Minho Kang had spent most of his life running from his past. He buried himself in his work, hardened his heart, and convinced himself that love was not something meant for him. But fate had its own way of unraveling the carefully woven walls he had built, and it came in the form of a blind date he never wanted to attend.

  Minho never liked socializing outside of work. He was a man who preferred the solitude of his small apartment, the quiet hum of case files stacked on his desk, and the endless pursuit of justice that had long defined him. But his partner, Detective Jaeho, had other pns.

  “You’re going, Minho. No arguments. You’ve been a ghost for as long as I’ve known you,” Jaeho said, shoving a slip of paper into his hands. “It's a double date. My girlfriend’s bringing a friend. Just one dinner. No one’s asking you to get married.”

  Minho sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He had no interest in dating, but saying no to Jaeho was more exhausting than simply going.

  So, there he was, sitting across from a woman named Yna in a dimly lit restaurant in Seoul.

  She was different.

  Minho didn’t believe in fate, but at that moment, something shifted. She wasn’t like the other women he had encountered—those who seemed either intimidated by his silence or tried too hard to unravel his mysteries. Yna was different. She was warm but not overbearing, her ughter soft yet genuine. Her eyes held a quiet sadness, something familiar, something that resonated deep within him.

  Throughout the evening, Minho found himself listening more than he spoke—a rarity. Yna talked about her work as a children's book author, how she loved creating stories that gave kids hope. There was something about the way she spoke, the way her fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on the tablecloth, that made Minho forget, just for a moment, about the darkness he had lived with for so long.

  While the other three made easy conversation, Minho had been his usual reserved self, speaking only when necessary. Yna, however, was not like most women he had encountered. She wasn’t flustered by his cold demeanor, nor did she try to force conversation out of him. Instead, she carried herself with a quiet confidence, her soft ughter filling the space in a way that felt oddly comforting.

  Halfway through the evening, he found himself staring—noticing the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her books, the way she twirled the end of her straw absentmindedly while thinking. It was rare for Minho to find interest in anything beyond his work, but something about her was different.

  Then, she turned to him.

  “You’re not much of a talker, are you?” Yna teased, tilting her head.

  Minho smirked slightly. “I talk when there’s something worth saying.”

  “Then I’ll take it as a compliment that you’ve said more than three sentences to me tonight.”

  He didn’t realize it then, but in that moment, she had begun chipping away at the walls he had spent years building.

  Jaeho, watching from the side, gave Minho a knowing look. He had seen that spark before—Minho, the man who kept his heart locked away, was intrigued.

  And so, against all his instincts, Minho pursued her.

  Three years passed, and Yna became the only person who had ever been able to truly reach him. She never pried too much into his past, but she never made him feel like he had to hide either. With her, there was a rare kind of peace—something he never thought he could have.

  Falling, Slowly

  The dates continued after that. Minho found himself reaching out to her, even when he wasn’t sure why. It started small—a text here, a call there. Then it became coffee meet-ups, te-night conversations, stolen moments in between his cases.

  But before that, after their first meeting, Yna had waited for a text from Minho. Two days passed with nothing. She couldn’t help but wonder—did he dislike her? Was she too forward? Finally, she decided to make the first move.

  Yna: Hey, do you want to grab lunch tomorrow?

  Minho stared at his phone, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He liked her, that much he knew. But something held him back—some hesitation he couldn’t quite name. After a moment, he finally typed a response.

  Minho: I have fieldwork during lunch, sorry.

  Yna frowned but didn’t give up.

  Yna: What about dinner then?

  Minho sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew he was making excuses, but he replied anyway.

  Minho: I’ll be back really te from work. Another time, maybe.

  Across from him, Jaeho had been watching, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You like her.”

  Minho shot him a look. “No, I don’t.”

  Jaeho smirked. “Then why do you look like a teenager struggling to send a text?”

  Minho scowled, but Jaeho only ughed. “Just go out with her already.”

  Yna, on the other hand, was persistent. She kept asking Minho out, never pushing, just casually suggesting it every now and then. Finally, over the weekend, Minho agreed to a lunch out.

  The weekend sun was bright but not overbearing, casting golden light through Minho’s window. The faint hum of the city outside mixed with the occasional chirping of birds, a rare moment of peace in his otherwise hectic life. The air was warm, carrying the scent of te summer—freshly cut grass, distant street food, and the lingering crispness of the morning breeze.

  Minho stirred beneath his covers, blinking at the time on his bedside clock. 10:43 AM. His heart stuttered slightly in his chest as he remembered—lunch.

  With Yna.

  He groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. Why did he agree to this again? He had spent the past two days avoiding her texts, convincing himself that he had no time for retionships. He wasn’t supposed to be dating anyone right now. And yet, here he was, staring at the ceiling, feeling an odd mix of nerves and excitement coursing through him.

  Sitting up, he exhaled deeply.

  “It’s just lunch,” he muttered to himself. “Lunch.”

  Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffled to his closet. The first shirt he pulled out felt too casual. The next one, too formal. Then another, then another. Before he realized it, his bed was a war zone of discarded outfits. Annoyed, he ran a frustrated hand through his already-messy hair.

  Why was he even overthinking this?

  He chugged a gss of water, then another, as if that would somehow calm his nerves. It didn’t. He was still jittery when he stepped into the shower, letting the cool water wash over him in an attempt to clear his thoughts. It didn’t help either.

  By the time he had dried off and gotten dressed—finally settling on a navy button-down and dark jean—he felt slightly more composed. He ran his fingers through his damp hair, trying to make it look effortlessly neat, then reached for his cologne. A single spritz, maybe two.

  Ding.

  His phone vibrated on the nightstand, and he nearly jumped. He reached for it with slightly damp fingers and saw a message from Yna:

  Yna: I hope you’re not still in bed. I’m looking forward to lunch! Here’s the pce I picked—see you soon! [Address attached]

  Minho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  Looking forward to lunch?

  Why did that make his heart race?

  Shoving his phone into his pocket, he grabbed his keys and left the apartment before he could talk himself out of it.

  The underground parking lot was quiet as he slipped into his car. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, inhaling deeply.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Why was he so damn nervous? It wasn’t like he hadn’t gone out with women before. This was different, though. This was Yna. And for some reason, she had this way of making him feel completely out of his element.

  The drive felt both too short and agonizingly long at the same time. When he finally pulled up to the restaurant, he took a moment to take it all in.

  It was a charming, modern bistro with sleek gss windows that reflected the bustling city outside. Inside, the warm golden glow of hanging pendant lights softened the atmosphere, creating an inviting space. Through the rge windows, he spotted her instantly.

  Yna sat by the window, her posture rexed as she scrolled through her phone. She had chosen a simple but elegant white dress, her dark hair cascading softly over her shoulders. The way the sunlight filtered through the window, casting a gentle halo around her, made his breath catch for a moment.

  He swallowed hard.

  Falling. Again.

  With one st steadying breath, he stepped inside.

  As soon as Yna noticed him, she put her phone down and smirked. “Oh, you actually showed up.”

  Minho pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, scoffing lightly. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  She shrugged pyfully. “You did ignore my texts for two days. Thought maybe you’d ghost me.”

  He leaned back slightly. “It wasn’t intentional. Work’s been busy.”

  She tilted her head, studying him for a moment before nodding. “Fair enough.” She slid the menu toward him. “Are you ready to order?”

  Minho cleared his throat and straightened in his seat. The restaurant had a cozy but refined atmosphere—dark wooden tables, soft music pying in the background, and the occasional clinking of utensils. There weren’t many people inside, just a few scattered patrons, mostly couples enjoying a quiet afternoon together.

  Flipping through the menu, he could feel Yna’s eyes on him. He tried to focus, but his mind felt unusually scattered.

  “Rex,” she said suddenly, her voice light with amusement. “I’m not going to bite.”

  Minho huffed out a quiet ugh, shaking his head. “I’m not nervous.”

  Yna arched an eyebrow. “Right. And I’m not hungry.”

  He shot her a look, but the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips disarmed him. He exhaled, finally settling on a dish. “How have you been?” he asked as he pced the menu down.

  She rested her chin on her hand. “Good. Busy settling back in. It still feels a little weird being in Korea again.”

  He nodded. “How long have you been back?”

  “Two months.” She sighed. “And I haven’t really made any friends here yet. Well—” she gestured toward him, “—maybe that’s why I keep bothering you.”

  Minho stared at her for a moment before looking away, pretending to read the menu again even though he wasn’t actually processing the words.

  Friendship.

  That was all she was asking for.

  So why did it feel like he was already in too deep?

  As they ate, the aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling butter filled the air. The restaurant had a cozy yet elegant ambiance, with soft golden lighting and rge windows that let in the warm afternoon glow. Their table was adorned with a simple white linen cloth, and in front of them were their dishes—Minho had ordered a cssic ribeye steak, perfectly grilled with a side of garlic mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus, while Yna had gone for a creamy seafood pasta with plump shrimp and mussels.

  As she twirled a forkful of pasta, Yna set her cutlery down and sighed. “You know… I was starting to think you didn’t like me.”

  Minho looked up from his pte, surprised. “What?”

  She gave him a small, almost embarrassed smile. “I mean, I wasn’t asking you out on a date or anything. I just wanted to be friends.”

  Minho frowned slightly. “Friends?”

  Yna nodded, idly running her fingers along the rim of her wine gss. “I haven’t had any real friends in Korea since I came back. I guess I just… miss that.”

  Minho studied her for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “I get that.”

  Their conversation drifted to lighter topics—Yna talked about her childhood abroad, Minho shared a few funny stories from his work, and before they knew it, their ptes were empty, save for a few crumbs and traces of sauce. The waiter came by to clear the table just as they asked for the bill.

  Suddenly, a man approached them with a look of recognition.

  “Yna Lee?” the man said, his voice tinged with pleasant surprise.

  Yna looked up, her eyes widening in recognition. “Oh! Sungho?”

  The man, Sungho, grinned. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s really you. We met at the conference in Australia, remember?”

  Yna smiled warmly. “Of course! It’s good to see you again.”

  Sungho gnced at Minho briefly before turning back to Yna. “Are you free for dinner tonight? It’d be nice to catch up.”

  Yna hesitated, her eyes flickering toward Minho. “I’ll have to check my schedule…”

  Sungho then turned to Minho, curiosity in his gaze. “Is he your boyfriend?”

  Minho didn’t say anything at first. He simply looked at Sungho, then at Yna. And then, out of the blue, he said, “We’ll be having dinner together.”

  Yna blinked in surprise but then smiled. She turned back to Sungho and shook her head. “Maybe next time when I visit Australia again.”

  Sungho chuckled, shaking her hand. “Alright, another time then.” He gave Minho a nod before leaving.

  As soon as he was gone, Yna leaned on the table and grinned at Minho. “So… what was that?”

  Minho avoided her gaze. “What was what?”

  Yna’s smile widened. “That whole thing. You could’ve just said no.”

  Minho cleared his throat. “It was the truth. We’re having dinner together.”

  She ughed softly. “I find you charming, Minho.”

  At that, Minho visibly stiffened, his ears turning red. Yna leaned back, amused at his reaction.

  That evening, Minho chose the dinner pce—a sleek, modern restaurant with dim lighting and an elegant atmosphere. The walls were lined with deep mahogany shelves dispying vintage wines, and a soft jazz tune pyed in the background. Unlike their casual lunch, this was more refined, more intimate. They had perfectly grilled steak and delicate side dishes, paired with a fine bottle of red wine. Yna took her time savoring the meal, while Minho, though still composed, seemed to steal gnces at her every now and then.

  As the night came to an end, they both hesitated at the restaurant’s entrance. The cool night air carried the distant sound of city life—cars passing by, muffled ughter from nearby streets, the occasional hum of a passing motorbike.

  Minho gnced at Yna. “Do you want to do this again?”

  Yna smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Definitely.”

  And just like that, without either of them realizing it, something had already begun.

  An Unlikely Beginning

  Their retionship had not been one of instant fireworks, nor was it filled with grand gestures. It was slow, patient, and built on a foundation of mutual understanding. Yna had been wary at first—Minho was quiet, observant, and sometimes frustratingly unreadable. She, on the other hand, was expressive in a way that wasn’t always loud but was evident in her subtle actions—tilting her head when she was deep in thought, biting the inside of her cheek when she was anxious. They learned each other through time, through unspoken words and quiet gestures.

  Minho had never been the jealous type. Not when it came to the men around Yna. She had close friends, colleagues, and an adoring fan base of little boys who loved her stories. But there were moments—fleeting, barely-there moments—when Minho would find himself gripping his coffee cup a little tighter as a bookstore owner shyly complimented Yna’s work or when a young father expressed how much his son admired her. It was ridiculous, he knew. Yna belonged to no one but herself, and yet, she had chosen him. And that alone was enough.

  Yna, for her part, never felt the need for jealousy. Minho was handsome, smart, and popur among women—especially in his field. But she knew him better than anyone. His partner, Jaeho, always reassured her, joking that Minho was too emotionally inept to even notice other women. “Besides,” Jaeho would add with a grin, “you’re the only one who cracked his walls.” And Yna knew it was true. Minho might have had walls, but with her, they were non-existent.

  One year into their retionship, Yna introduced Minho to her adoptive parents. They were in their seventies now, their hair a little whiter, their movements a little slower, but their warmth remained unchanged. They had taken her in when she was ten years old, despite her barely speaking and being riddled with nightmares.

  “She used to wake up screaming,” her adoptive father, Mr. Lee, had said one evening over dinner. “But she never told us why.”

  Minho gnced at Yna, who quietly ate her food. It was a past she rarely spoke of, but he had long learned to give her space.

  Her mother, Mrs. Lee, smiled gently. “She barely spoke for a year, but when she did… oh, she was the smartest little girl.”

  Yna blushed. “Mom…”

  Minho watched, fascinated. The woman sitting next to him—the strong, confident Yna—had once been a child who didn’t speak, who was pgued with nightmares she never expined. It only deepened his admiration for her.

  Not long after, it was Minho’s turn to introduce Yna to his only retive—his aunt, the woman who had taken him in when he had nothing left.

  “I like her,” his aunt said simply after dinner. Then she turned to Yna with a knowing look. “He’s terrible at cleaning, isn’t he?”

  Yna grinned. “Completely hopeless.”

  Minho sighed. “I’m right here.”

  His aunt ughed. “Then let her teach you some manners, boy.”

  Learning Each Other

  Minho had always been a mess—literally. His desk at work was a chaotic battlefield of case files and coffee cups. His apartment was functional but cked any sense of organization. Yna, on the other hand, was meticulous. She beled things, color-coordinated books, and had a strict habit of tidying up before bed. It was an adjustment for them both.

  “You can’t just leave your socks wherever you want,” Yna huffed, hands on her hips.

  Minho blinked at her from the couch. “They have a designated pce?”

  Yna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes, Minho. The undry basket.”

  He smirked, standing up to grab the socks and dramatically tossing them into the basket. “There. Happy?”

  She rolled her eyes but smiled. “It’s a start.”

  On the flip side, Yna had a tendency to make assumptions too quickly. She always read too much into situations, jumping to conclusions before fully analyzing them. Minho, the detective, taught her patience.

  “There’s always more to the story than what you initially see,” he told her one evening when she fretted over a miscommunication with a friend.

  She frowned. “You’re saying I overthink?”

  “I’m saying you should give people the benefit of the doubt.”

  She huffed but mulled over his words. And over time, she did start analyzing situations differently, thinking things through before reacting. Their love wasn’t about grand gestures. It was in the small things.

  It was in the way Minho always pulled Yna closer when they walked through crowded streets, ensuring she wasn’t pushed around.

  It was in the way Yna reminded Minho to eat, texting him when she knew he was buried in work.

  It was in the way Minho listened when Yna excitedly talked about her new story ideas, even when he had no clue about children’s books.

  It was in the way Yna always made room for Minho in her life, despite his demanding job.

  It was in their quiet nights together, Yna curled up against Minho’s side as he read through case files, while she sketched ideas for her next book. No words were needed. Just the steady comfort of knowing the other was there.

  For three years, they had built something solid, something real. But what neither of them realized was that the past they both had locked away was creeping back into their lives. Minho never spoke of his family’s murder. Yna never spoke of the memories she had lost. They were two people haunted by a past they couldn’t remember and a present they couldn’t ignore.

  But love had made them stronger.

  And soon, they would need all the strength they had to face what was coming.

  Three Years Later

  Minho had never believed in fate. He believed in facts, in evidence, in the patterns that criminals left behind. Love, to him, had always been an abstract concept—one that he neither sought nor considered necessary. Yet, three years after that fateful blind date, he found himself waking up next to the very woman who unraveled him piece by piece, softening the hardened edges of his existence.

  Their love wasn’t perfect. It was slow, hesitant, and filled with unspoken pain. Yna knew Minho carried ghosts in his heart, shadows of a past he never spoke about. And Minho, despite his guarded nature, found himself wanting to open up—if only for her.

  He had been content. Happy, even. Until the case happened.

  A new murder in Gwangju. A case eerily simir to one that had haunted him for the past twenty years. It was the reason he became a detective. And when he finally traced the first lead, the evidence led him somewhere he never expected.

  Minho sat in the dim glow of his office mp, the old case files spread out before him like ghosts resurrected from the past. The yellowing pages crinkled beneath his fingers as he traced over the familiar crime scene photos, the evidence logs, the statements of traumatized witnesses—three children who had survived the massacre but never spoken of it.

  One of them was Yna.

  His heart clenched at the realization, and for the first time in years, Minho felt an unfamiliar tightness in his throat. He had spent so much of his life chasing justice, following trails of blood and betrayal, but never did he imagine the case that shaped his existence would also be tied to hers.

  He flipped through the files with a trembling hand, his mind repying every conversation he'd ever had with Yna’s adoptive parents. They had told him how she struggled to overcome her past, how nightmares had haunted her childhood, how she had spent years in therapy learning to trust the world again. And yet, despite all of that, she had grown into someone warm, someone full of life—someone who had found a way to smile despite the shadows looming behind her.

  Minho had his own ghosts. He knew trauma like a constant companion, a silent weight he carried in the back of his mind. But he couldn’t imagine the depth of Yna’s pain. And now, for the first time, he realized that solving this case was no longer just about justice for his family.

  It was about her.

  It was about healing her past wounds, protecting her from the horrors she had buried. For the first time, Minho found himself afraid—not of the case, not of the murderer who still lurked in the dark, but of hurting the woman he loved with the truth.

  His fingers tightened around the edge of the file as he exhaled slowly. How could he tell her? How could he bring up the past without breaking her all over again?

  He thought about her ughter, the way it rang like chimes in the wind. He thought about the way she clung to his hand when she was cold, the way she whispered his name in her sleep. He thought about the softness in her eyes whenever she looked at him—like he was something worth holding onto, something worth waiting for.

  Minho had spent years believing he could endure anything. Pain. Loss. Loneliness. But now, the idea of Yna looking at him with fear or betrayal was something he didn’t think he could survive. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand down his face. His phone sat on the desk, Yna’s name glowing softly on the screen from an unread message. He stared at it for a long time before finally picking it up, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to pull her into his arms and promise that he would keep her safe, that he would protect her from the past, from the truth, from the nightmares that still lingered in the corners of her mind.

  But how could he promise that when he himself didn’t know what would come next?

  Minho closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He wasn’t just fighting for justice anymore.

  He was fighting for her.

  And that scared him more than anything else ever had.

  END OF CHAPTER 4