Rain kissed the windows of Jinju High the next morning.
Not heavy. Not dramatic.
Just soft—like a memory brushing your shoulder when you least expect it.
The kind of rain that doesn't chase people indoors, but slows them down just enough to notice things.
Like reflections in puddles.
Or people you've been trying not to think about.
---
Inside Class 2-B, the classroom hummed with the usual morning noise—shuffling notebooks, yawning students, the low murmur of whispered gossip.
But Saanvi sat still by the window, her eyes on the blurred sky outside.
She wasn't taking notes.
Wasn't pretending to, either.
Her pen hovered above her notebook, moving in slow, absent circles like her thoughts—spiraling, aimless, unfinished.
Yesterday's rooftop still pulsed in her memory like a skipped heartbeat.
"So you do remember."
"I waited under that tree."
"You said you'd come back."
---
She stole a glance across the classroom.
Jisoo sat in his usual seat—hood pulled low, head down, sketching something in the corner of his notebook.
Not once did he look at her.
Not during roll call.
Not when the teacher handed out graded quizzes.
Not when their desks were pushed together for paired reading.
And not even during after-school cleanup, when he usually disappeared the moment brooms were passed around—like dust and noise were things he didn't belong to.
But Saanvi knew better now.
He remembered her.
And she… remembered him.
Not perfectly. Not clearly.
But enough for it to hurt in places she thought had gone numb.
Something between them had shifted.
And even if no one else noticed, she couldn't unsee it anymore.
---
That evening, the rain was still falling.
Gentle. Persistent.
Like it didn't care if anyone was watching.
Saanvi stood in the hallway for a long time before climbing the stairs.
One hand gripped the metal railing.
The other held her phone, still showing 5% battery and no messages.
Not that she expected one.
She wasn't sure why she was going back.
Only that she had to.
---
The rooftop door creaked open.
And there he was.
Jung Jisoo.
Standing near the far ledge.
Skateboard by his side.
Earphones looped loosely around his neck, their tiny speakers still humming faint music she couldn't hear.
He wasn't skating this time.
Just standing. Watching the rain fall into nothing.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
The world around them felt distant—muffled by drizzle and the thick hush of something unspoken.
Then—
"I didn't mean to disappear," Saanvi said, her voice barely louder than the rain.
Jisoo didn't look at her.
"I didn't mean to care," he replied quietly.
And yet… they had both done exactly that.
They both looked away at the same time.
The silence between them was neither awkward nor easy.
It was just there.
Like old furniture in a room no one ever entered, but never dared to throw out.
---
Then, almost on cue—
A buzz.
Then another.
Both of their phones vibrated at the exact same second.
They looked down.
Brows furrowed.
Same app.
Same screen.
Same pristine white background with a single glowing line of text.
One Plus Notification
____________•••____________
You are one plus away from choosing whether to open the past… or close it for good.
____________•••____________
Saanvi felt her heart still.
Jisoo stared, unblinking.
Neither of them had downloaded this app.
There was no icon for it on their home screens.
No listing in the app drawer.
And yet, there it was.
Alive.
Active.
Waiting.
She looked up slowly, meeting his eyes for the first time that day.
He looked at her.
But neither spoke.
---
Jisoo moved first.
He tapped the glowing button.
A soft chime echoed from his phone.
Like a piano key struck underwater.
Then—the screen faded to black.
No message. No next step. No confirmation.
Just… nothing.
Saanvi hesitated.
Then pressed hers too.
Same chime.
Same fade.
Choose whether to open the past…
or close it for good.
The line echoed in her chest like something ancient waking up.
---
They stood in the drizzle, rain threading their hair, dampening their sleeves.
Time didn't move.
Not really.
Then, Jisoo spoke again—barely more than a breath.
"Do you ever think… maybe we were supposed to forget each other?"
The question landed heavy.
Like a question he'd asked himself many times before.
Saanvi swallowed.
Then shook her head slowly.
"No," she said. "I think we were supposed to remember… exactly now."
---
He didn't smile.
Didn't argue either.
But something in his shoulders relaxed.
The storm behind his eyes eased.
And for the first time since that day under the cherry blossom tree in Busan, Saanvi felt the space between them shrink—not in words, but in understanding.
They didn't need a perfect memory to recognize the scar it left.
---
They left the rooftop together that evening.
Neither of them spoke.
But their steps matched.
Naturally.
Easily.
The kind of sync that doesn't come from effort.
Only from history.
As they walked through the school halls—wet shoes squeaking, fluorescent lights flickering above—Saanvi glanced sideways.
Jisoo was walking with his hands in his hoodie pockets, head slightly down.
But he was walking with her.
Not ahead.
Not behind.
With.
And that—
After all this time—
Felt like a beginning.
---
That night, the rain eased to a whisper against her window.
Saanvi lay in bed, phone on her chest, eyes wide open.
She didn't check her messages.
Didn't scroll.
Didn't call anyone.
Just stared at the dark, as the One Plus Notification replayed in her mind:
____________•••____________
You are one plus away from choosing whether to open the past… or close it for good.
____________•••____________
---
Outside, somewhere in Seoul, someone else's phone buzzed.
And somewhere far deeper—beyond screens, beyond code, beyond time—
a choice had quietly been made