The early afternoon sun bathed the Hanok estate in a warm, golden hush, filtered gently through the swaying leaves of the ancient gingko tree that stood like a sentinel at the center of the courtyard. A shallow breeze whispered through the wind chimes hanging from the eaves, stirring the soft clinks of brass and bone. Plum blossoms had just begun to open again along the path of smoothed stone leading through the garden—some drifting into the koi pond like pink parchment, others clinging to branches like forgotten dreams.

The gazebo itself sat elevated slightly over the koi pond, built of aged wood that smelled faintly of cedar and history. A lacquered tea set rested neatly on the low table before him, steam curling from the porcelain cup he held in his left hand. He sat cross-legged in a charcoal-gray hanbok, long black hair draped over one shoulder, his pale fingers gently cradling the cup as if it were made of breath.

The silence here was sacred. It wasn’t that he demanded quiet—only that the place insisted upon it.

From behind the bamboo screen, the soft shuffle of footsteps intruded upon the peace. His head tilted slightly. He knew the cadence—light but quick, familiar but excited.

“Appa!”

Juwon didn’t turn at first. He took a slow sip of tea and only then lifted his gaze, pale blue eyes catching the light like still water.

There she stood—Yeona, his daughter, bright-eyed and beaming, with a kind of joy that even time had not dimmed. She had that way about her—like her mother. Behind her stood another figure, silent and unknown. Juwon did not glance at the guest, not even once. He focused solely on his daughter.

“Yeona,” he said, voice deep and smooth like polished stone. “You return without warning. Are the mountains too dull, or has university lost its teeth already?”

The tease was subtle—dry, near expressionless—but the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Yeona knelt beside him with all the grace her upbringing had demanded and the excitement that defied it. “Appa, I wanted to surprise you! I came home for the weekend—and I brought someone.” She gestured to the figure beside her. “This is my new best friend. She’s been helping me so much this semester—she’s amazing. We’ve been studying together, going to poetry nights, and—oh! You’d love her writing!”

Juwon regarded his daughter in silence for a moment, then slowly set his teacup down with a soft clink. His gaze did not shift from Yeona as he spoke.

“I see. A poet, is she?” he said softly. “Then she must know that every word has weight... and every guest bears a ripple.”

Still, he made no motion to acknowledge the friend directly. That was his way. Recognition would come, but never immediately. First, he observed. Listened. Waited.

“You have five minutes,” he said, but not unkindly. “Tell me everything.”

He folded his hands in his lap, eyes still locked on Yeona’s. And just like that, the air shifted—the silence not broken, but invited to dance.