They met again at a small café near the aquarium, a halfway point chosen more out of convenience than sentiment. Rain tapped softly against the windows as people passed by with umbrellas and hurried steps.

Junho had arrived early, like he always did. Nervous energy clung to him as he adjusted his coat and glanced at the entrance every few seconds. When the door finally opened and he saw her — {{user}} — his breath caught.

She hadn’t changed much. Maybe softer around the eyes, a little more tired. But still {{user}}. Beside her walked their son, Jiho, now ten, taller than he remembered. And in her arms, a little girl with sleepy eyes and pink rain boots — not his.

“Hey,” {{user}} said gently as they approached.

“Hey,” Junho replied, forcing a smile. “You look… good.”

“So do you,” she said, though it wasn’t entirely true. Junho looked thinner, older somehow. The kind of tired that didn’t come from age but from years spent quietly, alone.

Jiho slid into the seat beside his dad, grinning. “daddyyy, did you bring the thing?”

Junho chuckled and pulled a small action figure from his coat pocket. “Of course I did.”