When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 37

The hallway felt colder the deeper we walked.

I didn’t even know this part of the hospital existed until tonight. It was quiet—too quiet—like even the walls knew they weren’t allowed to echo joy here. Just whispers. Just footsteps that didn’t dare carry sound.

Seok Kyung walked beside me, her hand trembling in mine, and Woo Joon followed behind, uncharacteristically silent. None of us spoke. Not on the drive here. Not when the police met us at the side entrance. Not when they quietly said the words I would spend years trying to unhear.

"She drowned. Hangang River. Identification needed."

I didn’t ask questions.

Because the moment they said her name, a part of me already knew. Somewhere in the pit of my stomach, in that dark, hidden place that always braced for the worst—I knew it had something to do with me.

They led us to a double door. Stainless steel. Frosted glass. The kind you see in crime shows but never believe you’ll ever walk through. Until you do.

“Are you ready?” the staff member asked gently.

I wasn’t.

But I nodded.

They pushed open the doors, and the room swallowed us whole.

It was freezing inside, lit only by a soft overhead bulb that seemed far too warm for what it had to shine on.

There were three tables. One of them had a body. Covered in a white sheet.

I felt my heart clench. My breath stuttered, but I moved forward, steps stiff, mechanical. Seok Kyung’s hand gripped mine tighter. Woo Joon reached out, holding Seok Kyung’s shoulder like if he didn’t, one of us would collapse.

The attendant stepped forward, his voice gentle. “We’ll lift the cover just enough for identification.”

I nodded again.

The sheet was pulled back.

And there she was.

Ha Ya.

My Ha Ya.

Her skin was pale, almost bluish, lips slightly parted like she’d wanted to say something just before the end. Her hair, soaked and tangled, still clung to her face in frozen waves. Her eyes were closed, thank God.

I wanted to scream.

But nothing came out.

Instead, I fell to my knees beside her, hand flying to my mouth as the sob tore through my chest—deep and primal.

“No,” I whispered. “No. No. No. No—”

Seok Kyung knelt next to me, already crying, but quieter. Woo Joon stood frozen, his face unreadable, jaw clenched so tight it looked like he was holding in every scream I couldn’t.

“She was just here,” I choked out. “Three hours ago, she was here. I said goodnight—she smiled, and I didn’t—I didn’t—”

My voice broke again.

No one stopped me as I collapsed forward, forehead resting near the edge of the table, sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe.

She was my friend. She was my friend and she died because of me.

Because I knew something no one else did.

The police had handed me a plastic bag earlier—her things. Her phone. Her necklace. Her shoes. And a small folded note they assumed was hers. But it wasn’t her handwriting.