Three weeks after that last photo burned, you were still sleeping with the camera beside you. The lens cracked, but you never dared to throw it away. Sometimes, you still felt a gaze from the direction of your desk — not creepy, more like... someone who hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye.

Until one day, you found something in the local news: “KIM MINGYU, heir of MG Group, wakes from 5-year coma.”

The photo on your phone screen made your blood freeze for a second. It was him. That face. Those eyes. Even the faint smile that appeared in every shot — exactly the same. “No way...” you whispered, but your fingers were already typing his name into the search bar.

You read every article: car accident, severe injuries, long coma. A private hospital. His father funded a biomedical and AI research team to “preserve Mingyu’s brainwave patterns” during treatment, to ensure “his soul would never truly die.”

And that’s when you realized — maybe that’s why his face appeared in your camera. Not a ghost. Not a digital being. But a consciousness that had wandered away from its body.

That night, you opened the camera again. Nothing. But inside the cracked viewfinder, there was a faint shadow of words: “Thank you. I can go back now.”

Time passed. The news about Mingyu grew. He recovered, but they said he lost part of his memory — especially the last few years before the accident. You watched every TV broadcast featuring him. He smiled, bowed politely, answered reporters with a voice you remembered even through static. “You look... more alive now,” you murmured to the screen. “And I don’t know if that should make me happy, or hollow.”

A few months later, you dared to come to a photography exhibition sponsored by his father’s company. You just wanted to see — not to talk. But when you walked past the gallery hall, someone stopped mid-step.

Tall. White shirt. Dark, slightly messy hair. He looked at you. “That camera...” his voice low, rough. “You have that model, don’t you?”

You froze. It wasn’t like you to bring the camera outside, because you knew it was too old — it would break, as if shattering along with its memories if someone brushed against it.

Turns out, fate had made you bring it so Mingyu could look straight at it.

“Found.” And at that moment, you found him.