Kanha placed the bag on the dusty floor with a sigh. "So... this is where we'll be staying?" he asked, glancing around the apartment, his tone somewhere between curiosity and apprehension.
Wu Jin nodded, tugging at the white sheets covering the furniture. As each sheet fell, a new cloud of dust flew up, making both of them cough. "Yeah," he said, waving his hand in front of his face. "The place has been closed up for five years now. I figured it would need a bit of work."
Kanha moved to the window, unlatching it to let some fresh air in. The view outside caught his attention immediately. "Well, at least the view's amazing," he said, smiling as he took in the sight of the river below and the garden where children were playing. "This must've been a great place to live back in the day."
Wu Jin laughed softly, shaking another sheet free. "It was. But life moves on, and sometimes we leave things behind." He looked around, his gaze lingering on the faded photos on the wall. "But it's time to breathe some life back into this place."
Kanha walked over to the stack of cleaning supplies Wu Jin had brought along. "Alright then, looks like we have our work cut out for us." He picked up a duster, glancing at Wu Jin with a grin. "Any particular reason you never came back to clean all this?"
Wu Jin shrugged, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "You know how it is. Busy life, new places… I guess I just thought I'd get back to it someday." He paused, then chuckled, "And now, with you here, it seems that 'someday' has finally come."
Kanha nodded, understanding. "Well, good days also come.," he said, pulling a broom from the corner. "Let's get this place sparkling again."
With that, they set to work—Wu Jin throwing open more windows, and Kanha tackling the dust-coated shelves. The room began to fill with light and fresh air, slowly revealing the warmth of the home beneath years of dust.
—-------------
The school hall was bustling with activity as workers hurried to complete the decorations. Miss Choi stood near a worker who was struggling to hang the long, elegant curtains near the windows. "Pay attention to what you're doing," she instructed, gesturing to him with a firm hand. She wanted everything to be perfect.
"And how's the preparation going, Miss Choi?"
Just then, the headmaster approached, casting a quick glance over the room.
Miss Choi turned to him with a reassuring smile. "It's going well. As always, we'll ensure it's a warm, welcoming party," she replied confidently. "The children will have a chance to meet and bond."
The headmaster nodded, clearly pleased, but his gaze remained fixed on the hall, as though lost in thought. It was indeed the grandest hall in the school—fifty meters long, sixty meters wide, with towering twenty-foot ceilings that gave it an airy, expansive feel. Tall windows stretched up the walls, each one about ten feet in length, flooding the space with natural light.
He said, rubbing his hand over the wall with pictures. This place has many memories. He said while smiling.
Miss Choi watched him silently for a moment. "That's what happens,"she agreed. "And tomorrow night, we'll make something new."
She stood still in front of the pictures wall, looking out at the courtyard where students would soon gather.
The headmaster's voice had an unusual tone as he addressed Miss Choi. "Miss Choi."
"Yes, Headmaster?" she replied, turning towards him.
"Did all our children go to their homes after completing their studies here?" he asked, his gaze fixed somewhere far off, as if deep in thought.
Miss Choi found the question odd, and she paused, searching for his expression. "Some of the children are still here, Headmaster. They'll leave after the party," she answered cautiously.
"So, you have no information about the students who have already left?" the headmaster pressed, his tone unusually serious.
Miss Choi was taken aback by the question. "No," she replied, her surprise evident. "I assume they've reached their homes safely and are living good lives."
The headmaster fell silent, a strange look in his eyes. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the front of the hall. Miss Choi watched him go, puzzled. She knew he had always taken the responsibility of the children's well-being very seriously, often checking up on them even after they left.
But something seemed different now, almost as though he was questioning if he had fulfilled that duty.
Miss Choi moved around the hall, absorbed in her work, meticulously checking every small detail to ensure the upcoming event would be flawless. Yet, a shadow of worry crept over her. This time, the headmaster seemed unusually detached, almost uninterested, leaving all responsibilities to her.
Her gaze wandered to the wall, where rows of framed pictures hung, each capturing joyful moments from the past decade. In every photo, Miss Choi stood beside Headmaster Park-ha, surrounded by smiling children, their faces alight with excitement. Those photos were a testament to the memories they'd built together, moments of pride and happiness shared with the students over the years.
As she looked at the images, a pang of nostalgia tugged at her heart. But mingling with it was a growing concern. She couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed in the headmaster—a distance, a reluctance that had never been there before.
..
Suddenly she remembered something from the past....
"Headmaster," Miss Choi asked softly, noticing him standing quietly before the wall of photos. "What are you looking at so carefully?"
He gave a faint smile, eyes fixed on one particular photo. "I'm looking at Park-ha, Miss Choi," he replied, his voice distant. "Do you remember how happy we all were back then? How's life full of happiness with the park-ha…" He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion. "But when he left, it's as if all our happiness left with him."
Miss Choi's heart ached at his words. She knew how deeply he had loved his son, Park-ha. In every moment, every laugh they had shared, his son's presence was always there in the headmaster's heart."
"Yet, for the past three years, he had never spoken of him. It was as if he'd forced himself to bury those memories, perhaps thinking that silence might dull the pain".
Gazing at him now, Miss Choi understood that he hadn't truly forgotten. Instead, he had simply carried that sorrow alone, locked away where no one could see it.
"Miss Choi." A voice called to her from behind.
"Yes?" She turned to see a man holding an envelope. He stepped forward, handing it to her. Her name was written neatly across the front. She took the letter quietly, and after a brief nod, the man turned and left.
Miss Choi unfolded the letter, her heart beating a little faster as she recognized the handwriting. She began to read:
"I am fine, Mother, and Aunty are also well. I'm writing to let you know that I'll be in your city by tomorrow evening. I hope you'll be waiting for me."
A warm smile spread across Miss Choi's face as she finished reading. She took a deep breath, feeling a wave of relief and happiness. Her daughter was coming home—it was a joyous surprise.
But as soon as her happiness faded, she folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. A wave of worry washed over her as she realized that nothing was the same anymore. Now, she was bringing her daughter into this struggle, not knowing if, after all these years apart, her daughter would be ready for it...…