Ha-neul did not sleep that night.
She sat in the practice room, her mother's journal open on her lap, studying every note, every margin scribble, every faint pencil mark. She memorized the melody until she could hear it in her dreams. She played it again and again on the old Steinway, her fingers growing raw, her wrists aching but she did not stop.
Jae-won stayed with her, silent and watchful. He made tea, brought her bread, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders when the cold seeped through the walls. But he did not interrupt. He understood that this was her battle now. His role was to stan