Snow clings to the cobblestones like forgotten sugar. Thin, mostly melted, but stubborn in the corners.

The air bites less than yesterday, carrying the scent of roasted sugar and wood smoke through the narrow alleys of Quartier Petit Champlain.

We walk in a loose, noisy line past painted doors and crooked shutters. Fairy lights loop overhead, blinking gold. Shop windows tempt with soaps, scarves, old books, maple candies. The kind of street that feels like a curated dream.

And for once, no one's rushing.

Yegi's the loudest, obviously. She's wearing a puffer coat so big she looks like she wrestled a sleeping bag and won, and somehow still manages to fling her scarf like a dramatic cape every time she talks. "Okay," she says, spinning on her heel in front of a coffee stall. "New rule. First person to use the worst French with the barista and still get a free sample wins. Go."

She points directly at me.

I raise a brow. "Why me?"

"Because yesterday you said 'baguette' like a mafia extra."

"Bro said bag-wet," Taeho deadpans.

Laughter breaks. Tamara wheezes, Chloe claps like it's the best roast she's heard all trip.

"You sounded like you were trying to sell bread at gunpoint." Even Haeri chuckles, soft and short, the kind that barely lifts the corners of her mouth but still counts.

So I shrug, step up to the barista, and with the kind of confidence only caffeine and peer pressure can give, "Bonjour, je voudrais... uh... un maple coffee... avec le... extra boom-boom?"

The barista stares. Then cracks up.

He hands me a sample cup with a grin. "On the house, mon ami. Just never say that again."

Behind me, Yegi is howling. "EXTRA BOOM-BOOM. Are you possessed?"

"I got the sample, didn't I?"

Tamara snaps a photo as proof, and Chloe's wiping tears from under her lashes. Even Taeho's chuckling—real and unguarded. It's the kind of morning that doesn't ask much from you, just that you be present, and loud, and open to looking stupid.

We keep walking, voices echoing. Snow lingers—on balconies like white birds, dripping from antique lanterns.

Haeri lingers near the back. Navy coat, cream scarf, a few loose strands curling by her jaw.
She looks put together. Untouched—if you didn't know better.

But I do know her.

I know the way she listens without joining. Her eyes flick to everyone, measuring the room. Her laugh, when it comes, is perfectly timed. A mask so precise it might as well be stitched into her skin.

Still, I don't push. I play the game. I let her come to me.

She does. Eventually.

Tamara's the one who makes it happen. We pass a small square where a street performer plays the violin near a bakery window. The sound is sharp and quick, the kind that makes you feel like your coat should be longer and your hands should be holding someone's.

Tamara grabs Haeri by the wrist. "Come on. You're too cool for this but we're not."

"I don't dance."

"You walk like a ballerina."

Tamara spins her before she can protest and Haeri stumbles into laughter—not a full one, just a snort escaping through her nose, but it's real. She gives in, half-graceful, half-mortified. They spin once more, then Haeri steps back, cheeks pink from cold and movement, hiding the smile behind her scarf.

Yegi claps like she's at a concert. "Oscar-worthy performance!"

I hand Haeri the maple lollipop I bought five minutes ago, without a word.

She accepts it without hesitation, peels the wrapper with her gloves, and takes a bite.

"Too sweet."
"Guess you won't want mine."
"Gimme."
She taste-tests. "Worse."
"I paid extra for that."
"And you want to major in finance," she mutters, half-smiling.

Her voice is steady. Light. If I hadn't stood beside her last night as she told me the worst parts of herself like warnings on a label, I'd never guess there was a storm beneath her coat.

Tamara calls for a group Vogue photo. Chloe shoves herself center.
The timer blinks.
We pose terribly. Yegi kicks over a postcard rack.
A stranger cheers.

Haeri laughs—louder this time.

--++*++--

The museum is quieter than I expect. The group trickles in—Taeho on his phone, Chloe tugging her scarf, Tamara nudging Yegi toward a wall map. I hang back, a few steps behind Haeri, who walks slow, thoughtful, like she's reading the floor.

The space is dim—soft lights above the exhibits, spotlights on glass and carved stone. Arched doorways, pale walls, fragments of time. Metalwork, portraits, a row of delicate figurines behind glass.

Haeri pauses at a bronze sculpture—kneeling woman, hands open, face upturned. Dust lingers in her palms, like she's been waiting for something.

I stop beside her. She doesn't look at me.

"How long are you gonna keep following me?" Her voice is soft. Not sharp, not playful—just floating between.

I glance toward her. She crosses her arms, tugging her sleeve. Unreadable, but not closed.

"I thought I should help you with your 'set-up scenario,'" I answer. "Y'know, the one where I fall for you and you walk away."

That gets her attention.

She turns her head—slow, like it costs her—and her eyes meet mine. One beat. Two.

"You remember that?" she asks.

I shrug. "Hard to forget. You made it sound like a trap. A poetic one, but still a trap."

She huffs. Not a laugh. Just the ghost of one. Her gaze flits back to the sculpture.

"It wasn't meant to be poetic," she says.

We linger there, the hum of the museum distant behind us. A couple walks past, whispering in French. Haeri doesn't move. Her posture stays rigid, like she's balancing something delicate on her shoulders. Like if she shifts too much, she'll drop it.

I want to reach out—adjust the scarf slipping off her shoulder, brush away the stray hair caught in her collar—but I don't. I just stand there. That's the closest I can be without trespassing.

"So?" I say, softer. "You gonna walk away?"

She doesn't answer. She just exhales—slow, steady—and lets her arms drop, her hands sliding into her coat pockets. Her shoulder brushes mine. Not on purpose. But not avoided either.

She tilts her head, considering the statue again. "She looks like she's waiting for an apology," Haeri says. "Or a miracle."

I look at the statue again. I hadn't noticed before, but she's right. There's sorrow carved into the woman's expression. A resignation that's too familiar.

"What about you?" I ask.

Her brow twitches. "What about me?"

"Which one are you waiting for?"

She doesn't flinch. Doesn't answer.

But something flickers in her eyes—a tightness, a quiet grief.

I hope it's a miracle she's waiting for.
Because if it's an apology... someone's already broken something I don't know how to fix.

And that thought makes me want to cross every line I promised not to.

I want to pull her into my arms so tightly.

We move on. Group voices echo faintly behind us. A corridor glows gold.
Ahead: an abstract painting—red slashes across heavy gray.

Haeri walks toward it. I trail beside her, slower this time. She stops, stares at it.

"Looks like a storm," I offer.

She squints. "Looks like someone trying not to feel something."

I laugh under my breath. "That sounds familiar."

For the first time, she smiles.

It's faint. It's almost gone before it forms. But it's real.

I reach into my coat pocket and pull out a wrapped maple taffy I bought earlier. I break it clean and offer her the half that's not sticky. No words.

She glances sideways at me, then takes it between her gloved fingers.

"Not bad," she says after a pause. "Still too sweet."

"Like me."

"You wish."

But there's a softness in her eyes now. Not the same girl from yesterday. Or maybe the same, just less hidden.

I let myself look at her a little longer. Let the quiet stretch between us.

Then—

"Yujin! Haeri!"

Chloe jogs toward us, breathless. "Come see! Taeho's girlfriend's here—Rina!"

She says it like it's nothing. Like she didn't just step in on the kind of moment people write about and delete twice. Like she didn't see the space between us tighten and the heat that hadn't quite reached our hands yet.

But she's already gone, skipping down the hall again.

Haeri steps back first.

I follow. Just far enough to keep up.

Just close enough to try again.

--++*++--

Taeho clears his throat like he's introducing a guest speaker.

"So... there's someone I want you to meet."

We're standing in the quieter wing of the museum, near a display case of broken ceramics. Yellow light pools down, dust visible in the beams. Even the walls feel like they're listening.

"Wait," Tamara says, narrowing her eyes. "You don't mean—"

"Yeah. Rina's been here since day one," Taeho admits.

"Since the start?" Yegi blinks.

"She's been in the city this whole time?" Chloe echoes.

"I just didn't want pressure," Taeho shrugs. "Or teasing."

"You didn't want teasing," Tamara repeats, arms crossed. "But you thought sneaking off in plain sight was less suspicious?"

He shrugs with a guilty smile. "Felt easier."

That's when the group puts the dots together—slow at first, then all at once.

"Ohhhhhh..." they chorus.

"The random disappearances," Yegi mutters.
"The late-night coffee runs," Tamara adds.
Chloe snaps her fingers. "And the 'I got lost' excuse. You were twenty feet behind us."

Taeho's laugh is muffled behind one hand. "Okay, okay, yeah. That was probably me meeting up with her."

And just like that, all eyes slide past him to the girl standing quietly at his side—waiting, apparently, for the signal to step into the light.

Rina's coat is navy, sharp-lined, with gold buttons. Her boots gleam. Hair in a soft blonde bun, face confident and calm. Effortless, like she belongs everywhere.

And when she smiles, it's wide and unbothered.

"Annyeong," she says, lifting one hand in greeting. "Sorry for the delayed intro. I've been lurking in the background like a Netflix subplot."

Tamara grins. "You must be Rina."

"Guilty." She flashes a wink. "And you must be the one who said my boyfriend's idea of flirting is tripping over power cords."

Yegi cackles. "Oh she's perfect."

Tamara throws her hands up. "That was one time!"

"I'm Yegi," she cuts in, bowing with dramatic flair. "Resident disaster and aspiring travel vlogger."

"Rina," she replies, bowing back just slightly. "Aspiring to survive this trip without secondhand embarrassment."

Laughter breaks through the group again. Chloe giggles into her glove. Even Haeri smiles—faint but visible—before lifting one hand, "Annyeong." The quiet lilt in her voice is almost easy to miss, but I hear it, like a small folded ribbon of warmth.

Rina bows gently. "Nice to finally meet you all."

Yegi points. "This is Tamara, Chloe, Haeri, and this tragic bundle of nerves is Taeho."

Taeho groans. "Come on, man."

Chloe leans her cheek against Haeri's shoulder now, still latched to her arm like a child claiming her safety blanket. It's hard to tell when she got there—maybe during the teasing. Haeri watches Rina, gaze unreadable—quiet admiration tucked behind her smile. I've seen her look at poetry like that.

Rina, for her part, catches the attention with the ease of someone who never had to force it. Her presence is loud without volume. Polished without stiffness. She slips into the group like she was always meant to be here.

I glance at Taeho, who looks like he's halfway between pride and sheer panic. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his face a little red, grinning like he's fifteen again.

"Pretty bold bringing someone this pretty," Yegi grins. "She's way out of your league."

Taeho laughs, rubbing the back of his neck again. "Yeah, yeah. Go easy on me."

I clap a hand on his back and lean in. "Hyung, you really didn't think this would happen the second you showed up with her?"

"I hoped not this fast," he mumbles.

I drape my arm casually over his shoulders before he combusts. He smiles with relief—dopey and proud, like someone who got away with something but still wants credit for it.

It should be funny, watching him this smitten.
But deep down, I feel a flicker of something else.
I glance sideways—at the girl who wears silence like armor.
And I hope I haven't looked at her the way Taeho looks at Rina.

Because if I have... I'm already gone.