When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

Chapter 69

Click.

“Wait, wait, one more!”

Click.

Ga-Min suddenly threw an arm around Jiwoo’s shoulder, nearly making her fall.

“GA-MIN, I WILL KILL YOU—”

Click.

Seo-Hyeon made a heart shape with his hands.

Jun rolled his eyes but did it too.

Hee-Won grabbed Cheonga’s face and squished her cheeks.

Click.

Ms. Lee laughed. “One last one! Everyone together—”

And then—

Before they knew it—

Ms. Lee ran into the frame and stood with them.

“GA-MIN’S MOM, PLEASE TAKE THE PICTURE!” she shouted.

Ga-Min’s mom—who had been watching them like an amused spectator—sighed, took the camera, and held it up.

“Alright, everyone! 1…2…3…”

“CHEEEEEEEEEESE!”

Click.

And just like that—

A moment was captured.

A moment where—

Even for just a second—

Cheonga forgot the ache in her chest.

Even for just a second—

She felt happy.

And maybe—

Maybe that was enough.
-------

Cheonga walked into her quiet home.

The house was dark, cold.

There were no voices. No laughter. No warmth.

Just silence.

She slipped off her shoes and made her way to her desk.

Her fingers traced the old wooden surface before she slowly pulled out a leather-bound book from the drawer.

A book filled with letters.

Letters to him.

She flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning the inked words, each letter dated, each one addressed to a name that never responded.

Until she reached a blank page.

And then—

With trembling hands, she picked up her pen.

And she wrote.

Dear Han-Wool,

It’s been eight months.

Eight months since that night. Eight months since I last saw you lying there, bleeding, unmoving.

Eight months since you disappeared.

Today, we graduated. You should’ve been there. You should’ve walked across that stage with us, wearing that gown and with your proud looking face.

Jun was being dramatic as usual, running around screaming about freedom. Jiwoo nearly tackled him to the ground. Seo-Hyeon and Hee-Won wouldn’t stop laughing. Ga Min pretended he was too cool for everything but still took pictures with us.

And me?

I just stood there. Watching.

And for the first time, I wondered…

Would I ever feel whole again?

Would I ever stop looking for you in the crowd?

Would I ever stop waiting for someone who was never going to come back?

Han-Wool…

I miss you.

God, I miss you so much it physically hurts.

Some nights, I wake up reaching for my phone, thinking maybe—just maybe—I’ll see a message from you. But there’s never anything.

Some mornings, I pass by the lake where we always met, half-expecting to see you sitting there, waiting for me. But it’s always empty.

And I tell myself, Stop hoping. Stop waiting.

But how do you let go of someone who was the only person who ever truly understood you?

I should cry. I want to cry. But I can't.

The grief is trapped inside me, like a scream I can’t let out.

I feel like I’m suffocating.

I keep telling myself, “Move on.” “Be happy.” “Smile for the others.”

But Han-Wool… how can I, when you’re not here?

You always acted cold, distant, but I knew you better than that.

You cared.

You always cared.

You told me once—“You’ll survive, no matter what.”

But this doesn’t feel like surviving.

This feels like barely existing.

I don’t know where you are.

I don’t know if you’re alive or dead.

I don’t know if you’re somewhere out there, breathing, living, forgetting me.

But if you are—if you’re still alive—

Please…

Come back.

Come back before I forget what it feels like to be whole.

Come back before I forget how to live.

Please.

Please.

Cheonga.

She put the pen down.

Her fingers tightened around the edges of the page, her vision blurring, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

But still—

No tears came.

Just silence.

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