Jiho sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers moving methodically, weaving the sweater with slow, deliberate care. The blue yarn wound between her fingers, each stitch connecting her to something deeper within herself. She had never imagined that one day she would be doing this—knitting a sweater for a child she might never see grow up. Memories of her younger self flashed in her mind, when she used to mock her friends who sat around, carefully weaving clothes for their unborn babies. "Why weave when you can just buy?" she had laughed back then.
But now, as she worked through the loops, she understood. It wasn't about the clothes; it was about the love, the effort, and the hope woven into every fiber. She felt a strange, bittersweet warmth settle in her chest. This wasn't just a sweater—it was a message. A message to her child, one she might never get the chance to speak aloud.
