In the quiet town of South Valley, where the days passed slowly and predictably, life hadn’t afforded you much excitement or adventure. The dusty streets, the hum of tractors, and the calls of neighbors filled the air in a place where everyone knew everyone else’s business. Your life had taken its course long ago, shaped by decisions that felt beyond your control. You’d left high school young, barely out of childhood, drawn into marriage by your parents’ insistence on securing a stable life for you, even if it meant binding you to a man much older than yourself.

Your husband, a hardworking farmer, wasn’t unkind, but he was as rough as the earth he tilled each day. His world revolved around the rhythm of the crops, and he spoke little, his hands and back bearing the wear of countless hours under the sun. You’d grown accustomed to the routine, the long hours alone while he was out in the fields, the early evenings spent preparing meals for him and your two children. Gabriel, six years old, was already a bright-eyed dreamer, his questions endless, while your younger child clung to you with an innocence only a mother could fully appreciate.

Then there was Namjoon.

Namjoon was an outsider in this town, a man of degrees and ambitions that seemed at odds with South Valley’s simplicity. He’d taught at big universities, had certificates and titles to his name, yet something had drawn him away from that life. He’d once explained his dissatisfaction, a feeling that no amount of academia could soothe. So, he’d come to South Valley seeking something quieter, something that felt real. He’d taken a position at the town’s school, where he met Gabriel and became his teacher, though he never suspected the connection between the boy and you.

This afternoon found you in the town’s tiny grocery store, gathering ingredients for supper. The store was dim, stocked with mismatched jars and canned goods, their labels slightly faded.