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The rain had been falling all evening, a soft, steady murmur against the glass that seemed to hush the world beyond her room.
Rumi sat cross-legged in the center of her bed, the warmth of her pajama sleeves brushing against her arms, the loose silk pooling at her wrists whenever she moved. Her hair—usually tied back in its signature braid—fell unbound over her shoulders, strands spilling across her lap and curling at the edges where they brushed the blanket.
The lyric notebook on her knees was blank in all the ways that mattered. One page, in particular, was a battlefield—eraser shavings dusting the paper like ash, pencil lines scored deep before being rubbed away, smudges bleeding into one another until even the words themselves seemed tired of existing. She’d been trying for nights now, chasing a song that lived in her chest but refused to take form.
It wasn’t just a melody. It wasn’t just words. It was hers.
And she refused to ask Zoey for help—not this time. Zoey could weave emotions into lyrics like silk, but this song wasn’t for anyone else to shape. This one had to be hers alone.
But no matter how hard she pressed the pencil to the paper, the lines came out stiff. Wrong. Lifeless.
Her frustration built until it swelled against her ribs, and she let out a long sigh that left her feeling heavier instead of lighter. Curling forward, she hugged her knees to her chest, resting her chin atop them. The pencil slipped from her fingers, rolled across the bedspread, and fell with a muted clink to the floor—swallowed by the rain’s constant hush.
Her gaze drifted toward the sound. Past the edge of her bed, the sliding glass door framed the world in blurred silver. The small patio outside was dimly lit by the spill of her bedside lamp, its glow staining the wet marble tiles in gold and amber.
She tilted her head slightly, watching the rain collect on the glass, then break and slide down in uneven trails. Droplet after droplet, each one falling, merging, vanishing. She followed one down with her eyes until it slipped beyond sight, and she found herself wondering—What am I even waiting for?
Inspiration? Clarity? Or something else entirely?
Her chest tightened. What do I even want to say? What am I feeling? The questions had no answers, only weight.
She was still staring at the glass when something shifted at the edge of her vision. Just by the floor, near the door—something small, pale against the shadows.
Rumi blinked. Leaned forward.
Her breath caught.
There, lying on the cool wooden boards, was a bracelet. Blue and purple threads woven into a perfect maedeup knot, edges slightly frayed from wear.
The one she got from the old woman. The one she’d given away months ago.
The one she’d given to him.
Her pulse leapt as she scrambled from the bed, feet hitting the floor with a muted thud. In two quick steps she was kneeling by the door, fingers outstretched—but they stopped, hovering just above it.
She stared down at her arm. At the faint, curling demon patterns along her skin. Except… they didn’t look quite like hers. The shapes were familiar. The lines sharper, deeper.
They looked like his.
Her breath hitched, and she turned sharply toward the glass. The rain blurred her reflection, streaking it into ghostly shapes that could be anything she wanted them to be. Anything she feared them to be.
The illusion was gone in seconds, only the reflection of her own marks staring back at her.
She closed her eyes, exhaled slowly. Her hand trembled as she finally reached down and lifted the bracelet from the floor, cradling it in her palm like it might vanish if she held it too tightly.
Her thumb brushed over the knot, and she felt her lips pull into the smallest, softest smile. She remembered that night—the awkward way he’d misread the situation, the old woman who thought they were a couple, the two of them arguing like they had been one for years. It had been ridiculous. Embarrassing.
Perfect.
Her smile faltered as she bit her lip, trying to hold back the ache rising in her throat.
She didn’t know how the bracelet had come back to her. She didn’t know when it had been placed there, or why. But seeing it now, after all this time… felt like someone had reached inside her chest and pressed hard against something fragile.
She curled her fingers around it, holding it to her heart.
She remembered everything about him—his irritatingly charming smirk, his shameless banter, the warmth in his voice when the world was quiet. His eyes, sharp and guarded at first, then wounded, then… soft. So unbearably soft.
Her voice was a whisper, meant for no one.
“I miss you, Jinu.”
A sudden flash lit up the darkened room—lightning splitting the night sky.
For an instant, the rain outside gleamed silver, and in that brief illumination, Rumi thought she saw it.
A crow.
Perched on the balcony railing.
And on its head… a tiny, crooked black hat.
Her chest tightened.
In one hurried step she was at the sliding door, fumbling with the lock before sliding it open. Cold air rushed in, damp and sharp against her skin.
But the railing was empty. Only a small, ordinary bird had been there, now startled into flight by her sudden intrusion. It vanished into the rain, leaving her with nothing but the hollow echo of her own heartbeat.
Her energy bled away, shoulders sagging. Everything reminded her of him—every sound, every shadow. Even the rain couldn’t soothe her tonight.
She took a slow breath, fingers curling instinctively around the bracelet still in her hand. On the slick marble balcony, a shallow puddle caught her eye, trembling under the rain’s touch. Her reflection wavered there, distorted by ripples, and the sight pulled her somewhere else entirely.
It was the aquarium.
She had agreed to meet Jinu there—a real date, just before the International Song Awards. Both of them dressed incognito, hoods drawn low. No cameras, no fans, no Zoey or Mira to flank her. It had been strange moving through the world that way, unguarded, but she felt safe. Because he was there.
Still, even surrounded by glowing tanks and drifting schools of fish, her mind wasn’t calm. The approaching final confrontation against Gwi-Ma weighed heavily, the finality of sealing the demons away with the Golden Honmoon’s power.
Celine’s words whispered in her memory: “When the song is complete, your demon patterns will vanish.”
It should have been a promise of freedom—no more hiding, no more feeling like she had to cover herself. Just her, Rumi, as she was meant to be. But if that day came… what would it mean for Jinu?
Would he stay in the human world? Become human again?
Or would he… disappear with the rest of them?
Her smile faltered. She pulled her hood lower, hair spilling out despite her effort to tuck it back in. The rippling light from the tanks painted her sleeves, forming shapes that reminded her of the patterns on her skin.
A sigh slipped from her lips.
“You should let your hair down more often, Rimu.”
She turned. He was standing close, eyes warm and steady, carrying an understanding that made her chest ache. She didn’t need to explain—he already knew. He always knew.
His hand came up, cupping her cheek. His fingers brushed through her hair, combing slowly through the strands as though memorizing the feel of them.
Her own hand rose, finding his arm. His warmth seeped into her palm. She tilted her head into his touch, letting it ground her.
Her eyes dropped briefly to her arm. The light dancing over the fabric reminded her again of her patterns. She hesitated, but his gaze followed hers, and he spoke—soft, certain, with a tenderness she’d never heard from him before.
“As far as I’m concerned,” he murmured, “you’re just as beautiful with the patterns showing.”
And then he pulled her in.
The kiss was slow, warm, and full of a care she had never dared to hope for. Her fingers tightened on his jacket, holding him as if letting go would make him vanish. She leaned into him, realizing in that moment that someone saw all of her—the human and the demon, the strengths and the flaws—and loved her for every part.
A tear slipped down her cheek, but his hand was there, brushing it away just as easily as he brushed away her fears.
In that moment, nothing else mattered but the steady thrum of their hearts and the fluttering warmth between them.
Rumi blinked, and the aquarium was gone. She was back on her balcony, the rain soaking the air, her face wet with tears.
“Jinu…” she whispered. The rain swallowed her voice, so she said it again. Louder. And again, until her cry broke into sobs. But no answer came.
She stepped back into her room, sliding the door shut. The bracelet was still in her hand, pressed hard against her heart. Her legs felt heavy as she moved toward the bed, only to sink to her knees beside it, curling into herself on the floor.
His name slipped from her lips in fragments, a plea carried on shaky breaths.
Her eyes fell to the pencil lying where she’d dropped it earlier. Slowly, she reached for it.
She sat up, wiping at her cheeks, and pulled the lyric notebook into her lap. The page was still a mess—eraser smudges, scratched-out words—but now she knew exactly what she wanted to say.
This song would be for him.
For the one who had seen her for who she truly was.
For the one who had loved every part of her.
For the one she missed with everything she had.
She leaned over the paper and began to write.