Shinhye tapped her manicured nails against the restaurant table, the rhythmic clicking matching her irritation. “I still can’t believe it,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “Dohyun just left Japan without a word. No call, no text—nothing.”

Dukhwan sat across from her, silent as he swirled the straw in his iced tea. He had known this conversation was inevitable.

Shinhye leaned forward, her perfectly styled hair swaying with the movement. “Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? I told everyone we’d be flying back together! And the next thing I hear is that he’s already back in Korea.”

Dukhwan finally looked up, his expression unreadable. “You know how he is.”

“That’s the problem,” she snapped. “He’s always like this. Distant. Unbothered. It’s like he doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

Dukhwan’s lips pressed into a thin line. It’s the exact opposite.

Shinhye sighed dramatically, rubbing her temple. “Ugh. Whatever. He’s back now, and that’s what matters. But he’s not staying at the main house? Seriously?”

“He has his reasons,” Dukhwan replied.

“He always has reasons,” she muttered, then took a deep breath and exhaled. “Anyway, I need to use the restroom. While I’m gone, text him. See if he’s coming or if he’s too busy pretending he doesn’t know us.”

Dukhwan watched her disappear down the hall before pulling out his phone. He typed quickly.

Dukhwan: We’re at Beanie Coffee in Mapo if you’re coming.

A minute passed. No reply.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Shinhye wasn’t the only one who wanted to see Dohyun. It’d been years since he had gotten a chance to spend time with his brother.

Bomi stood at the counter of the KM Moving Services office in Mapo, her patience worn dangerously thin.

“You lost it?” she repeated, her voice rising.

The worker behind the desk scratched his head, looking genuinely nervous. “N-not lost, exactly. Just… misplaced.”

Bomi’s eye twitched. “Misplaced,” she echoed. “Like how socks disappear in the laundry? Like how umbrellas vanish on rainy days?” She leaned forward, her hands bracing against the counter. “Because the last time we spoke, you guaranteed my box was here.”

The worker flinched, waving his hands. “W-we’ll check in the back again. Just a moment!” He practically sprinted into the storage area.

Bomi exhaled sharply, crossing her arms as she paced in front of the counter. If she had known the moving company was this incompetent, she would’ve rented her own moving truck to take care of it.

After what felt like an eternity, the worker returned, clutching a black box like it was the Holy Grail. “Found it! I’m so sorry for the delay.”

Bomi snatched it from his hands, hugging it close. “Next time, don’t ‘misplace’ people’s precious belongings.” Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and marched out of the office.

The night air cooled her frustration, and for the first time all day, she felt a sense of relief. Her mom’s things were safe. That was all that mattered.

She entered the shopping center walkway, cradling the box as she walked.

Then—impact.

Someone collided with her shoulder, hard.

Bomi stumbled, her fingers loosening around the box as it slipped from her grasp.

“No—!”

She lunged, catching it just before it crashed to the ground. Her heart pounded in her ears as she let out a shaky exhale.

That was too close.

“Look what you did!” a shrill voice said.

Bomi looked up, still shaken, to see a girl staring at her with obvious disdain.

The stranger was stunning, dressed head-to-toe in designer labels, her flawless black hair styled to perfection. A broken compact mirror lay on the ground beside her designer heels, its powder shattered like fine dust on the pavement.

The girl crossed her arms, tilting her chin up. “Are you blind or just clumsy?”

Bomi blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You ran into me,” the girl said, her voice slow and condescending. “And now my compact is ruined.”

Bomi scoffed, still gripping her box tightly. “You ran into me. Maybe if you weren’t so busy checking yourself out, this wouldn’t have happened.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have any idea how expensive that was?”

Bomi let out a humorless laugh. “Do you have any idea how little I care?”

She turned away, ready to leave this ridiculous encounter behind—until something in the corner of her eye made her freeze.

The box.

The lid had shifted during the fall.

With dread pooling in her stomach, she pried it open. Inside, delicate porcelain dishes lay nestled in bubble wrap. Her mother’s treasured tea set.

But one of the plates—one of the few things her mother had left behind—had a long, jagged crack down the middle.

Bomi stared, the blood draining from her face.

The girl, oblivious, was still ranting about her compact.

Bomi barely heard her.

A deep ache settled in her chest, heavier than the box in her arms.

She inhaled slowly, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

Then the girl scoffed. “Are you even listening? You broke my compact.”

Bomi finally looked up, her gaze sharp and burning.