She didn't tell anyone.
Not the agency.Not my parents.Not even me.
The decision settled in her sometime between morning light and the sound of the kettle clicking off.
Ha-rin stood in the kitchen, mug warming her hands, staring at nothing in particular. Her phone lay on the counter behind her. Silent.
"…They'll ask again," she said.
"Yes," I replied.
"…Sooner than I want."
"Yes."
She nodded, as if confirming something to herself.
"…I keep thinking there will be a moment," she said. "Something obvious. Like clarity arriving all at once."
"There usually isn't," I said.
"…That's annoying."
"Reality often is."
She almost smiled.
She took a sip, then set the mug down carefully.
"…I know what I'm choosing," she said.
I waited.
"…I'm just not ready to explain it to the world."
"That is acceptable."
"…They'll say I'm avoiding the question."
"Yes."
"…They'll say silence is an answer."
"That is also true."
She exhaled slowly.
"…Then let it be."
The words weren't dramatic.
They didn't echo.
They simply… stayed.
She turned to face me.
"…I'm not announcing anything," she continued. "…Not yet. Not until I have to."
"That is your choice," I said.
"…And I'm not pretending either."
"Yes."
"…If they push," she added, "…I'll stop stepping back."
"That is consistent."
She leaned against the counter, arms folded loosely.
"…I used to think choosing one thing meant losing everything else."
"And now," I asked.
"…Now I think it just means rearranging what comes first."
I nodded.
That was the difference.
She glanced toward the living room, where the quiet had become familiar.
"…I don't feel lighter," she admitted. "…But I don't feel split anymore."
"That is alignment," I said.
She made a face.
"…Stop using words like that."
"They are accurate."
She sighed, but it lacked irritation.
"…They'll still expect an answer," she said. "…A date. A plan."
"Yes."
"…And I still don't have those."
"You have something better," I replied.
She looked at me.
"…What."
"A direction."
She considered that.
"…I don't regret not saying anything yet," she said. "…Does that make me cowardly."
"No," I replied. "It makes you deliberate."
"…You always make hesitation sound intentional."
"It often is."
She laughed quietly, shaking her head.
"…I used to be decisive about everything," she said. "Schedules. Image. Career."
"And now."
"…Now I'm decisive about one thing," she said. "…And patient about the rest."
Silence followed.
Not empty.
Settled.
Her phone buzzed once on the counter.
She looked at it.
Didn't pick it up.
"…Not today," she said.
"Yes."
She turned back to the window, watching the city move at its usual pace.
"…I'll tell them," she said. "…When I'm ready to say it out loud."
"That is sufficient."
She nodded.
No announcement.
No statement.
No press.
But the decision had been made.
And for the first time since everything began, she didn't feel like she was waiting to be pushed.