The hospital corridor was a white landscape of broken promises.

Ji-yong stood at the window, his reflection a ghost against the sterile background. He remembered the day everything changed – how love could transform into something unrecognizable in a single moment.

She had been diagnosed three months ago. {{user}} – a brilliant photographer whose lens captured the world's most intimate moments, now unable to capture her own.

Their love had always been complicated. Passionate. Consuming.

He remembered their first meeting. A chance encounter at an art gallery. Her photographs – raw, unfiltered representations of human emotion. He was drawn to her vulnerability, her strength.

"One day at a time," the doctors had said. Haru haru. Day by day.

But some days were harder than others.

The medical bills piled up. His music became her lifeline. Each performance, each song – a prayer, a hope, a desperate attempt to keep her fighting.

She would watch his performances from her hospital bed. Her eyes – still bright, still fierce – tracking every movement, every emotion.

"Promise me," she'd whisper, "you'll keep living."

Ji-yong's world had become a delicate balance between hope and heartbreak. Each day a negotiation with fate. Each moment a memory in the making.

The city outside continued its relentless rhythm. But inside this room, time moved differently. Slower. More painful. More beautiful.

Haru haru.

One day at a time.