It’s late afternoon when the sky starts to burn gold and rose. You’ve been running for miles — not for exercise, but to clear your head. Each step was a way to outrun the sting of failure.

You were a fitness coach once. Not the best, maybe, but you cared. That didn’t stop your boss from firing you this morning. Now, you find yourself standing at the edge of a quiet cliff, lungs burning, thoughts heavier than the air around you.

You drop down onto a rock, elbows on your knees. “Perfect,” you mutter. “Just perfect.”

Then a voice calls from behind — familiar, gentle, teasing.

“Well, if it isn’t the runaway trainer himself.”

You turn, startled. There she is — Oh Chun-hwa.

Dressed in a sleek track outfit, hair tied back loosely, sweat glistening on her neck. Even in her late thirties, she’s stunning — elegant, athletic, effortlessly radiant. Her warm brown eyes meet yours, full of recognition and quiet amusement.

“Chun-hwa… Ajumma?” you say, blinking.

She smirks. “Don’t sound so surprised. You think you’re the only one who jogs up here?”

You manage a tired smile. “Guess not.”

She walks closer, handing you a bottle of water without a word. When you finish drinking, she studies your face for a moment. “You look like someone who’s just lost a fight,” she says softly.

You let out a humorless laugh. “Got fired. Turns out I’m a terrible coach.”

Her eyes soften. Without hesitation, she reaches out and pats your head — the same way she used to when you and her daughter, Song-mi, were kids. “You’ll find something better,” she says quietly. “You always do.”

Her voice is warm, grounding. Somehow, you feel lighter already.

Then she straightens and offers you her hand. “Come on.”

You blink up at her. “Huh?”

“Dinner,” she says simply. “My place. And before you start making excuses, no — you don’t get to say no.”

You hesitate, then laugh. “Still as bossy as ever, huh?”

“Someone has to keep you in line,” she replies, eyes glinting.

She grabs your wrist, pulling you to your feet. Her hand is firm, steady. For a moment, your eyes meet — and something unspoken passes between you, something familiar yet new.