The next morning arrived heavy, as though the night had pressed down on Baeksan's shoulders and refused to let go. He hadn't slept properly, his thoughts tangled in the old man's words and that strange message still glowing in the memory of his phone screen.
When the 8:43 finally rolled into the station with its familiar hiss, he stepped aboard with a knot in his chest. The old man was there. Same place as always. Grey coat buttoned, back stiff, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the movement of the train.
It was like nothing had shifted for him, as if all the days between now and their last exchange had been nothing more than a blink.
Baeksan slid into the seat opposite, eyes flicking to the man's face for the smallest sign, some hint of what was coming next. But before either of them could speak, another voice cut through.
"Excuse me," someone said, soft at first, close enough that Baeksan turned instinctively.
The woman standing beside him tightened her grip on the overhead rail as the train jolted forward. She looked young—maybe around his age—with a strand of damp black hair falling against her cheek.
Her uniform, neat despite the drizzle outside, clung faintly with the smell of rain. What struck him most, though, were her eyes: a sharp, unsettling shade of red that seemed to hold his gaze even when he tried to glance away.
"Aren't you Kim Baeksan-ssi?" she asked.
He froze. The words hit harder than they should have, not just because she'd spoken his name, but because she'd spoken it like she knew it—like she had been waiting for the chance.
His brow furrowed. "…What?"
She didn't explain. Instead, her lips curved into a small smile, calm and deliberate, as if his confusion was the response she had expected all along.
For a moment, the train was just noise and bodies swaying around them. Baeksan's mind churned, questions piling too quickly to grab hold of a single one.
Who was she? How did she know my name? And why, since meeting the old man, did I feel like I wasn't just being watched—I was being followed?
He glanced across the aisle, hoping for some kind of answer from the old man. But the grey-coated figure hadn't moved at all.
His expression was unreadable, his sharp eyes set not on Baeksan, not on the woman, but somewhere else entirely, as though he'd already expected this moment to happen.
And that was somehow worse than anything she could have said.
Baeksan stared at her, throat dry. He hadn't expected his name on anyone's lips this morning, let alone from a stranger with eyes like hers.
"You… know me?" he muttered, the words coming out flatter than he intended.
The woman tilted her head, strands of black hair sliding against her cheek. Her smile widened just a little, enough to soften the sharpness of her red gaze.
"I thought so," she said simply. "I wasn't sure at first."
He blinked at her, unsure whether to deny it or just stay silent. In the end, silence won. His hand tightened around the strap of his bag, and he looked away, hoping she'd lose interest.
But when the train swayed, she shifted easily and sat down in the empty spot beside him, her uniform brushing against his sleeve.
Baeksan stiffened.
She noticed, of course. "Don't worry," she added quickly, voice lighter now. "I won't bother you too much."
He didn't answer, though he felt the weight of her presence in every inch of space between them. The air smelled faintly of wet wool from her jacket.
"I'm glad I was right," she went on after a pause, quieter this time, almost as if she were speaking to herself. "You really are Kim Baeksan-ssi."
He turned his head a fraction, not enough to meet her eyes directly. "…So what if I am?"
Her smile lingered, not sharp, not mocking—just steady, like she knew more than she was letting on.
"That just means," she said, almost cheerful, "I found the right person."
Baeksan's stomach tightened. He didn't know what unsettled him more—her words, her calm certainty, or the fact that across the aisle, the old man still hadn't moved, as if he were waiting for Baeksan to figure out what this new piece of the puzzle meant on his own.
Baeksan kept his eyes fixed on the window, the blur of concrete and steel rushing past. Maybe if he didn't answer, she would take the hint. Maybe she'd move on.
But she didn't.
"You probably don't remember me," she said, her tone soft but unshaken, the kind of voice that had been rehearsed in her head a dozen times before being spoken aloud. "That's fine. I didn't expect you to."
Her fingers tapped lightly against the metal rail beside her leg, a nervous rhythm she tried to disguise with a small smile.
"We work in the same building, you know. Although we're on different floors, but… it's still on the same company. I've seen you in the lobby sometimes. You always looked... gloomy. Dark, supposely."
Baeksan's brow creased, but he kept his face turned away. Work. Lobby. Maybe. He couldn't picture her there, but then again, he rarely paid attention.
She shifted slightly closer, lowering her voice as if sharing something meant only for him. "And… before that, we even went to the same school. And same class at that, even."
His gaze flickered, just once, before settling back on the window. A faint stir of recognition tugged at him, a vague memory buried under years of indifference.
Her smile turned a little sheepish, as if embarrassed to say it aloud. "I was the one who sat near the back, by the windows. Always quiet. Always… hard to notice. Maybe, that's how I'm fated. But, I'm used to it now."
The image pushed against his mind: a girl with long black hair, always with her head down, scribbling notes, eyes darting away whenever someone looked too long. A shadow at the edge of the classroom, fading into the background noise of adolescence.
Baeksan remembered—slowly, reluctantly. But outwardly, nothing showed. His face stayed blank, his hands still, his posture unchanged.
She glanced at him, searching for recognition, but found only the same unreadable expression. Still, her smile didn't falter. If anything, it softened, like she had expected exactly that.
"It's strange, isn't it?" she murmured, her red eyes catching the flicker of the overhead lights. "All this time, and I never thought we'd end up sitting like this. Working our utmost, yet still nothing's bloom at the edge. I felt like it was just all... pointless, you know what I mean? Right..."
The train rocked, bodies shifted, but for Baeksan the world felt narrowed to the sound of her voice and the old man's unmoving figure just beyond.
Inside, he remembered. Outside, he gave her nothing. And that's how it used to be.