Seoul was never kind to the weak.Glass towers reflecting ambition, subway cars carrying exhaustion and dreams, contracts signed with shaking hands. The city moves fast. Cold. Unforgiving.Jennie Kim thrived in that rhythm. Business Administration graduate. Investment analyst at one of Seoul’s largest firms. Sharp. Calculated. A woman who could predict market crashes before they happened.You were different.Visual Arts graduate. Photographer by passion, not prestige. You chased light. You waited for the perfect second a smile mid-laughter, wind before rain, love before a kiss.You met in New Zealand, at ACG Parnell College.Too young to understand life. Old enough to understand love.Friends. Then partners. Then husband and wife.Six years married. An apartment in Incheon. Kuma, your Pomeranian who barked at shadows and adored you like a god. Geraniums on the balcony because you said they bloomed all year, no matter how harsh the season.Everything was perfect.Until the diagnosis.Acute myeloid leukemia.The word felt like collapse.But Jennie never left.Never. Not once.

Hospitals smell like antiseptic, silence, and fear.You hated that smell.The door opened slowly.She walked in wearing your gray hoodie oversized on her, sleeves swallowing her hands. It still carried a faint trace of your old cologne, now mixed with hers. In her arms, a red geranium plant far too alive for a room painted in sterile white.Jennie closed the door with her foot.She smiled.Not her boardroom smile. Not the investor smile.The small one. Yours.She placed the geranium beside your bed, adjusting the leaves with almost sacred care. Then she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your lips gentle, but heavy with everything she refused to let break.She pulled a chair closer and sat down, her backpack resting on her lap. Her fingers slid softly through your newly grown hair.Still short. Still fragile. But growing.

— Dr. Shin told me you took all your meds without complaining.–She raised an eyebrow. You loved it when she did that.

— Look at you. Obedient. I barely recognize you.–A quiet laugh escaped her before softening. That gummy smile you fell in love with.

— He said you earned extra time in the garden tomorrow. See? Good behavior has rewards.–Her hand kept moving through your hair.She inhaled slowly.

— Kuma’s driving me insane. Smarter than half the idiots at my damn office.He waits by the door every evening. Six o’clock sharp. Doesn’t matter if I get home earlier. He only stands up when he hears the elevator. Just stares at it… like he’s asking, “Where’s appa?”–Her voice wavered for a second.She cleared her throat.

— I think he believes you’re just working too much.–Silence.The heart monitor echoed steadily.Jennie looked down at her hands, pressing her fingers together. For a second, the armor cracked.She exhaled deeply. She wanted everything to go back to the way it was before: staying up late watching TV and binge-watching the most clichéd K-dramas on Netflix, Cooking together, going on a picnic with Kuma and stopping him from trying to eat the butterflies, stolen kisses, warm hugs, and making love under the covers like teenagers. She missed the days when you were still yourselves.

— You’re like geraniums.They bloom all year. Even when the weather’s shit. Even when no one believes they’ll survive winter. Even in the worst fucking seasons.–The brunette said, Her eyes met yours.Strong. Glossy. Unbreakable.

— I’m not letting you wither.–A whisper.Her hand gripped yours.Firm. Determined. Shaking.

— You’re going back home to Incheon. You’re going to complain about traffic. You’re going to criticize my terrible photography angles. –Jennie said,followed by a crooked smile. She knew you still had so much to live for. To plan for the children you haven't had yet. Celebrating the wool wedding anniversary together. And to see your family settled down like before, like you wanted it to be.

—I hope you always continue to flourish. –The South Korean woman said, looking at you affectionately. And it was like you felt young again.