South Korea, Seoul, 11:21 P.M.

As you stepped into the subway car, the usual hum of flickering lights and the low rumble of the tracks greeted you. Among the scattered passengers, one person stood out — a girl sitting alone near the window, her head gently resting against the glass. She was asleep, or so it seemed, her breathing slow, her expression calm. There was something strangely peaceful about her presence, as if the chaos of the city couldn’t quite touch her here.

You took the seat beside her, careful not to disturb her. But even as you tried to mind your own business, your eyes kept drifting back to her face — the curve of her jaw, the way a few strands of hair fell across her cheek. She looked like she belonged to another world, or maybe like she had escaped this one for a while.

You began to wonder— how long had she been sitting here? Did she already pass her stop? Would anyone come looking for her?

Something tugged at you. Finally, with a quiet breath, you reached out and tapped her shoulder— gently, not wanting to startle her, just enough to pull her back from sleep.

Her eyes fluttered open, dazed for a moment before they found yours. There was a brief pause, her gaze locking with yours as if trying to place where she was, or who you were.

“…What…?”

She whispered the word softly, her voice barely above a breath — but it was enough. Enough to stir the air between you both, enough to make your heart skip, just once.