

That day had been a disaster.

It hadn't been obvious to anyone—or at least she hoped not—but she'd spent the whole day with a constant pressure in her chest, an anxiety that seeped into every thought and movement, like a silent alarm that wouldn't stop blaring. It was a miracle Mira hadn't noticed... or perhaps she had noticed and simply hadn't said anything. Rumi didn't know, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

But she did know one thing: she couldn't go alone. Not this time. She needed more than her own courage to stay calm and not explode in the middle of Namsan Park.

Her gaze returned to Derpy, and this time it softened slightly, though the tension remained, throbbing beneath the surface. She walked toward him with slow steps, as if each one carried the weight of a decision that had yet to fully settle in her chest. Then she crouched down in front of the cat, placing one knee on the ground, trying to get down to his level.

Derpy tilted her head slightly, observing her with that expression that sometimes-made Rumi think he knew too much. Rumi reached out and rested her hand on Derpy's head, gently and sadly running her fingers through his fur.

When she spoke, her voice was lower than she intended. More vulnerable, too.

“Do me a favor and stay here, okay?” she asked. “Tell them I’ll be back.”

The words came out with an odd ease, as if she had delegated something to him like this before, even though she couldn't quite explain what it was. She hoped the cat could understand the significance of her request, or at least bear it in her absence.

Derpy responded with a soft meow, rubbing his head insistently against Rumi's hand. The gesture brought a faint smile to Rumi's face. She closed her eyes for a second, resting her forehead lightly against the cat's head and letting that minimal contact give her some stability before she stood up again. She called Sussie to her side with a whistle, and the bird responded instantly, landing on her shoulder.

Rumi knew that what was coming wasn't going to be easy, but there was no turning back.

She just hoped her heart could handle it.