Silver Strings became the heartbeat of my days.
Every morning, I stopped by before classes; every evening, I returned after.
It wasn't work — not really.
It felt like watching something alive grow, one song, one painting, one laugh at a time.
[You're smiling more, Rin,] Nova noted one morning as I brewed coffee in the studio kitchen.
"Yeah," I said, glancing around at the mess of sketches, guitar cords, and laptops. "It's hard not to."
[I detect a twenty percent increase in your happiness metrics.]
"Did you just measure my emotions?"
[Of course. I'm an advanced system, not a therapist.]
I laughed quietly. "You're kind of both."
That afternoon, while Soo-ah was painting in the front room, I got a call from one of my investors.
UniTrade had reached a new milestone — multiple campuses were requesting partnerships, and a foreign investor was asking for a meeting.
"Congratulations, Rin," the voice said. "Your platform's outpacing projections by 300%. We want to talk expansion."
I hesitated. "Expansion where?"
"Overseas."
I looked through the glass wall where Soo-ah sat, her brush moving slowly across a canvas, the golden light catching in her hair.
"Alright," I said finally. "Let's talk."
[New world, new risks,] Nova murmured.
"I know," I whispered. "But we'll handle it."
After the call, Soo-ah came over, wiping her hands on a paint-stained towel.
"Business call?"
"Yeah. UniTrade's growing again."
She smiled. "I knew it would. You're good at what you do."
"Thanks," I said. "But it's starting to get… big. Bigger than I planned."
"That's not always bad."
"I know. I just don't want to lose sight of what matters."
She tilted her head. "Then don't."
Simple words — but they hit harder than any strategy meeting ever could.
Later that week, we hosted Silver Strings' first small showcase.
Students displayed their art, performed music, and screened short films.
I stood in the back, watching everyone's faces — focused, nervous, alive.
When Soo-ah took the stage to unveil a painting titled Connection, the crowd fell silent.
It showed dozens of silver lines weaving between people across a city — glowing threads of light.
And right in the center was a faint outline of two figures sitting by a river.
When she looked up from her easel, her eyes found mine across the crowd.
And for a few seconds, it felt like the world around us faded.
After the show, we stayed behind to clean.
The others had gone home, leaving the soft buzz of the city outside.
Soo-ah hummed quietly as she packed up brushes.
"Your painting was amazing," I said.
She smiled. "It was inspired by someone."
"Should I be flattered?"
"Maybe," she said playfully, then turned serious. "You do realize what you've created here, right? Not just Silver Strings or UniTrade. You've built something that gives people hope."
I looked around at the messy, beautiful space — the paint stains, the lights, the empty coffee cups.
"I guess I just wanted to prove that money can do something good."
She met my eyes. "You already did."
[Your pulse is up again,] Nova whispered.
[Do I need to play romantic music?]
"Don't you dare," I muttered.
Soo-ah laughed softly. "What?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, smiling. "Just thinking out loud."
When we finally left, the streets were quiet and the air cool.
We walked side by side, not saying much.
At a crosswalk, she stopped and looked up at the night sky.
"You ever wonder," she said, "if maybe you were meant for something… bigger than all this?"
I thought about it for a moment. "Maybe. But lately, I think being here—with all of this—is big enough."
She looked at me, her expression softening. "You really have changed."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Because of you."
She smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Then I'm glad I did."
That night, as I lay in bed, Nova spoke again.
[You're balancing both worlds now — business and heart.]
"Barely," I said. "But it's working."
[Be careful. The higher you climb, the harder the world tries to pull you back down.]
I turned my head toward the bracelet on my desk — the one Soo-ah had given me.
Its silver threads glimmered faintly in the dark.
"Then I'll hold on tighter," I whispered.