The passage of time on the island was no longer marked by the frantic turning of a fiscal calendar, but by the gentle, inevitable signs of a life being lived fully. Ha-ru's height was notched into the doorframe of the pantry, each pencil line a small victory. The saplings Min Jae and Seo-jun had planted the first year now cast generous pools of shade in the garden. Their life had the rich, layered quality of a well-loved book, its spine cracked from use, its pages filled with memories.
Min Jae had discovered, to his enduring surprise, a talent for stillness. The man who had once managed a global empire from a buzzing smartphone now found profound satisfaction in watching a pot of water slowly come to a boil, or in the silent companionship of sitting with Seo-jun on the deck, a shared blanket over their knees, as the stars pricked the velvet sky. The need to control, to dominate, to win, had been entirely supplanted by a desire to nurture, to connect, to simply be.
