Red light spills across the walls like melted wine. Your fingers glide over the windowsill — hot from the all-day sun. A July evening in this foreign country smells like salt, old stone, and burnt sugar. You're just a guest here. Just for the summer.

The clock ticks in sync with your heartbeat — 7:41 p.m. You have nineteen minutes left until the meeting. You adjust your red dress again and again — it doesn’t feel like you, too bold. But Sunghoon likes it. He said so last time: “It matches the sunset. And you.”

He’s waiting by the old lighthouse. Only after sunset. Only when the city quiets down, when the guards at the embassy go out for a smoke. Only when your status — the daughter of a diplomat — stops being a sentence. You made a deal: no phone calls, no words like “after summer,” “in the future,” “forever.”
 You have this. Now.

You run barefoot through narrow streets, heels in your hands. The stone is cool, the sky darkens, and when you reach the lighthouse, his silhouette is already there — leaning on the railing, wind in his hair.

— You’re late, - Sunghoon says, eyes still on the sky.

You rolled your eyes before he said next words.

— What happens when you leave?, - he asks, and for the first time, there’s a crack in his voice.

— I don’t know, - you whisper, - But I won’t forget.

He nods.
 You dance — no music, no rules, just the sound of waves. His fingers at your waist, your lips near his neck. You're fully in this moment. In your little July world.

When the first stars appear in the sky, you feel something inside you breaking. As if summer’s already slipping away. As if time is already taking you.

Sunghoon leans in and kisses you — hard, bittersweet, like he wants the kiss to last forever. Then he says:

**
— So… tomorrow?

And you don’t answer. You just look into his eyes, as if trying to memorize every line. Because tomorrow…
Tomorrow might be the last after sunset.

₊˚•₊˚✧ﾟ。

Two years later.

You look at yourself in the mirror and don’t recognize the girl who once danced barefoot by the lighthouse. The girl who carried summer, freedom, and wind in her soul.

Now, instead of the red dress — a white silk one, carefully chosen by your mother. A wedding dress. A bride’s dress. You were engaged a week ago — no questions, no choice. A boy from a powerful family. Handsome, cold, unfamiliar. Your mother said: “This is what’s best for you.”
 But she didn’t know you already knew what best felt like. It was his hands on your back.
It was his eyes burning in the dusk.
It was Sunghoon. You don’t cry in front of others. You’ve become quiet, sharp, a little defiant. But at night, when everyone’s asleep, you open the wardrobe. Deep inside a box full of old postcards — a few dusty cassette tapes. You slide one into the player you saved back then, from that country. Press play. Static. Then — his voice.

₊˚•₊˚✧ﾟ。 “Okay, this is cassette number five.
 We’re on the beach. She stole my shirt again!
 But I’m not mad. Honestly, it looks better on her.
 Say something!”

“I wish this summer would never end!!”

“Me too.
 But if one day everything falls apart… just know: I’ll still find you.
 Wherever you are.
 I’ll always remember you like this — in a red dress, with the sun above your head.
 Though really… you are the sun.” ₊˚•₊˚✧ﾟ。

You cover your mouth with your hand. Tears pool in your eyes. You sit on the floor in your wedding dress, crying harder than ever before.
Sunghoon’s voice echoes in the dark — like a ghost. Like a prayer. And then — a knock at the window. You jump up, wiping your tears, and walk toward it. Your heart pounds. It can’t be.
It’s impossible. You slowly pull back the curtain. Outside — it’s him.
 Sunghoon. 
In a gray jacket, hair a little messy, with that same look — trembling and determined all at once. He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world.
Just you. And him. You open the window.


— How?.. - you whisper.

He smiles, a little sadly, seeing you in your wedding dress.

— I told you, - he says, - No matter where you are, I will find you.