No Strings Attached

INTRO

Doctors asked slowly, softly, as if raising their voices would make her crumble.

"Sweetheart... do you know your name?"

The girl sat on the hospital bed, small and pale under the fluorescent lights. Bandages wrapped her feet all the way to her ankles. She held the blanket in her hands, fingers curled lightly in the fabric.

She looked up at the doctor with wide, empty eyes.

"...I don't remember," she whispered.

Her voice was quiet.
Fragile.
Exactly what a traumatized six-year-old should sound like.

The doctor softened immediately. "That's okay. We'll help you remember."

Mrs. Baek stepped closer, her worry clear, but she kept her tone gentle.
"You're safe now. No one will hurt you."

The girl only nodded once, small and hesitant.

That was when the door slid open.

A boy stood there.

Same age.
Same height.
Same dark eyes.

But clean, polished, healthy.

He stared at the girl like he'd walked into the wrong room.

Mrs. Baek startled and hurried to block his view. "Yeseong, honey—wait outside."

But the girl was already looking at him.

Her stare wasn't sharp this time.
It was slow.
Curious.
Child-like... almost.

Just enough to pass.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes flicking from the woman to the boy, then back.

"...Why does he look like me?"

The room went still.

Mrs. Baek froze.
The boy blinked.
And the doctors—who had thought she was just a lost, frightened child—suddenly exchanged looks.

They looked at the boy.
Then at her.
Then back again.

Same features.
Same bone structure.
Too identical to dismiss.

One doctor cleared his throat. "They... they do resemble each other quite strongly."

Another stepped closer, checking her face with a clinical eye. "Very strongly."

Mrs. Baek swallowed, tightening her hold on the boy's shoulders.

The girl watched all of this quietly, hands still in her lap, expression soft and confused—exactly what they expected a six-year-old to be.

Inside, she said nothing more.

Outside, every adult in the room was already forming assumptions for her.

A lost child.
A traumatized runaway.
A mystery they needed to protect.

And she let them believe every word.

The doctors murmured among themselves, quietly but not quietly enough.

"Strong resemblance..."
"Possibly related?"
"But she doesn't remember her name—how would we confirm?"
"She needs rest first."

Mrs. Baek's hand tightened protectively on the boy's shoulder.
He shrank back under the attention, eyes darting between the girl and the adults.

The girl watched it all.

Still.
Silent.
Perfectly small.

Then she lowered her gaze—slowly, deliberately—letting her expression soften into something timid, something easily misunderstood.