The car hummed like a restless lullaby as we sped along the highway. The sun, a molten orange orb, hung low in the sky, its fiery tendrils painting the horizon in shades of amber and crimson. I sat sandwiched between Jared and Antonella, their muted chatter serving as a distant murmur against the symphony of rubber wheels on asphalt. Y/n leaned forward slightly, her curly hair catching the light in soft, golden coils, and Jimin—stoic as ever—gripped the steering wheel with a tension that betrayed his exhaustion.

Three hours. Three long, unforgiving hours through congested streets and relentless traffic. The strain was evident in the subtle furrow of his brow, the faint slump of his usually upright shoulders.

“Guys, I’m pulling over,” Jimin announced, his voice quiet but resolute. His gaze flicked momentarily to the rearview mirror, meeting mine for a fleeting second before returning to the road. “There’s a café just ahead. I need a break.”

I glanced outside as the car veered off the main highway and into a quaint parking lot nestled beneath the canopy of ancient trees. The café stood like a forgotten relic of simpler times—a rustic wooden structure with ivy creeping up its sides and soft yellow lights spilling warmth onto the cobblestone pathway. A faded sign swung lazily in the breeze, its handwritten lettering reading Highway Haven. 

The moment the engine ceased its hum, Jimin exhaled deeply, the sound more a release of tension than relief. 

“You okay?” Y/n asked, her voice tender, a hand already reaching out to touch his arm.

He nodded, though his smile was faint, like the ghost of sunlight on a cloudy day. “Yeah. Just… need a moment.” 

Antonella, ever perceptive, turned to us with a conspiratorial grin. “Alright, team. Let’s give the man some space. Coffee, anyone?” 

“Coffee sounds good,” Jared chimed in, stretching his arms with a groan.

We all climbed out, the cool evening air brushing against my face like a soft whisper. Jimin lingered by the driver’s side, leaning against the car and closing his eyes for a brief moment. His exhaustion was palpable, the weight of the journey etched into the lines of his face. 

“Don’t take too long,” Y/n called out gently, her gaze lingering on him. He opened his eyes and offered a small, grateful nod before following us into the café. 

Inside, the place was a time capsule of rustic charm. Wooden tables and mismatched chairs dotted the space, while the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint sweetness of baked goods. A soft melody played from an old jukebox in the corner, adding a layer of nostalgia to the air. 

Jimin settled into the corner seat with a steaming cup of coffee cradled in his hands, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he finally allowed himself a moment of peace. The soft, golden light from a nearby wall lamp cast a warm glow over our little group, reflecting in the dark liquid swirling in his mug. Antonella sat to his left, stirring her cappuccino absentmindedly, while Jared leaned back in his chair with the ease of someone entirely too comfortable in his own skin. 

I swirled my own drink, its bittersweet aroma wafting upward, and turned my attention to Jared. He wasn’t an imposing figure—lean and casually dressed—but there was an air about him, a quiet confidence that piqued my curiosity. Leaning forward slightly, I tilted my head and asked, “So, Jared, what do we have in common?” 

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, before quirking an eyebrow. “You and me?” 

I nodded, feigning casual disinterest, though I kept my gaze fixed on him. “Yeah. You and me. There’s got to be something.” 

Jared paused, his fingers drumming lightly against the rim of his coffee cup as he considered the question. Then, with a slow grin that spelled trouble, he said, “Love for Ella, I suppose.” 

The reaction was instant. Antonella’s cheeks flushed a deep rose, and she ducked her head, suddenly far too interested in her coffee. Y/n smirked, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. Jimin, meanwhile, let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if to say, here we go again.

“Smooth,” I drawled, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. “But I’m not sure that counts. You’ve known her less longer. I've got the home-field advantage.” 

Jared’s grin widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Fair enough. But you didn’t specify what kind of commonality, did you?” He gestured toward Antonella, who was now trying—and failing—not to smile. “I mean, it’s not my fault we’re both charmed by the same person.” 

Antonella finally looked up, narrowing her eyes at Jared in mock annoyance. “Oh, stop it. You’re embarrassing me.” 

“Embarrassing? You? Never,” Jared shot back, feigning a look of innocent shock. 

“Yeah, she’s the queen of grace,” Y/n added, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “Hard to ruffle someone who’s always so… composed.” 

Antonella rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her. “Alright, alright. Can we move on?” 

But Jared wasn’t quite done yet. “Well, if we’re talking seriously,” he said, leaning forward now, “I guess what we have in common, JK, is that we both seem to attract trouble. You know—intentionally or otherwise.” 

“Trouble?” I echoed, arching a brow. 

“Mm-hmm,” he said, nodding sagely. “I mean, take this road trip, for instance. I’m sure we’re both going to find a way to make it… memorable.” 

Jimin snorted into his coffee, and Y/n’s laughter spilled over, light and melodious. I couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second.” 

“Good,” Jared said, raising his coffee in a mock toast. “Because if I’ve learned anything, it’s that life’s better with a bit of chaos. Keeps things interesting.” 

Antonella groaned, burying her face in her hands, but there was no missing the affectionate smile tugging at her lips. 

“Interesting is one word for it,” Jimin chimed in, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “Exhausting is another.” 

I shifted the conversation again, my curiosity piqued. “What’s your surname, mate?” I asked, watching his expression with care. 

“Torres,” he replied smoothly, before adding with a faint smile, “I never said my full name, did I? Jared Hardy Torres, but I usually go by J.H. Torres.” 

The name struck me like a distant echo, stirring memories I couldn’t quite place. I studied his face, the sharp lines of his jaw, the particular set of his eyes—familiar and yet foreign. And then, it clicked. He looked like his name—like two-thirds of it, at least. Hardy Torres. 

I leaned forward slightly, the words forming with sudden clarity. “Off track again, but was your grandfather—or someone in your family—military? General Hardy Torres?” 

Jared blinked, surprised by the question, but nodded. “Yes, that’s my great-grandfather. How do you know him?” He paused, a hint of solemnity creeping into his tone. “He passed away during the Korean War. He was training a troop of teenage soldiers sometime around 1949 or 1950, I think. I don’t remember the exact details.” 

A chill ran down my spine. His words conjured an image so vivid, it felt as though I had been there myself.

My voice wavered as I spoke. “The North Korean soldiers… they declared open fire on them one evening. Your great-grandfather did his best—fought like hell to protect them all. But he…” I stopped abruptly, the weight of the memory choking my words. It wasn’t just a story. I had seen it—felt the chaos, the fear, the loss. 

“Hey, JK, are you okay, buddy?” Jared’s voice broke through the haze, steady yet tinged with concern. He reached across the table, his hand brushing mine as I sat trembling, my breaths shallow and uneven. 

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Your grandfather, did he ever write about Cheon Seok? Lieutenant Cheon Seok. Do you know anything about him?” 

Jared’s brows furrowed in confusion. His silence was telling, but the room around us wasn’t silent. The weight of unspoken truths hung thick in the air. Jimin’s steady gaze, Antonella’s clenched hands, Y/n’s soft, searching expression—they all knew something Jared didn’t. 

“I… I don’t understand,” Jared finally said, his voice uncertain as he turned to the others for answers. “I don’t know the preface to this. But yes, Jk, you’re correct. About everything. I just don’t know how.” 

The silence stretched until Antonella spoke, her voice firm yet heavy with emotion. “You need to understand what this means, Jared,” she began, her eyes locking onto his. “JK’s dreams… they’re not just dreams. They’ve haunted him for years. They’re memories—fragmented, disjointed, but real. They’re pieces of something that actually happened.” 

Jared’s expression shifted, disbelief giving way to an uneasy realization. “So… that’s where we’re going today?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. 

“Yes, if our every deduction is correct,” Jimin began, his voice measured yet laden with emotion, “then Mai is my Halmeom. Her real name is Su Gyeong, JK. That’s why I never suspected her.”

He paused, his fingers tracing the edge of his coffee cup as though grounding himself. “And if all of this is true, then I, an orphan, have a living grandmother. Someone I’ve known my whole life without realizing. Her real name is Kim Seo Jin.  Aein is her nickname."

Jared leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “You’re serious?” he asked, shaking his head slightly. “This sounds like something straight out of a novel. You all could easily write a book about this, and I’m telling you, it would be a bestseller.” 

I chuckled lightly, letting the tension dissolve for a brief moment. “Jared’s not wrong,” I said, shooting a glance at Y/n, who smiled knowingly. 

“Actually,” Y/n added, her tone light yet teasing, “JK does maintain a diary. Every year, without fail, he writes down everything—meticulous details, timelines, all of it. All we’d need to do is compile his notes and publish them.” 

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “Well, Jared, you might not earn the title of Hyung just yet,” I said, a hint of humor in my voice, “but I’ll say this—General Hardy Torres was an exceptional man. If you carry even a fraction of his spirit, you’ll do just fine.” 

Jared smiled, but there was something contemplative in his expression. “You know,” he began, leaning forward slightly, “my grandmother used to say I looked like him. And… there’s something I’ve been meaning to mention. My family kept the last belongings of Lieutenant Cheon Seok. They were sent to us by the military.” 

Jimin straightened in his seat, his eyes narrowing slightly. “The military sent them to your family?” 

Jared nodded. “Yes. The letter mentioned that he was born in Busan, so when I knew we’d be heading there, I packed his belongings. Just a few things—letters, keepsakes. My father wanted them out of storage, and he thought maybe, if we ever got the chance, we should let go off the memories we never had,” He paused, glancing around the table. “But now, I think I’ve already found them, memories.” 

Antonella tilted her head, her expression skeptical. “But why would you bring those things without knowing anything for sure?” 

Jared sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because my father insisted. He said it didn’t make sense to hold onto them anymore—especially since we didn’t know anything about Cheon Seok’s descendants. And honestly, I didn’t expect anything to come of it. But now,” He gestured toward us, his voice softening. “Now, I’m starting to believe it wasn’t just chance.” 

The air grew heavy with the weight of his words. None of us spoke, but the unspoken understanding between us was enough. 

"Actually, we should take a closer look at those," Y/n suggested, her voice tinged with curiosity and quiet resolve. The suggestion hung in the air, met with nods of agreement. Jimin, who had been subdued for most of the drive, suddenly seemed electrified, a spark of determination lighting his eyes. 

Without wasting another moment, we paid the bill, thanked the staff for their hospitality, and hurried back to the car. Jared, now visibly eager, unlocked his suitcase with a sense of reverence, as though unearthing a treasure chest of secrets long buried. 

When he lifted the lid, the world around me seemed to blur, every sound dimming to a distant hum. There it was—proof of everything I had felt but could never fully explain. Nestled within the confines of the suitcase were relics of a life I had only glimpsed in fractured dreams. There he was, the real Lieutenant Cheon Seok.

An aged stack of letters lay tied with fraying ribbon, the handwriting impossibly precise, each word penned with care. Beside them, a small tin of watercolor paints—its once vibrant shades now faded and nearly used up—spoke of an artist’s hands that had poured their soul onto paper. Rolls of fine parchment, expensive and weathered with time, were meticulously preserved. Jared unfurled one with delicate fingers, and I felt my breath catch. 

These were no ordinary papers. They were alive with sketches, paintings—visions rendered in exquisite detail. Every brushstroke, every line, mirrored moments I had seen only in dreams. 

“Noona,” I murmured, my voice trembling as I reached for one of the papers. My fingers hesitated, almost afraid to touch. “Do you see this? These… these are…” My words faltered under the weight of realization. 

Antonella leaned closer, her eyes widening. “These are exactly like yours,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her gaze darted between me and the sketches, her expression caught between awe and disbelief. “This is your face, JK. And… this is Y/n.” 

Her voice trailed off, her thoughts seemingly overwhelmed. There, immortalized on the fragile sheets, were the Lieutenant and the Lady—figures I had carried with me for as long as I could remember. 

Jimin broke the silence, his voice low but resonant with an unshakable certainty. “We were bound to lives behind.” His words carried the weight of countless untold stories, threads weaving us into something far greater than ourselves. 

I turned to him, my chest tight with an emotion I couldn’t yet name. For all my dreams, for all the haunting clarity of those visions, this moment—this undeniable proof—felt both liberating and terrifying. 

" I apologise but I actually sold two of these paintings to art galleries. I didn't know that I'd find the real owners. If you say, I'll try my best to buy them back." Jared slowly said.

"And is that how you put that auction for that ink painting?" Antonella asked.

"Yes. I wanted to sell that on digital forums and keep the real copy. My mother kept that one, she likes it."

"It's okay. Your mum can keep that one and about the ones you sold," Antonella said

Jared immediately interrupted Antonella, "I'll make sure to buy them back. Trust me, it'll be expensive but I'll make up for my mistakes."

"No, that's fine, I'll buy them back. It's much easier for me to buy them back. It'll be no sweat." Antonella said. Rich. Yes. She is rich.

"None of that really matters, what matters is that your grandma, my love, will get a well deserved closure. I already got mine." I held Y/n's hands as our eyes spoke the rest.