The soft light of the early morning crept through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the small kitchen. Minsu had barely slept, the weight of the past and the memories of her parents and aunt swirling in her mind. The bed had felt cold, much like the house around her, as if the walls themselves remembered the absence of those who once filled the space.
When the first rays of sunlight touched her face, Minsu slowly opened her eyes. She stretched, her body stiff from the tension of the night before. The ache in her chest had not lessened, but for some reason, the new day felt like a quiet invitation—an opportunity to start anew, even if just for a moment.
Minsu took a deep breath, sitting up in bed. The faint smell of the village morning air—fresh, earthy, and tinged with the scent of dew on the grass—drifted through the window. The stillness outside seemed different now, more peaceful than the turmoil that had occupied her thoughts the previous night.
Her hand instinctively reached for the small cup of tea she had prepared the night before, now cold and forgotten on the counter. She sighed and stood up, walking slowly toward the kitchen.
Outside, the courtyard was bathed in soft sunlight, the quiet chirping of birds filling the air. It was a new day, and although Minsu still felt the weight of her past, there was a part of her that was determined to face it—no matter how painful or uncertain the path ahead might be.
As she stepped out into the courtyard, she paused, taking in the sight of her surroundings—the garden she had carefully tended to the day before, the familiar sights of the village that had once felt like home, now more distant than ever. The old trees swayed gently in the breeze, their branches reaching toward the sky as if offering some silent form of comfort.
The small, rustic wooden bench under the tree beckoned to her. Minsu walked over and sat down, her fingers lightly grazing the worn edges of the bench as she let her thoughts settle. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to simply exist in the quiet of the morning.
The house felt both familiar and foreign. The life she had once known seemed to slip further away with every passing day, yet this place—the very one that had witnessed her growth—held a kind of strength that she couldn't ignore. It had been through the same losses, the same silence, and had endured. Perhaps, in time, she would too.
After some time, Minsu decided it was time to leave the solitude of her home. She needed to gather some things, and the village market was the most logical place to start. The house felt too quiet, too empty to remain in for long. She wasn't ready to confront all the memories that came with it. With a deep breath, she straightened herself and decided to head to the market.
The walk through the village was peaceful. The morning mist had faded, and the streets began to bustle with life as villagers set up their stands. Minsu passed familiar faces—shopkeepers who had known her as a child, their greetings warm but tinged with pity. It wasn't their fault, she knew, but every glance seemed to remind her of everything she had lost.
At the market, the scent of fresh produce filled the air. There were vendors shouting out their goods, the clang of metal as a blacksmith hammered away in the distance, and the rustling of fabrics from the seamstress' stall. It was the same as it had always been, a place full of life and movement. But to Minsu, it felt different now. The crowd seemed more distant, and the sounds were muffled, like she was watching the world from behind a veil.
Minsu wandered through the stalls, collecting what she needed—some vegetables, eggs, and a few spices for the meals she had planned. As she made her way from one stall to the next, she caught sight of a small stand selling flowers, something she used to buy for her mother. It was a simple stall with a variety of brightly colored blooms, their sweet scent wafting through the air.
Her fingers hovered over a bouquet of lilacs, the flowers reminding her of her mother's love for them. Minsu's chest tightened at the memory of her mother's gentle smile as she tended to her own garden, the lilacs always the centerpiece.
But the memory was fleeting, as always. She couldn't linger too long. With a small sigh, Minsu picked up a bouquet of sunflowers instead—bright and bold, a reflection of her resolve to push forward, even if it meant facing the challenges of her past alone.
She paid the vendor and made her way toward the exit of the market, carrying the flowers carefully in her arms. As she left, the sound of chatter and the bustle of the marketplace began to fade, and for a moment, it felt as though the world had slowed down just for her.
Returning to her house, she placed the flowers in a vase by the window and stood for a moment, staring at them. The sunflowers were a simple reminder that life continued, even after loss. The past could not be undone, but perhaps, with time, she could find her place in the world once more.
She knew that there was still much to face—the memories, the pain, the unanswered questions—but for now, she had the quiet of the village and the stillness of the morning to remind her that even in the aftermath of everything she had lost, there was still beauty to be found.
Minsu set the ingredients she had bought aside, preparing a simple but satisfying breakfast. She ate in silence, the familiar flavors of the food grounding her in the present. Despite the small, comforting routine of the morning, her thoughts were still consumed by her past—the memories of her parents' tragic deaths and the painful day when her aunt had left without a word, abandoning her when she needed her the most.
Once she finished her breakfast, Minsu felt a restless energy building inside her. She couldn't stay cooped up in the house for too long. She stood up, wiped her mouth, and decided to step outside to clear her head.
As she opened the door and stepped out into the fresh morning air, the warmth of the sun gently brushed against her skin. The courtyard was still, the flowers in the garden swaying slightly in the breeze. The peacefulness of the surroundings, the chirping of birds, and the quiet rustling of the trees helped soothe the ache inside her heart, though it wasn't enough to fully push away the weight of loneliness she carried.
Minsu took a slow, deliberate walk around the backyard, her thoughts continuing to drift. After taking in the calm beauty of the garden, she couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. This place should have been a haven, but it still felt foreign to her.
With a soft sigh, she walked back toward the house, deciding to tidy up the yard a little. She swept away the fallen leaves, trimmed the bushes, and made sure the garden looked neat and well-cared for. The physical labor gave her something to focus on, but the process also reminded her of how much time had passed since she last took care of something with her own hands—since she last felt truly settled.
When she finished, the sun was beginning to climb higher in the sky. Feeling more at ease, Minsu went back inside to check on the house. She wanted to make sure everything was in place before deciding what to do next.
Her next impulse was to explore the village a little more. She knew the village well enough, but it had been years since she had wandered its streets. She put on her shoes and stepped outside again, this time walking toward the familiar paths leading to the village square.
As she strolled through the village, the sights and sounds of everyday life calmed her—people talking in low voices, vendors setting up their stalls, children laughing in the distance. It was a different world from the one she had left behind, but it still felt like home in some small way.
She eventually wandered into a narrow alley where she had noticed a small tea shop the previous day. Curiosity tugged at her, and she couldn't resist stepping inside.
The tea shop was quaint, with wooden tables and shelves filled with delicate teapots. The soft scent of tea leaves hung in the air, soothing and inviting. Behind the counter, a young man was carefully preparing tea.
When he noticed her, he smiled politely. "Good afternoon. How may I help you today?"
Minsu hesitated for a moment before replying. "I'll have a pot of jasmine tea, please."
The young man nodded and began preparing the tea with practiced ease. As he worked, he glanced up at her. "You're new here," he said softly. "I don't think I've seen you before."
Minsu smiled faintly. "I grew up here. It's been a long time since I've been back."
The man paused as he poured the tea into a small porcelain cup, his eyes studying her intently for a brief moment before speaking again. "I see," he said, handing her the cup. "Welcome back."
Minsu took the cup, feeling a strange sense of warmth and unease simultaneously. His gaze lingered on her a little longer than was comfortable, and she couldn't quite figure out why. His presence felt calming yet oddly mysterious, like there was more to him than met the eye. It was as if he knew something she didn't, or perhaps he was just extraordinarily perceptive.
She took a sip of the jasmine tea, the delicate flavor filling her senses, but her mind remained preoccupied with the young man in front of her. There was something about him—his quiet demeanor, his steady movements—that made her feel both at ease and slightly on edge. It was a feeling she couldn't quite shake.
"Your shop is peaceful," Minsu said, trying to break the silence. "I didn't expect to find a place like this in such a small village."
He smiled, though his eyes seemed to carry a weight of their own. "The world is full of surprises," he replied softly. "Some people come here to find solace, others simply need a place to think."
Minsu met his gaze briefly, a chill running down her spine. His words felt loaded with meaning, like there was something more hidden beneath the surface. But before she could press further, he spoke again, almost as if he had read her mind.
"If you ever need a place to clear your thoughts, feel free to come back," he said, his voice calm yet firm, as if he were inviting her into a world she hadn't yet understood.
Minsu blinked, suddenly feeling like she had stepped into something deeper than a simple tea shop. It wasn't just the tea that had drawn her in—it was him. His presence, his words, the way he observed her, it all felt like a mystery waiting to unfold.
With a polite nod, Minsu stood up. "I'll keep that in mind," she said, her voice betraying a slight uncertainty that she hadn't intended.
As she left the shop, the village sounds seemed distant, muffled. The air felt cooler, and the weight of something unspoken lingered in her chest. She couldn't shake the feeling that her life in this village was about to take an unexpected turn, and somehow, Kim Hyowon—the mysterious tea shop owner—was going to be a part of it.