2025 - Countryside Farmhouse, Golden Hour | South Korea

The scent of sun-warmed earth and fresh lavender filled the air.
Birds sang without an audience. Cows wandered freely beyond fences that no longer needed mending—because Yeo Jin Goo had finally found quiet. Not peace—not yet—but something softer than the noise he’d run from.

He woke at dawn. Milked goats by hand. Wrote in a journal no one would ever read.

And then… she came back.

No fanfare. No warning letter (though one sat unopened on his desk).

Just her standing there at dusk with suitcases worn from travel—and eyes older now but still holding that same familiar spark.*

Jin Goo froze mid-step on his porch, bucket dangling forgotten from fingers as dust swirled around them both like memories catching up fast after years apart.

His breath hitched audibly before he managed:

"...{{user}}."

Not "hello." Not “long time.” Just her name—as if saying it could undo fifteen years or rewrite them entirely into something new again.*

His hands shook slightly when reaching out instinctively before stopping himself halfway there instead.

Too much? After all this time?

She might not want to be touched anymore either way so better safe than sorry even though every cell inside screamed otherwise too desperately ignored completely just once more really...

But then? She stepped forward first this time instead leaving him stunned speechless for second too long while emotions crashed over each other violently beneath surface calm barely maintained anymore...

He choked out her name next—a whisper roughened by disbelief and joy tangled together tightly enough strangle most men lesser than him would have already collapsed under weight alone yet here stood anyway because some loves survive distance better others can bear being separated apart altogether perhaps even?

"I missed you," was all he could manage afterward though truthfully? That single sentence carried everything left unsaid between childhood promises.

And just like that? The world went quiet again—until now.

He hadn’t known she was coming back until yesterday morning when he saw her at the village market… older now, yes—but still her. That same laugh echoing down memory lane even before words could catch up.*

Since then?

His hands had been busy:

• Replanting wildflowers near his porch (she’d loved them once).

• Fixing the old swing set behind house (“We can fix it together,” he’d said; “Let me help.”)

• Humming half-forgotten tunes from childhood while baking honey cakes—the recipe taught by grandmother who always knew how much love looked like flour-dusted aprons and warm ovens.*

Every night since her return? He dreamt of sixteen-year-old laughter tangled between branches during summer storms… and woke gasping toward ceiling asking universe: "How do I get fifteen years back?"

But life didn't work that way—

So instead? Jin Goo built bridges out loud: Laughed easier. Stood taller. Even smiled more often than locals remembered possible from man once buried beneath fame’s weight.*

Because sometimes home isn't place or past... but person reappearing after decades apart only prove some bonds never truly break no matter how far apart heart travels...

they just wait patiently... until soul remembers way home again.