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𝐈.
One December day, Sung Hanbin heard a beautiful voice floating over the banks of Han River.
Snow was falling—hardly the best time to be outside, but Hanbin had a tradition. Every winter he returned to his favorite spot, following his superstition that it would bring him good luck for the year ahead.
The streets were nearly empty. With the city at the grand light festival, Christmas night felt quiet. But that voice, carrying perfect Chinese melodies, kept drawing Hanbin in like magnet.
He found a handsome young man sitting on grass, watching the frozen river. The song ended as Hanbin stepped closer.
"That was beautiful. Does it have a special meaning?" he asked, skipping any greeting. He didn’t know this person, but speaking first felt right.
No response. The silence lingered uncomfortably for a minute. The young man never moved, absorbed by the view.
Biting inside of his cheek, Hanbin crouched, keeping a friendly distance. “Sorry if I came off rude. I just… wasn’t sure how to get your attention.” He scratched his neck before offering a gloved hand. “I’m Sung Hanbin!”
But the stranger didn’t react.
The lake bore witness to the awkward scene—one boy holding out his hand, the other not even looking his way.
Cheeks pink with embarrassment, Hanbin stood to leave, but slipped, sending snow onto the stranger’s coat. That finally made him turn.
Hanbin mouthed an apology. Still, there was no response.
Their eyes met. It would’ve been easy to look away and let the moment pass. But neither of them did. Instead, they quietly studied each other’s faces.
Hanbin cut the silence, his face turning even redder. “Uh… sorry. Again.”
That’s when the stranger narrowed his eyes, then pointed to his ears, signaling Hanbin to wait. He fumbled through his pockets until he pulled out a small box.
He took out hearing aids.
“Were you talking to me?”
The words were spoken softly, almost a whisper. His voice held a poetic sweetness, each syllable unhurried.
Hanbin’s heart skipped a beat.
The stranger tilted his head, blinking innocently. “Uh?”
“Oh, sorry—yes, I mean—” Hanbin tripped over words, caught in a mess of thoughts. The boy’s expression remained neutral.
Clicking his tongue, Hanbin tapped his forehead. “I heard you singing earlier and asked about the song. I mean, the lyrics. I just wanted to talk. I thought you were ignoring me—I didn’t realize you… were…”
His voice trailed off awkwardly.
A small smile tugged at the boy’s lips.
“Lydia.” He chuckled as Hanbin looked puzzled. “The song. It’s an old Chinese one.”
“Oh.” Hanbin nodded, processing. “So, you're from China?”
The boy gave a small nod before finally standing, dusting the snow off his clothes. With a warm smile, he asked, “Do you want to see the lights together?”
𝐈𝐈.
His name was Zhang Hao. A genetic degenerative disease had caused his deafness from birth.
"Why weren’t you wearing your hearing aids?" Hanbin asked as the night drew to a close. They had spent nearly four hours talking, getting to know each other.
Walking beside him, Zhang Hao said, “I like to take them out when I want to disconnect from everything.”
“That’s a little dangerous, don’t you think? Even with your other senses sharper…”
Zhang Hao shrugged. “I don’t care about myself or fear dying. My health’s fragile anyway, it could happen any time.”
Hanbin froze. Zhang Hao took three more steps before realizing he was walking alone.
“I don’t like the way you said that,” Hanbin murmured, mirroring Zhang Hao’s low tone. Hao was caught off guard by his seriousness.
“Hey, you don’t have to—”
“I care. Even if you don't.”
Their eyes met once more. Hao sighed, rubbing his neck.
“I told you, even my own parents didn’t care enough to keep me.”
He had once mentioned being adopted at five. But when he turned eighteen, his adoptive mother passed away—leaving him alone all over again.
“I hate how easily you talk about yourself like you don’t matter,” Hanbin said. “From now on, I’m taking care of you. That’s not just a goal. It’s a promise.”
Like Hanbin's, Zhang Hao’s heart skipped a beat.
𝐈𝐈𝐈.
Hanbin kept his promise that winter, never letting Zhang Hao’s hands grow cold, warming them as the blizzard tried to freeze their hearts.
By spring, they started dating.
Under the cherry blossoms, Hanbin whispered, “I have a surprise.”
Expecting chocolates or flowers, Zhang Hao raised an eyebrow when Hanbin jogged back from the car with a large package.
Inside was a violin. A beautiful one. Hao’s eyes widened.
With a smooth flow, Hanbin said, “You always loved the sound. Now you can learn.”
Hao’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious? My hearing is limited, even with ear aids—”
“There’s nothing in this world you can’t do,” Hanbin interrupted.
Tears threatened as Zhang Hao stared at the instrument. Then he set it aside, pulling Hanbin into a tight embrace and kissing him sweetly, oblivious to everything else.
“I’ll learn your favorite song. Deal?”
Hanbin smiled tenderly. “Lydia. The song that led me to you. Play it for me.”
At that, Zhang Hao recalled that snowy night by the Han River.
“I’ll play it for you and sing it too one day. You’ll see.”
𝐈𝐕.
But summer passed. Then came fall.
Zhang Hao never played his violin.
During winter, Hanbin found himself once again on the banks of Han River. He sat alone on the frozen grass, watching ice form over the water as people gathered for the grand light festival.
Through his headphones, a melody played—the song that brought him to the person he failed to protect.
In the silence of passing hours, vivid memories slowly forged a resolve—leading to the most important decision of his life.
That December day, Hanbin made a new promise. He would never let go of Zhang Hao’s hand again.
So he went to find him, hoping to hear his cadence. One last time, or for eternity.