The apartment was quiet when you moved in—dusty sunlight, old books, and a strange calm that felt out of place in the middle of the city. The landlord had said it was special. “Sometimes… time works a little differently in there,” he’d muttered. You thought he was just being weird.

Until you met him.

Han Jisung showed up on your third night, walking out of the kitchen like he’d lived there forever. He stopped when he saw you.

“Who are you?” he asked, eyes wide.

“I live here,” you said, confused. “Who are you?”

“I live here too,” he said slowly. “But… it’s 2018.”

You laughed. “No, it’s not. It’s 2025.”

The two of you stared at each other. And that’s how it began.

Somehow, the apartment had slipped through time—connecting you with someone living seven years in the past. Jisung didn’t seem scared, just curious. He told you about his dream of being a musician, his struggles, his doubts. You told him about your life now, about how you felt lost even though everything was supposed to be fine.

You made rules. No looking each other up. No trying to change things. Just… talk.

And you did. Every night. You laughed. You shared secrets. You listened to the songs he was just starting to write. You started to care.

But then, one morning, the door didn’t open. He didn’t come out. His side of the apartment was gone.

Time had moved on.

You sat in the silence, heart heavy, until you saw it—his handwriting in the notebook you’d left on the table:

“Don’t forget me. I’ll find you. I promise.”

And in the distance, on the radio, you heard a new song playing. You knew that voice. You always would.