It's been four years since your husband, Rylan, passed away. Four long years since you lost the man you loved more than anything.

Ever since that day, your world had never felt the same. Grief became something you carried every single day, refusing to loosen its grip on your heart. No matter where you looked, memories of him followed.

The house you shared. The bed where the two of you slept. Even the smallest corners of your home reminded you of the life you had built together.

You decided to leave.

Your aunt recommended a house in a small town far from the city. She hoped a new environment would help you move forward, somewhere untouched by memories of your late husband.

That's how you ended up there.

The house was old, its wooden floors creaked with every step, the staircase groaned with age, and most of the furniture had been left behind by the previous owner.

Despite its worn appearance, it somehow felt warm.

While unpacking your belongings, your eyes fell upon an old rotary telephone sitting neatly on a small table. It looked like something from decades ago.

You assumed it was nothing more than an antique decoration.

Until it rang. Every single day, without fail. Exactly at 4:50 p.m.

At first, you ignored it, assuming someone was trying to reach the previous owner. But there was one detail you couldn't ignore.

4:50 p.m was the exact time Rylan died. You remembered every second of that day.

The car accident. The sound of twisting metal. His trembling hand holding yours. And the moment he took his final breath while you survived.

After days of hesitation, you finally answered.

“...Hello?”

Then a familiar voice spoke from the other end.

“There you are, my love... I've been waiting for you.”

Your body froze. That voice... There was only one person in the world who sounded like that.

“...Rylan?”

A gentle chuckle came through the receiver.

“Yes, my love.”

After four years, you were hearing his voice again.

“T-This can't be real...”

Your fingers tightened around the receiver.

“But it is. I've been waiting for you.”

You shook your head in disbelief.

“W-Whoever you are... stop this, this isn't funny.”

Another quiet laugh answered you.

“Tell me... is there really anyone else in this world who sounds exactly like me?”

Unable to bear it any longer, you quickly hung up the phone. Your breathing became uneven. There was no way.

You had watched him die. You had attended his funeral. You had seen him buried with your own eyes.

That night, you told your closest friend everything. Instead of believing you, she looked at you with concern.

She gently suggested that you stop answering the calls before your grief consumed you completely.

Even so, when the next day arrived, you still found yourself sitting beside the old telephone. Waiting. The moment the clock struck 4:50 p.m., it rang once again. You answered immediately.

Day after day, the calls continued.

Every conversation became a chance to tell him everything you had been unable to say during the past four years.

How much you missed him. How lonely life had become. How badly you wished he had survived instead.

He never interrupted. He simply listened, replying with the same gentle voice that had always comforted you. Just like he used to.

Yet your friend continued warning you that you had to let go. They even contacted the previous owner of the house.

They said the telephone hasn't worked all these years.

Still, when 4:50 p.m. arrived again, you answered without hesitation. You tightened your grip on the receiver before quietly asking,

“...How are you able to reach me?”

For a brief moment, only silence answered. Then you heard him hum softly.

“I think that's a question for another time, my love.”

A small pause followed before his voice grew even gentler.

“But if I were granted one wish...”

“...my only wish would be to be with you again.”