Seoul — Late March 2025
The month had passed quickly. Too quickly.
Ami's suitcase lay half-packed near the door of her guest apartment. Her laptop blinked on the table. The return ticket to Abidjan was booked.
Outside, Seoul pulsed with spring. Lanterns lit the streets of Insadong. Cherry blossoms bloomed along the Han River. But Ami felt suspended — as if time had fractured again.
She had seen Yo-han almost every day.
Walks. Meals. Shared stories.
Shared silences.
Neither of them spoke of love.
But it hovered, unspoken, heavy and obvious.
⸻
That morning — Final training session
The Korean team applauded her.
"You were one of the best trainees we've ever had," said her supervisor.
"Your vision is sharp. You'll go far."
She smiled politely.
But her heart ached.
Not for the job.
For what she couldn't name.
⸻
Later that day — Farewell walk
Yo-han joined her near Bukchon Hanok Village, where the old houses leaned against each other like secrets.
They strolled without a destination.
"So, you're really leaving tomorrow?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
"And after that?"
She paused.
"I go back. Life resumes."
A breeze carried pink petals between them.
She turned to him.
"But this… whatever this is, it doesn't feel like just coincidence."
He nodded. His fingers brushed hers.
"I know things now," he whispered. "Things I shouldn't. Memories that aren't mine. And when I'm near you, they… settle."
Ami's voice trembled.
"Sometimes I look at you and I feel like I lost you once already."
They stood in front of a quiet tea house. The owner, an elderly woman, stepped outside and looked at them, smiling knowingly.
"Your souls have met before," she said in Korean.
Yo-han translated.
Ami felt her throat tighten.
"Maybe we can't stay together," she said. "But maybe we've been given this one chance — to meet. To remember. To carry something old into something new."
⸻
The Next Day — Airport
They hugged.
Not like strangers.
Not like lovers.
But like something beyond both.
"This is not goodbye," she whispered.
"No," he said. "This is… a beginning."
⸻
Abidjan — A week later
Back in her office tower, Ami looked out over the city skyline. A soft breeze entered through the window. On her desk lay an old book of Korean folklore. Between its pages, a cherry blossom petal.
She didn't remember placing it there.
But she smiled.
⸻
Seoul — Same time
Yo-han opened a package.
Inside: a necklace.
African beads woven around a single blue stone.
No note.
Just a feeling.
A memory.
⸻
Final Line:
Across centuries, across oceans —
some souls are never truly apart.