By midsummer, Haesong breathed like a creature half-asleep in sunlight.
The gulls no longer screamed; they glided lazy circles over the harbour where nets dried like flags. The sea had lost its sharp blue, fading instead to pewter and pearl. Every morning the mill woke to the same patient music: the stream sighing past the sluice, the creak of bamboo frames, the faint mewls of kittens exploring too far from their nest.
Hye-Won had learned to measure her days not by hours but by sounds. The click of Eun-Jae’s latch in the workshop marked morning; the first whistle of Ah-Rin’s song meant noon; the soft thump of On-Gi jumping from table to stool told her evening had returned.
Life moved with that dependable rhythm—the steady hum of things built, mended, and shared.
Ah-Rin was the noisiest metronome of all. She teased, she hummed, she told every kitten its fortune.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfsH9MNoE1v
“They’ll grow up spoiled,” Hye-Won warned.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcSJCRDxZER
“They’ll grow up loved,” the girl countered, planting a kiss on one tiny head before setting it loose again.
Their laughter floated through the open shutters. When Eun-Jae arrived, carrying a bundle of cedar slats across one shoulder, he paused to listen before speaking.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡR7BmfCG3lE
“Even the cats sound happier here,” he said.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk7SZT15dzJ
“Then you’ve tuned the world well,” Hye-Won replied, surprised at her own boldness.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrtUDOHMz1B
He laughed softly, that low, even sound she had begun to wait for without admitting it.
The days lengthened into gold. Sometimes Eun-Jae stayed after work, helping Ah-Rin patch screens or sorting thin reeds into bundles. He moved with that same attentive calm whether fixing hinges or tracing the grain of wood for his instruments. Hye-Won found herself studying the curve of his wrist as he worked, the steady pulse there—how the vein rose and fell like the river itself. Once, when she looked up too quickly, their eyes met; neither spoke, but the silence rippled.
Each evening felt a little slower, as though the air wished to stay. When Ah-Rin went out to visit In-Su’s family, the mill fell into an easy hush. Hye-Won worked by lamplight while Eun-Jae tested strings on a newly finished gayageum. The notes were low, unhurried—music made for the heart’s quiet corners. She could have sworn the kittens stilled to listen.
“You play differently lately,” she said one night.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡm7jmn8eygQ
“Maybe the air’s changed,” he replied. “Or maybe I finally found its rhythm.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSK5DipbXIq
Hye-Won smiled. “Then Haesong will follow your tempo.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLVwiAvhchb
He shook his head. “No. It already leads.”
When he smiled like that, unguarded and half-tired, something in her chest fluttered—the lightest warmth that felt suspiciously like happiness.
Ah-Rin noticed, of course.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1TZLdEhlTq
“Eonni,” she teased the next morning, “if you stare at him any longer, he’ll burst into flames.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡl0FOgsPE4A
“Then you’d have to clean the ashes,” Hye-Won said, trying—and failing—to sound stern.
By the time the moon began waxing again, the kittens had grown fearless.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡejLFbnPujK
They climbed the drying racks, batted at scraps of twine, slept in the paper trays like emperors awaiting praise. Work took twice as long but no one minded.
Eun-Jae feigned annoyance but built them a ladder from spare slats anyway.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmZqXWjmCCU
Ah-Rin declared him their “official uncle.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡneJ1Jwlck9
“Oppa will do,” he corrected, and the word, light as laughter, stayed.
Haesong itself seemed to mirror their ease. Children wove garlands from beach reeds; fishermen sang while mending nets. Some nights, Eun-Jae lingered after sunset to share barley tea while Ah-Rin wrote notes for a lesson she meant to teach to the neighbour’s children. Hye-Won would light the lamp, and the three of them would sit quietly, the world reduced to paper, string, and soft breathing.
“Oppa, do you ever tire of the same days?” Ah-Rin asked once, her voice drowsy.
“Never,” Eun-Jae said. “Each day sounds a little different.”
“And you, Eonni?”
“I tire only of noise without meaning,” Hye-Won replied. “Haesong hasn’t given us that yet.”
Later, when the lamp burned low and the others slept, Hye-Won drew the new ledger toward her — Eun-Jae’s gift, its cedar cover warm beneath her palms. The grain still carried his scent: faint smoke, resin, patience. She ran a thumb along the curved bridge carved into its corner, tracing the space where his mark ended and hers might one day begin.
The kittens had left tiny pawprints on the margin of the first blank page. She smiled at them, then dipped her brush.
“The season turns, but the rhythm remains,10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYHyYHyrVoA
and warmth returns like breath to the window.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHq3Y8th59P
Some days end not with silence,10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWqyZLlEh5G
but with two hands steady on the same page.”
She let the ink dry, watching it bloom into the paper’s fibres, then closed the book softly to keep the moment safe.
Outside, the tide turned in silence. The moon rose early, pale as dried mulberry. From somewhere up the lane came the faint sound of a gayageum note being tested — one, then another, settling into tune. She closed her eyes, knowing who played.
She whispered to the darkness, “The quiet between glances… is never really quiet.”
Late summer, the kittens were bold enough to climb the drying racks and topple brush jars with impunity. Their chaos filled the mill like a heartbeat. Every footstep came with a chorus of mews; every folded sheet risked a pawprint in the corner.
Hye-Won watched them all — kittens, apprentice, craftsman — and thought how noisy contentment could be. Yet behind her smile lingered the quiet arithmetic of living: mouths to feed, paper to sell, the cost of oil and ink. The season of plenty never lasted long in Haesong.
When Madam Hong came by with sesame cakes and gossip, she crouched by the crate.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeztTARJRbW
“They’re beautiful,” she said. “My niece’s children have been begging for a cat. I’ll take one, if you can part with it.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡK7QhICTAtW
Ah-Rin’s face fell. “Part with them?”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ45aj7tmSz4
“They need homes,” Hye-Won said gently. “Even love must learn to share.”
Over the next week, neighbours came — the baker’s wife, the potter’s apprentice, a shy girl from the docks. Each left cradling a bundle of fur, each promised to bring news. Ah-Rin wept every time, though she pretended otherwise, scolding anyone who noticed.
When the last kitten was carried away, On-Gi remained by the stove, grooming herself with regal detachment, as if motherhood had been a seasonal duty, not a destiny. Ah-Rin, sniffling, pretended to sweep. From the straw of the emptied crate, she lifted one stray ribbon of muslin — the strip Eun-Jae had used to line their bed.
She tied it around her wrist. “Just so they don’t forget where they started,” she said.
Hye-Won smiled and touched her shoulder. “You’ll see them again. Things that begin with care have long memories.”
That evening, the mill seemed to exhale. The hush wasn’t loss anymore — only space waiting to be filled.
Ah-Rin sighed. “It’s too still, Eonni. Even the paper sounds lonely.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX15D0OkKrv
“Then we’ll fill it again,” Hye-Won said. “With work. With laughter. The world always makes room for both.”
To chase away the hush, Ah-Rin teased her mercilessly.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWYwHRAafVf
“You and Oppa should adopt another cat. Or each other. Whichever comes first.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqt0aXdygIJ
Hye-Won flicked water from her brush at her. “Mind your pulp, not my business.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEtKdqPtYO5
“You make everything sound like poetry,” Ah-Rin replied with a grin. “Even scolding.”
The next day they carried new sheets out to dry. The air was bright and sharp; leaves already edged with bronze. Eun-Jae appeared halfway down the path, sleeves rolled, hair caught by the wind. He reached for the rack before she asked, his fingers brushing hers in the hand-off.
Neither spoke, but both smiled — the kind of smile that knew how much had been lost and how much remained.
Later that evening, Ah-Rin found them like that again, arranging papers side by side in the amber light. She leaned on the doorframe and sighed theatrically. “I swear, Eonni, if the sea doesn’t drown you, the tension will.” Eun-Jae laughed, and even Hye-Won couldn’t help it.
The air had thickened with summer’s hush, that peculiar warmth that seemed to slow the very sound of water. Haesong’s days passed like the turning of a page: steady, sun-stained, alive with small sounds — paper dripping, reeds bowing, laughter spilling from the market below.
Hye-Won and Eun-Jae walked those days together more often now — to the harbour, to the paper merchant, to Madam Hong’s bustling inn. What had once been errands had become habit, and habit had quietly turned to something more.
When she stepped from the ferry plank one afternoon, her sandal slipped on the damp wood. His hand caught her wrist, firm but careful, steadying her with such reflex that it startled them both. She met his eyes just long enough to feel her pulse answer.
“The sea’s still mischievous,” he murmured.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMkMoE25gp0
“It tests its friends,” she said, trying for composure.
Later, as they walked back along the dunes, the wind lifted the ribbon from her sleeve. He caught it mid-air, folded it once, twice, and handed it back without flourish.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7oA1sqgasg
“Even the wind returns what it borrows,” he said.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRlwLE0u9Rd
She laughed, low and uncertain. “Then I should lend it more often.”
At the mill, Ah-Rin had already prepared supper. The girl eyed them like a cat that knew too much.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUmbOw03nVB
“You two took so long the rice nearly aged,” she declared, pretending indignation.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa4qgeEGOEP
“We met a philosophical ribbon,” Hye-Won said, setting down the basket.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwjZpdBNNfJ
“Ah,” Ah-Rin answered dryly. “Did it confess anything useful?”
They ate together, bowls clinking, the conversation slipping easily between work and foolishness.
When the meal was done, Eun-Jae rose, brushing the dust from his sleeves. “I’ll return the basket to Madam Hong before she assumes I’ve eloped with it.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMPzAWxQFXj
“Tell her we appreciate her rice as much as her warnings,” Hye-Won replied.
He gave a half-bow, a faint smile, and left. His steps faded down the path, leaving only the murmur of the stream and the soft thrum of Hye-Won’s pulse.
Ah-Rin poured more tea, watching her mentor with merciless affection.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOtoXIJitSK
“Eonni,” she said, “you’re staring at the door again.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQwtwsnjsrT
“I am not.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQ5CVVKjhfw
“You are. You look like someone waiting for a melody to repeat.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFALrJYopZg
Hye-Won sighed, flustered. “You should learn restraint.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5476CL2Knm
“I will,” Ah-Rin said, grinning, “once you do.”
They laughed, the sound small and warm.
Later, after she’d calmed and the lamps were lit, Hye-Won found herself hovering by the curtain of Ah-Rin’s small room. “Ah-Rin-ah,” she said quietly, “may I ask you something?”
Ah-Rin propped herself up on one elbow, eyes bright. “You may ask anything.”
“How do people… show affection?”
The younger woman blinked. “You’re asking me?”
“You seem to know everything,” Hye-Won said primly, which made them both laugh.
“Well,” Ah-Rin said, pretending to ponder, “people usually start by not running away when they feel it.”
Hye-Won’s brow furrowed. “And after that?”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn4TlavVFpq
“Some give food,” Ah-Rin said, counting on her fingers. “Some make things by hand. Some look long enough to be seen.” She shrugged. “Eonni, you could just smile when he smiles. That usually works.”
Hye-Won hid her face behind her sleeve. “I’m a fool.”
“No,” Ah-Rin said, voice softening. “You’re just new at being happy. Don’t rush. The heart learns its manners slower than the mouth.”
That night Hye-Won fell asleep smiling—and woke blushing, unsure which emotion had followed her into her dreams. She thought of his hand catching hers, of the ribbon folded twice, of his voice saying nothing yet meaning much.
The new ledger waited on her desk — the gift he had made with his own hands. She opened it to a blank page. Her brush hesitated, then moved, steady as breath:
“Affection is a kind of hunger, but one that feeds the soul first.”
She added no bridge mark this time, only left the ink to dry.
10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaLCNNFxcyW
The next morning, Ah-Rin began work earlier than usual, her expression solemn but shining.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3UXxxGJpUz
“Eonni,” she said, “I think it’s time I made my own paper—from start to finish. My last as an apprentice.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡv04CG3GB3L
Hye-Won blinked. “So soon?”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnz77bURT00
“Not soon,” the girl replied. “Just… right.”
For days she worked without chatter, sleeves rolled, hair tied back, moving with a quiet she had learned only here. She chose the clearest pulp, stirred by hand, tested every sheet against the light. When it dried, the surface shone faintly, fine as breath. Into its centre she pressed a single petal from the willow—the same tree that had watched over so many beginnings.
She brought the finished sheet to Hye-Won and bowed, smile trembling. “For the master who taught me that patience has colour.”
Hye-Won touched the paper’s edge as though afraid to smudge it. “Then your colour will outlast mine.”
They bowed to each other—no ceremony, no farewell, just the hush of two lives meeting in respect. The stream outside carried their silence downstream like a benediction.
After that day, Ah-Rin began dividing her time between the mill and her mother’s house, saying she should “practice independence before the world insists on it.” Yet every morning she still appeared at the door, just long enough to greet On-Gi and to smile as if to remind the mill, that she hadn’t really left.
10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXQqiELktdn
The mornings after smelled of river mist, evenings of roasted grain. Inside the mill, lives wove together with the quiet intimacy of shared routine.
“Hold your wrist higher,” Eun-Jae said, adjusting her hand above the strings.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfYT2xac0bJ
“Like this?”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3LLiH2LIAS
“Too stiff,” he murmured. His fingers brushed her knuckles, repositioning them with care. “Let the note breathe first, then strike.”
Hye-Won plucked again. The sound wavered—uncertain but promising.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7Iy1JTgzO3
“That was nearly music,” he said, smiling.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmjZnvAgaUv
She laughed, half-embarrassed. “Nearly is generous.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWFOo66HRtU
He tilted his head, listening. “It’s there, hidden under hesitation.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUyNC31h4uN
“Like most things,” she answered before thinking, and he looked at her long enough for silence to turn soft.
She cleared her throat. “Do you teach all your students this gently?”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6Q0qJ9EqqU
“Only the talented ones,” he said, which made her drop the pick in panic. He stooped to retrieve it, his hair falling forward, and for an instant she saw him not as calm craftsman but as man—unguarded, warm, real.
They began cooking together when Ah-Rin was out—simple meals of fish, barley rice, and a reckless attempt at dumplings. She stirred the pot, while he sliced herbs.
“More salt,” he said.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZnip0bc9RO
“You said that last time. It ended like seawater.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKmvbsSgMgr
“Then less salt, but more patience.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcTVahdoEEM
“That’s your answer to everything,” she said, laughing.
When the flour spilled, dusting the table and both their sleeves, they froze—then burst into helpless laughter.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRFHMdtpzsF
“You look like a snowstorm,” he said, brushing her cheek with his thumb.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSWaFn02ocr
“And you,” she countered, “look guilty.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRYFfsikFin
“I confess nothing.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcHPNCmQFXw
The laughter faded slowly. His hand lingered a breath too long before he pulled away.
Sometimes, at dusk, they sat outside while Ah-Rin hummed in the background, her voice a careless blessing. Fireflies tangled in the reeds. Words came slowly, as though neither wanted to disturb the fragile balance they’d found.
“It tastes better when we burn it ourselves,” he said.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQmtRPNPsKB
“Because we worked for it.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDxaYmjKSmK
“Because it’s shared.”
The stream murmured between pauses.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxy25fFO5QZ
“Do you ever think about the road before you came here?” she asked.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmAn3QXckJZ
“Less each day,” he said simply. “Haesong hums loud enough.”
She wanted to ask if he thought of her when it hummed, but her courage failed, and she nodded instead.
More and more, Hye-Won caught herself thinking about him at odd hours—when tying her hair, when tasting the day’s first sip of tea. She wondered how he looked when he wasn’t watching himself. She wondered what it meant to love someone not as a duty but as a choice.
Once, while hanging paper to dry, she watched him from the corner of her eye. The muscles of his forearm moved beneath the sleeve as he lifted the frames, and she felt a rush of curiosity so sharp it frightened her. She turned away, hands trembling, pretending to study the sky.
Eun-Jae noticed. He didn’t speak, only offered her the next frame, his expression calm, kind—as if understanding without need for words.
There were moments when the air itself seemed charged: when he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear; when their laughter stopped too soon and silence took its place. Each time, something unnamed hovered, tender and patient, waiting for courage.
The town had begun to notice their change; glances followed them at the market, smiles lingered a little too long. Ah-Rin, ever defiant, started greeting the gossips with cheerful waves.
“Let them talk,” she said. “Their tongues will tire before your hearts do.”
Hye-Won smiled, though uneasily. Autumn would come soon. The days were still warm, the sky still gentle, but somewhere beneath the comfort she sensed the shift—the pause before a new tide.
She closed her ledger, breath unsteady, and whispered to the quiet room, “I like him.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1daSDdvWZx
The words, spoken aloud at last, filled the space like the first note of a song.
and then Add to home screen.