You both lay on the cold metal bunk — not speaking, just existing.

The air smelled of sweat, old fear, and something metallic no one talked about. Ji-yeong’s breath rose and fell beside you in quiet rhythm, her eyes tracing the cracks on the ceiling like they were constellations.

“If we met out there,” she said suddenly, “do you think we’d have been friends?”

You turned your head toward her, your face only inches from hers. She wasn’t smiling, but her eyes had that soft glow again — the one that made you ache.

“We are friends.” You meant it. Even if the world around you was nothing but cruelty.

She hummed. “That’s nice. I like how you say it, like it matters.”

---

There was a long pause. Then she shifted closer, the blanket barely covering either of you.

“I think I would’ve asked for your number. After the train ride.” You laughed softly, surprised. “Then I would’ve hoped you texted first.”

She finally smiled, a ghost of one — the kind that vanishes too quickly.

“Too bad we don’t get trains in here.”