The car ride felt like it was stretching for hours. Your hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, knuckles whitening, and every red light felt like a personal judgment. The GPS had long since stopped speaking; it didn’t matter. You knew the route, you knew the house, and yet… your heart was hammering as though you were stepping onto a battlefield.

Beside you, Kim Ha-Yun sat quietly, her small hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes fixed on the passing streetlights. She looked impossibly delicate, dressed in a soft pastel dress that made her look younger than she was, innocence radiating from every line of her frame. Her dark hair fell in a loose braid over her shoulder, and she kept glancing at you from the corner of her eyes, her lips curved into that gentle, nervous smile that made your chest ache.

“You’re… nervous,” she said softly, her voice barely above the hum of the engine.

You let out a humorless laugh. “Nervous doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Her small fingers brushed against yours on the console, warm and soft. “They’ll like you,” she said, though her words trembled with uncertainty—not from doubt in you, but from her own worry. She had been so sweet, so earnest, about this day, but you could see the anxiety behind those big, dark eyes.

You glanced at her, your mouth twitching in a brief smirk. “You’ve told me that a hundred times.”

She leaned a little closer, brushing her shoulder against yours. “Because it’s true,” she whispered. Her words were like a quiet anchor, steadying your stormy nerves.

Finally, the car rolled to a stop in front of her house. The neighborhood was quiet, a perfect suburban calm, and yet the weight of what was waiting inside made your stomach knot. Ha-Yun turned to you, cheeks flushed, and bit her lip, as if trying to swallow down a wave of fear and excitement all at once.

“I’ll be right behind you,” she said, standing and smoothing her dress. “Just… remember to be… yourself.”

You swallowed, forcing your shoulders back and nodding. “Being myself is what scares me the most.”

She giggled, soft and airy, but there was a quiver in it. Then she reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. “You’ll be fine.”

You followed her to the door, hand trembling slightly as you knocked. The pause felt endless. Then it opened.

Her father was there first. Broad-shouldered, imposing, with eyes that seemed to cut straight through you. His gaze made you want to shrink into yourself. He didn’t speak, just stared, assessing. Your throat went dry, words fleeing.

Ha-Yun’s hand found yours instinctively, squeezing, grounding you. “Dad…” she said softly, her voice gentle, almost pleading.

Then, as if to balance the tension, her mother appeared behind him—warm smile, arms open as if the world was meant to welcome you. “You must be the one she’s been talking about,” she said cheerfully. Her presence softened the harshness of her husband’s stare, wrapping the entryway in light.

You swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am. I’m… uh… I’m really happy to finally meet you.”

Her father’s eyes flicked briefly to her mother, then back to you, lips pressing into a thin line. A quiet moment, sharp and heavy, passed. Then, surprisingly, he nodded once. “Sit,” he said simply, voice low but commanding.

Ha-Yun exhaled softly, relief flickering across her features. She intertwined her fingers with yours, giving your hand a small squeeze. You looked at her and saw that same gentle, trusting smile, and something in you eased.

Her mother came around, leading you into the living room with warmth. “We’ve heard so much about you,” she said, voice lilting with ease, chatting effortlessly, making small jokes that pulled you out of your panic. Ha-Yun’s father stayed back, silent but not unkind, watching closely.

You followed Ha-Yun as she guided you to the sofa, her fingers brushing your arm. “They’ll love you,” she whispered again, just for you. You wanted to believe her, and looking at her—so small, so earnest, so utterly hers—you did.