Chapter Text
The warm glow of the sun peeking through the window cast a hazing around the room. Seonghwa groaned in her sleep, the rays hitting her eyes and reminding her that the day had begun. However, it was not the annoyingly warm gaze of the sun, or the rattling alarm clock that woke her up —no, it was a set of tiny hands on her face.
Seonghwa peeked her eyes open at the feeling of the small fingers tapping at her cheek—soft but persistent.
“Mama.”
The door was wide open and a bean in a fluffy onesie was half laying on her. Seonghwa's first breath tasted like sleep and exhaustion, the kind that settled in her bones and refused to move.
She rounded her head to meet her daughter's serious expression with a slight pout. Her mouth titled before she realised she was smiling.
Strands of hair stick up in all directions from sleep, cheeks still warm.
“Good morning.” Seonghwa murmured, voice rough but gentle. She raised her hand and cups Hani’s cheek, tapping her rosy cheeks.
Hani eased into the comforting touch, a content sign leaving her lips. Seonghwa pushed herself up, her back back complaining — not quietly, but she ignored it, like she usually did. Rolling out of the bed, a small, fluffy ball in hello kitty socks trailed behind her.
There was a list of things she needed to do today —work calls, messages she hadn’t answered, laundry that needed to be folded but they all blurred into one thing:
Ninth time.
Her stomach tightened.
“Let's get changed, sweetheart.” She looked over to Hani. Who was rocking slightly in place, her attention on her cuddly toy, a pink bunny — DDEONGbyeoli. Seonghwa moved to stand in front of her, it took a second for Hani to look up.
“Bathroom?” Seonghwa whispered again, brushing a few strands of her away from Hani's eyes.
Socked feet pattering against the hardwood floor as she walked toward the bathroom. A tiny figure in oversized pajamas, carrying the trust Seonghwa wished she deserved.
𓂃⋆.˚
Seonghwa flicked on the main light, however it was too harsh , so Seonghwa flicked on the small mirror lamp instead. Mellow, dim light spilled across the tiled floor, softening the edges of everything.
Hani climbed onto her little stool automatically, her fingers tapping lightly against the sink. Seonghwa kissed the top of her head, her chest tightened.
Placing the toothbrush in her small hands.
“Do you want strawberry toothpaste today?” she asked.
A faint nod, “Yes, Mama.”
She watched as her daughter lifted the toothbrush with that intense concentration, brows frowning. Some days Hani preferred to brush her own teeth, some days she didn't. Today she looked determined to do it herself. She stood tall, mirroring the strong girl Seonghwa knew her to be.
Seonghwa let herself watch for a few seconds longer than necessary, her heart aching in that familiar, overwhelming way — love laced with fear, adoration tangled with guilt.
Closing her eyes, she breathed through her nose and turned to wash her own face. She would get ready later, preferring Hani to be ready first. The little girl was looking at her every few seconds, as if checking to make sure Seonghwa was still present.
“I’m here,” Seonghwa murmured softly.
Hani’s fingers tapped the sink a little faster, comforted.
The kitchen felt too quiet, the solitude completely engulfing her, all she could think about was what today might hold. The crushing responsibility made her skin crawl from fear—fear she didn't know what to call yet.
Seonghwa set Hani’s plate on the table: toast cut into soft rectangles, a handful of strawberries, scrambled eggs kept separate so nothing touched and a glass of warm milk.
Hani climbed into her chair, pulling her knees up against her chest before slowly lowering them. When she settled, her eyes traced the edges of the food taking it in.
Seonghwa sat beside her, her own worries fading with the familiar warmth.
Hani took a strawberry between her fingers and held it up to Seonghwa without looking at her.
“Mama eat,” she said simply.
Seonghwa took the strawberry, she bit into it savouring the sweet-tangy flavour.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice staying soft, warm.
She took a sip of coffee — stale, bitter but she swallowed it the way she swallowed everything, quietly and stubbornly. It was a gloomy contrast to the strawberry.
Her eyes landed on the pamphlet on the counter.
Sunnyside kindergarten: A place where every child blossoms
Ninth time.
Ninth time she's seeing the same deceptive taglines.
Eighth time her daughter's been shunted because of societal norms.
Hani continued eating her food one bite at a time, slow and careful, licking her lips every so often.
𓂃⋆.˚
“Ready to go?” She asked gently.
Hani hummed in acknowledgement, not a yes or no.
Ready was not something Seonghwa expected. Only effort — which Hani always gave. Even when the world chose not to see.
Selecting clothes was more like silent negotiations. Some mornings nothing felt “right”. The sleeves too itchy. Socks unbearable.
Today Hani felt drawn to her sparkly shoes with little stars on the side. She bounced excitedly when Seonghwa pulled out a matching shirt.
“Good choice, sweetheart.” Seonghwa bent down to lace the shoes, smoothing Hani’s pants when she fussed at the seams.
She hummed along slipping a pair of noise-softening headphones into her back, along with her books, a few handkerchiefs and her own endless, gnawing worry.
After everything was settled and they had reached the house gate, Hani reached for her on her own, fingers fitting into Seonghwa’s, Byeoli tucked under her other arm.
Seonghwa inhaled, the chilling air hitting her face. Stepping forward, carrying her daughter, and hope into the cold morning.
𓂃⋆.˚
The car hums.
Hani likes the hum, it's always the same. It doesn't surprise her.
She sits on the back seat. Her feet dangling but never touching the floor. Her shoes sparkle when the sun hits them. She twists them to watch the light jump.
Her mama talks.
But not to her.
Mama talks on the phone again.
“Yes, alright.”
“I'll send it soon.”
“I can't right now.”
Her Mama's voice is heavy. Is mama angry?. Her hands stay on the wheel, eyes stay on the road.
Hani looks at the mirror. She sees mama's mouth moving. She doesn't look back.
It's okay. Mama does this when the car is moving fast. The fast car makes the buildings disappear quicker.
A truck honks. It's too loud.
Her shoulders jump. She wraps her hands around her tummy, until the loud feeling is all gone. Mama doesn't look back but turns the music down without being asked.
Her mama knows everything.
Hani doesn't know how mama understands but she always understands things that make her tired.
She watches her fingers tap on the steering wheel. They tap twice on a red light.
Tap. Tap
Hani taps her fingers like that too.
Hani presses her forehead against the window. The glass is cool on her skin. She traces lines in the fog with her finger. One line. Two lines. She makes a star but the blurry edges make it look like a square.
Soon the car stops humming.
Hani doesn't unbuckle her seatbelt, she waits. Her mother always tells her to wait.
“Okay. “ her mama says softly. “We're here.”
After unbuckling her own seat, her mama opens the car door. Wind rushes in, it's different from home. Not like soap or peaches.
Hani doesn't like this new smell.
“Remember,” Mama says kindly. “I'll come back “
Hani believes her, she nods even if she doesn't know what back is. It's not a number. It's just a word.
Mama smooths out Hani's hair too many times. It means mama is nervous.
Hani holds mama's sleeve. It makes her stop moving. They stare at each other and Hani is right, mama is nervous; she doesn't like it.
𓂃⋆.˚
A feeling of apprehension settles in Seonghwa the moment they step inside.
Familiar rows of colourful classrooms confine the hallway.
Multiple sounds, numerous voices overlap each other. Shoes squeaking on the floor, children crying or laughing too loudly. More than that the adults talking over each other as if their volume equaled competence.
Instinctively, she adjusted her grip on Hani's hand.
A teacher looked their way — “Good morning.” The teacher smiled at Seonghwa, gaze soon trailing towards Hani. A warm smile played on her lips. A smile most teachers give on the first day.
“This is Hani.” She spoke, sensing Hani's distress. Her tone was completely neutral. “it's her first day.” She could feel Hani shift beside her, choosing to hide behind her long trench coat. Tiny fingers tipped in a rhythmic pattern. Seonghwa bent just slightly, offering words of reassurance under her breath. Lightly brushing strokes on Hani's knuckles when it got to loud.
The teacher gestures towards classrooms, explaining rules, schedules, activities — nothing seonghwa hadn't heard before., words written in a script that she knew by heart.
She stayed engaged out of respect, nodding at right times, a smile here and signing whatever documents. All while her eyes stayed on her daughter.
She mostly stayed close, eyes darting around the rooms, taking everything in at once.
They didn’t go straight into the classroom.
Instead, Hani stopped in front of the fish tank by the entrance, eyes wide with amazement.
Seonghwa almost laughed.
The tank was large, it was built into the wall, filled with soft colourful lights and slow-moving fish orange, white, silver. All drifting about the water.
Hani pressed her palms flat against the glass. “Fishies.” she said, wonder filling her voice.
“Hmm, there are so many,” Seonghwa smiled, crouching beside her. “That one’s very grumpy looking.”
Hani tracked the fish Seonghwa pointed at, slowing it with her finger, her head tilting slightly.
“That one looks shy.” Seonghwa added, nodding at a fish hiding behind a rock.
“And that one—”She paused, squinting her eyes, “—is definitely a rule breaker.”
“That fishie doesn't listen, like me.”
Seonghwa chuckled, “Oh really?” She hummed. “Is that why you like it so much?”
Hani giggled.
It wasn’t loud. Just a soft, sweet little thing. She forgot about everything except the way Hani’s eyes lit up when the silver fish darted past. Leaving a bubbling traill.
“Mama, Can we come see them again?” Hani asked.
“Every day,” Seonghwa said easily. “ We can come and say hello and goodbye to our new friends.”
Hani nodded, satisfied.
After somtime Hani seemed fulfilled. She took Seonghwa’s hand again, swinging it back and forth between them as they walked.
Seonghwa let herself believe —just for that moment — that maybe this time it will be different. That this place will be kind.
𓂃⋆.˚
It had been 30 minutes since they arrived.Seonghwa checked the clock on her phone.
8:20.
And class started at 8:30.
Ten minutes. Enough time, she told herself repeatedly.Hani had adjusted a little to the new environment, time to look around and been rushed into a room full of strangers She’d learned that much the hard way.
The entrance hall had thinned out. Parents made their way though instead of large crows, voices softer, movements less frantic. A few lingered near cubbies or benches Some kids waved parents goodbye. Others had already run in, enthusiastic over a new day.
Seonghwa shifted the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and took a concentrated breath.
Okay. She needed Hani to get to class.
“Hani,” she said gently, glancing down.
Her hand met empty air.
Seonghwa froze—not in panic, not yet, just in puzzlement. Her gaze scanned the space immediately, not missing any detail. Her maternity instinct trained her to keep track.
There.
Hani stood several feet away, near the end of the hallway. She facing a row of windows. She wasn’t running. Wasn’t distressed. Just… elsewhere.
Seonghwa let out the breath she’d been holding.
She didn’t call her name again. Didn’t hurry, didn't snap at her. She walked over at an even pace, the sounds of her heels evening soothing her
“Hani” she said again, closer now.
Hani didn’t turn but her shoulders shifted slightly—acknowledgment.
Seonghwa stopped beside her. Following her eyes outside the window, there a tree moved slowly in the breeze, fresh green leaves dancing around. Hani’s fingers traced the glass in small, absent patterns.
Seonghwa reminded herself. Class will start soon. She needed to find the classroom, talk to the teacher, ease Hani into the day. She had no reason to prolong the experience. It will eventually need to happen.
“Hey.” she murmured. “We need to get to class soon.”
Hani hummed, eyes still fixed outside.
Hwa didn’t push further. She leaned lightly against the wall instead. Around them, the day carried on footsteps, distant voices, doors opening and closing somewhere around the building. Nothing out of the ordinary.
After a minute, Hani turned on her own and began walking, but not in the direction towards the classes, not toward Seonghwa but further down the hallway.
Seonghwa's head titled, hesitant.
“Hani.” she said, firmer this time.
Hani kept going.
Just following something that seemed to peak interest. No mischievous or bad intentions.
Seonghwa followed.
She stayed a few steps behind, not frantically running, just letting her do her thing. Hani wandered when something caught her interest, drifted toward whatever made sense to her internal logic.
She felt it's best to just observe.
They passed an open doorway —inside small chairs were stacked neatly, many arrays of play mats . Another room held shelves of toys still untouched. The most motionless they will be today.
Hani stopped beneath a hanging display near the corner of the hall.
A paper mobile.
Stars, moons and uneven shapes cut from construction paper. All strung together with thread. It turned slowly in the air, twirling with slight bump.
Hani reached up.
She touched one star with care, so as to not ruin it. Watching as the whole thing shifted spinning just a little faster. Seonghwa's face softened, attention keenly to that single, innocent interaction.
But, looking at the time she needs to redirect. Time pressed closer than she liked.
Hani rose onto her toes, just barely tall enough. The way her fingers brushed the paper lightly, like if too much pressure would ruin it. The way her breathing relaxed, her shoulders dropping as the model continued to spin in pretty sounds. The world is not her concern.
“Careful,” Seonghwa said, not annoyed or angry.
Hani hummed again, absorbed like before.
Seonghwa shifted her weight from one foot to the other, preparing herself mentally for the next step—taking Hani away from the model, asking where the classroom was, introducing Hani and doing the careful sendoff she’d practiced in her head all morning.
Seonghwa felt her spin straighten before she realised it.
She opened her mouth to speak.
A voice came from just beyond the corner.
It was velvety but Baritone.
“Hi there.”
Seonghwa turned.