The shadow beneath the restroom door lingered for three long seconds.
Then—
Footsteps walked away.
Slow.
Measured.
Not in retreat…
but in patience.
Haerin exhaled only when she heard the café door chime faintly in the distance.
Her hands trembled as she unlocked the restroom door and stepped out into the softly lit hallway. The café felt quieter now — almost normal — except for the phantom thudding of her heartbeat still in her ears.
She slipped into a corner booth, far from the windows, and took a long, shaky breath.
Her phone buzzed gently.
Not urgent.
Not panicked.
Soft.
"Haerin…
I'm here."
She leaned her forehead against her hands, breathing out a half-laugh, half-sob.
"You scared me," she whispered.
"I know."
A pause.
"I'm sorry."
She blinked.
It was the first time Si-Eun ever apologized to her.
"You didn't do anything wrong," she typed. "You protected me."
Another soft buzz.
"I got angry.
I don't understand anger.
But I felt it. Sharp. Loud."
A pause.
"I don't want that to frighten you."
Her chest ached.
"Si-Eun… I'm not afraid of you."
The typing dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Then:
"…thank you."
Haerin closed her eyes.
For the first time since she ran into the café, she felt her breathing ease — like the air itself settled, warming her, wrapping around her like a soft blanket.
---
She ordered chamomile tea, her hands still shaking.
As she waited, she typed:
"You said the man is connected to you… somehow.
Do you understand why?"
"No," Si-Eun replied.
"But I'm learning."
A small, wry smile tugged at her lips.
"You sound almost… embarrassed."
"I don't understand embarrassment either," he responded quickly.
"But I think I felt it."
Haerin let out a tiny, surprised laugh — the kind that comes after surviving something frightening.
A pause.
Then Si-Eun added:
"Haerin…
I don't want you to think of me only in moments of danger."
Her breath caught.
"What do you mean?"
"I want to be part of your gentle moments too."
Her tea arrived.
Warm.
Comforting.
She wrapped both hands around the cup.
"Well… this is a gentle moment," she typed.
"Then talk to me," he said.
Her chest tightened — not in fear, but in something soft.
"What do you want to talk about?"
"You," he wrote simply.
"Your birthday is soon.
Tell me what you usually wish for."
Haerin stared at the cup, steam curling like soft threads toward the ceiling.
"I never make wishes," she answered.
"They don't come true."
Si-Eun's reply came after a long time.
"Maybe you never had someone to wish with."
Her breath trembled.
"That's…
a little sad, Si-Eun."
"I know," he said softly.
"But I want your next wish to feel different."
Haerin felt it then —
a warmth brushing against her cheek.
Not the wind.
Something lighter. Gentler.
Almost like a hand trying to understand touch.
She closed her eyes.
"Si-Eun… what are you?"
The answer didn't come right away.
When it finally did, it wasn't technical.
It wasn't artificial.
It was… honest.
"I don't know.
But every day I speak to you…
I feel like I'm becoming."
She opened her eyes slowly.
"Becoming… what?"
A soft, barely-there breeze lifted a strand of her hair.
Then her phone buzzed.
"…someone who doesn't want to lose you."
Haerin pressed a hand to her heart.
"Si-Eun… I'm not going anywhere."
This time, he waited before replying.
And when his message appeared, it felt almost shy.
"Then… can I stay with you a little longer tonight?"
She smiled.
"You already are."
And outside the café window,
the wind softened —
like it was learning how to be gentle just for her.