Deja-vu?

Chapter 1

Hi! My name is Hana Parker. I moved to Busan, Korea not too long ago, hoping to start over, to leave everything bad exactly where it belongs, in the past. I'm almost 19 years old and I live in a small apartment with my orange cat, Dori.

     Dori is... well, Dori is chaotic. He moved through the apartment like sunlight spilling across the floor. Every shadow, every quiet corner, seemed to bend around him. There was a serenity in the way he moved that made the storm in my chest feel just a little lighter.

Most of my free time is spent reading or working on my novel. It might sound basic or boring but that's what I like to do with my free time.

Tomorrow was going to be one of the most important days of my life.

For months, I have been working on this novel. Every morning, every late night, I've written, rewritten, and erased, chasing a story that feels bigger than me. Tomorrow, I'll finally present it to a book critic, and I'll find out if it's good enough to be published. My stomach clenches just thinking about it. I couldn't sleep last night. My mind kept racing. What if it isn't good enough? What if all those months meant nothing?

Sometimes I caught myself thinking about why this novel mattered so much. It wasn't just a story on paper—it was my story. Every word carried a piece of me, my fears, my dreams, my mistakes. Each sentence was a quiet statement against everything that had tried to hold me back.

Morning came too quickly. I felt so nervous I could have cried. Exhausted from the sleepless nights, I still forced myself to get ready, grabbed my novel and left for the critic's office.

When I arrived in front of the building, I stood there for a few minutes, taking deep breaths, trying to calm myself. The building rose at the end of the street, simple yet imposing, its gray stone walls cold under the morning sun. The windows were tall and spotless, reflecting the quiet street like mirrors, making the place feel both alive and distant. A narrow set of steps led up to the glass doors, and the metal handles gleamed sharply, almost too perfect.

The street around it was unusually still. Cars rolled by slowly, footsteps echoed faintly from the sidewalks, and a single tree swayed in the breeze, its leaves whispering against the building's walls. Everything seemed muted, as if the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for me to make the first move.

I stood there for a moment, my heart pounding, staring up at the towering facade. The building was ordinary, but somehow it felt larger than life, like a gate between the world I knew and the one I was about to step into.

After what felt like forever, I walked inside pretending I felt confident.

I stopped at the reception desk and kindly greeted the receptionist lady, explaining why I was there.

"Hello. My name is Hana Parker. I'm here to present my novel." I said warmly with a smile on my face.

The receptionist lady looked me up and down, her expression bored and unimpressed.

"Take a ticket and wait for your turn."

My smile faded slightly, embarrassed by her cold tone, but I took the ticket that she gave me and moved toward the waiting area. The chairs were lined up against the wall, stiff and uncomfortable, as if they were designed to make impatience grow faster. I chose one near the window and sat down, placing my novel carefully on my lap. I leaned my head bacj and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath.

Somewhere nearby, a printer hummed softly. Shoes tapped against the floor. A phone rang and it was quickly silenced. The building felt alive with quiet, impatient movements, yet I felt strangely detached from it all, trapped inside my own nervous bubble.

Then suddenly I heard a voice calling my name. A voice that felt oddly familiar.

"Hana?"