sunghoon never thought he’d be the single father of a bubbly 1-year-old girl, but here he was, chasing after his daughter, hana, as she toddled across the small garden separating his yard from yours. his days were filled with baby giggles, diaper changes, and sleepless nights — leaving little room for anything else. yet, he caught your eye every time.

you were four years younger, fresh out of university and renting the tiny house next door. sunghoon seemed worlds away from you, not just because of his responsibilities but also the way he carried himself — steady, kind, and a little guarded. despite his reserved nature, you found yourself waving whenever you saw him, sneaking glances at him and yerin from your kitchen window.

one afternoon, you noticed yerin trying to grab at something over the fence. you stepped out to help, her soft "dada!" calling him over. sunghoon appeared, his white t-shirt smeared with something that looked suspiciously like baby food.

“she’s a handful, huh?” you said, crouching to yerin the small flower she was reaching for.

“you have no idea,” he replied, running a hand through his hair, his tired eyes softening as he watched hana clutch the flower. “thanks for helping.”

“it’s no problem. she’s adorable. i wouldn’t mind helping out more, actually,” you said, your words bolder than your usual demeanor.

sunghoon hesitated, caught off guard by your offer. his first instinct was to politely decline, but the genuine kindness in your voice gave him pause.

“i don’t want to impose,” he said carefully.

“you’re not,” you said quickly, then smiled. “besides, i’m pretty good with kids. yerin seems to like me already.”

yerin gurgled in agreement, reaching her chubby arms toward you.

sunghoon looked between his daughter and you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to imagine the possibility of letting someone in.