“Here. Sorry that took so long.”
“No problem, I’ve got your card.”
“…”
“Do you have a membership card?”
“…No.”
She actually did—but finding it in her wallet might take another full minute. She just shook her head.
If pulling out a card was this difficult, handling cash would take even longer.
Her daily life wasn’t impossible—but doing simple things that used to be effortless now felt like torture.
It was enough to make her want to collapse and cry out of sheer frustration. At first, she’d wondered if she’d been in some accident she couldn’t remember.
Everything was confusing. And truthfully, she still hadn’t gotten used to it.
“Your warm vanilla latte is ready!”
After picking up her drink, Hae-in found a quiet seat in the corner and slumped down on the sofa.
She was completely drained.
Before, she had gone to hospitals hoping to fix her hand. Now, she just wanted to know why it wouldn’t move.
“…Ha-ha.”
She let out a hollow laugh, her energy long since spent. Even if she went to another hospital, she knew she’d get the same answer. She didn’t have the strength to keep trying.
Resting her forehead in her right hand, Hae-in let out a long, weary sigh.
“Where did it all start going wrong…?”
She muttered without realizing it, then shook her head. She didn’t even have a clue.
It had been exactly two weeks ago when she woke up at a police station. Apparently, she’d been found asleep in front of it for no reason. The place wasn’t even a neighborhood she recognized.
‘Miss? Miss, wake up!’
She hadn’t had her phone, her ID, or anything else. Not even her car keys. Instead, her pocket had been full of something strange—a thick gold chain, tangled like seaweed.
According to an older woman who knew about gold, it was enough to buy a small car.
Haein’s thoughts drifted again, as they often did.
She clearly remembered that she’d been traveling—part research trip, part art project. She remembered leaving her studio, driving her car out onto the highway.
She remembered passing the tollgate, taking the expressway, and slowly climbing a winding mountain road where the air pressure had made her ears pop—just like now.
When she reached the top, the fog had been thick, and she’d told herself to drive carefully.
Yes—that was where her memories ended.
“…And then I woke up at the police station.”
She narrowed her eyes and tried to force her mind to recall more—but there was nothing. The next thing she remembered was the police station. She gave a small, voiceless laugh, her shoulders shaking faintly.
At first, when she saw the clock on the wall, she’d thought the officers were playing a prank on her—a hidden-camera kind of prank.
Because the digital clock showed a date that was one full year after the day she’d left for her trip. A whole year—gone.
‘Miss, are you okay?’
‘That can’t be right… This is a prank, isn’t it? Like some TV show or something?’
‘A prank? Do we look that bored to you? We’re police officers, not actors.’
‘But… this is just too strange…’
She’d thought it couldn’t possibly be real. Because if it wasn’t a prank, then a whole year of her life had simply vanished—and that was even more absurd.
The officers, thinking she was drunk, told her to call her guardian. That, too, had felt strange.
‘Alright, alright. Call someone to come get you—your guardian, a friend, anyone.’
‘…My guardian?’
‘There’s got to be someone who can come for you.’
‘Uh, my mom… and… and…’
‘And?’
‘Huh? There was… definitely someone else…’
She only had her mother to call—so why did it feel like there was someone else? It wasn’t like she’d forgotten her father had passed away long ago.
Even now, Hae-in sometimes remembered that strange feeling.
That sense that there was another guardian—someone other than her mother. She’d muttered it to herself again and again like an idiot… and then suddenly burst into tears.
She’d wanted to remember something—but when she couldn’t, the frustration turned into tears.
Embarrassingly enough, she’d cried for a long time, right there in the police station—until her mother arrived, scolding her and smacking her lightly on the back.
‘Good grief! How much did you drink to end up like this?!’
‘…Mom, something’s wrong.’
‘What’s wrong is you acting like this at your age!’
That day, she’d thought she must have been drunk, even though she hadn’t felt any alcohol in her system. What else could possibly explain it?
But even after returning home, she was plagued by a feverish emptiness. The smallest breeze could make her cry uncontrollably.
Days passed, and her memories still didn’t return. Hae-in had truly lost an entire year.
“Ugh!”
She still couldn’t make sense of it. Twisting her body in frustration, she finally noticed her coffee had gone cold.
Taking a sip, she sat there in a daze.
Should I really go to a psychiatrist…
To be honest, losing a whole year of her memory was already a massive problem. The sudden paralysis of her left hand had been such a shock that it almost pushed that issue aside.
“Honestly… my whole life’s a mess right now…”
Hae-in nodded to herself, thinking she should visit her studio tomorrow. In fact, she’d thought the same thing yesterday and the day before that… but even today, she hadn’t managed to return to her normal life.
It felt as if she were lost, wandering right in front of her own home. Every morning when she opened her eyes, that feeling returned.
________✧⑅˖♡∘˚˳°↝^._.^_________
“Where on earth did my car go…!”
Nearly a month had passed before Hae-in finally went to her studio. She had filed a police report, but the car still hadn’t been found. As for the mysterious gold pieces, she wasn’t sure if she was even allowed to use them, so she’d been stuck walking everywhere.
Climbing up the hill, she grumbled under her breath, but of course, complaining didn’t bring her memories back.
Her left hand still refused to move, as if it belonged to someone else.
Everything about her felt unstable, so instead of returning to her independent life in the studio, she had been staying with her mother. Strangely enough, the nagging she used to hate didn’t bother her so much anymore.
Maybe it was because life was inconvenient with only one hand? Ah, there was one good thing—her mother cooked for her.
Though she did make her wash the dishes.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with your left hand, but since I cooked, you can do the dishes.”
“…That’s cruel! Your daughter’s hand doesn’t even move!”
“Your right hand works fine, doesn’t it? The doctors said you should keep using it.”
Maybe her mother’s indifferent attitude was actually a blessing. It made things impossible to get too serious or pitiful.
She had, however, become rather skilled at washing dishes with just one hand.
At least she could be grateful that her right hand still worked.
Funny, she thought,
I feel like I’ve had this thought before.
She had spent days being frustrated by her immobile left hand—so when had she thought something like that before?
Maybe my déjà vu is getting worse.
Even now, she felt it again. When she arrived in front of her studio, it was as though she had just recently walked up this same hill before.
So recently, in fact, that it made her uneasy.
Had she come to the studio sometime during the year she couldn’t remember? Or was it just an old memory resurfacing? What on earth had she done during that missing year?
Without any clear answers, she just stood there, staring blankly.
If I stand here long enough… maybe something will come back to me.
Honk!
Apparently, she had wandered into the middle of the road again. Flinching, Hae-in bowed apologetically toward the driver and hurried into the building. For some reason, car horns scared her now—much more than they used to.
She shrank back easily, tensing up for no reason, and couldn’t understand why she was like this.
Did I get hit by a car while I was missing my memories?
Whether that was true or not, she felt uneasy with herself. It was clear she wasn’t ready to live alone yet.
She had been debating whether to move out of the studio and back into her mother’s home—and now, the decision felt settled in her heart.
Before her trip, she had renewed her studio lease for over a year and a half, but now less than six months remained. That made the decision easier.
Yeah. It’s a little sad, but… I can’t live alone right now anyway. It’s not like anyone’s coming to visit. It’s better this way.
Hae-in decided to use the visit to start clearing out the studio.
________✧⑅˖♡∘˚˳°↝^._.^_________
It really did feel like she had been here recently. The place had been cleaned, and judging by the look of it, someone had done it not too long ago—within the past few months, maybe.
“Why… is the canvas out?”
Hae-in tilted her head several times, staring at the easel and canvas sitting in the center of the room.
It was strange—why clean the whole place, only to leave the canvas out?
She wondered if someone else had done it, but everything was exactly where she liked it to be. This was definitely her cleaning.
What had she been planning to paint?
Somehow, she felt she already knew. It was a sign she had left for herself—something to paint later.
A message from her past self to her present self. The problem was, she couldn’t remember what it meant. These days, everything felt like that—one big, confusing blur.
“I don’t know…”
She ran her fingers along the canvas, then pulled out a brush, just in case—but her hand didn’t seem to remember how to draw.
It felt like the hand of someone who had never painted before. Which was absurd.
Even the brush, which she had held for more than half her life, felt unfamiliar now.
Her mind remembered the technique—she was sure of that—but after just a few moments of holding the brush, she realized it was impossible. Not in her current condition.
Her unresponsive left hand was one problem, but even mentally, she wasn’t in a state to paint. Even on her best days, painting was difficult.
There were too many obstacles.
In the end, she set the brush down and rummaged through her toolbox, pulling out a pencil. Strangely enough, that felt more manageable.
I’ve never liked pencils. So why did I grab one? Maybe because it’s simpler. What can I even draw with it? …A person? I don’t even like drawing people… But somehow, I want to draw a portrait. Hmm, maybe that’s a good place to start—just to loosen up my hand.
Now that she had chosen her material, faint images began surfacing in her mind. Not a woman, but a man—someone with delicate, well-defined muscles.
A man with light-colored hair… his lips would be sensual. He’d have a striking nose. His eyes… hmm. But who is he?
She was trying to recall the blurred image of someone’s face when a sound came from behind her.
“Knock, knock?”
“…Ms. Min.”
“So it really is you, Hae-in? I was passing by and thought I’d stop in. Why on earth did you leave the door wide open like this?”
There was no need to admit that she’d been zoning out again. She’d already heard that complaint enough times from her mother.
Hae-in shrugged lightly and set her pencil down.
“I was just stopping by.”
“Hmm? You look different.”
“Huh?”
“You look… younger somehow.”
Min I-young often told Hae-in she looked cute, younger, or that her skin was glowing—compliments that always made her squirm.
She tried to brush it off as friendly teasing from an older colleague, but still, it embarrassed her.
“Ah, that can’t be…”
“No, really. You look younger than when I saw you last winter. Your skin looks great, too.”
“…Winter?”
“Yeah, the night we went drinking.”
Hae-in froze. She hadn’t expected to run into someone who’d seen her during the missing year. She hadn’t told anyone about her memory loss—not even her colleagues.
She didn’t see people often anyway, but how could she even explain something like that? And she wasn’t the kind of person who liked sharing her struggles.
“I’m sorry, but… I don’t really remember. When was that?”
“Oh, we drank a lot that night. I’m not surprised your memory’s blank.”
“Really?”
“About three months ago? Wait—no, it was last year, so maybe four? My memory’s fuzzy. Sumo would know, though—he was there too.”
That, too, was something Hae-in couldn’t remember. Maybe her expression gave her away, because Min waved her hands quickly.
“Sorry, sorry. You know me—I’m hopeless with dates.”
“Where’s Mr. Kang… I mean, where is he?”
“You mean Sumo? He’s out at an external meeting today.”
Hae-in paused.
What had that been?
The moment she said Mr. Kang, she felt a strange discomfort—almost disgust.
She’d always called him that before, so why did it suddenly feel so wrong?
If not “Mr. Kang,” what else should she call him?
“Kang… Mr. Kang…”
“Hmm?”
“Kang… Mr. Kang…”
She didn’t even realize she was whispering the name over and over. Nor that she did it several times.
________✧⑅˖♡∘˚˳°↝^._.^_________
“Oh my god! What happened to your left hand? It doesn’t move?!”
Seeing I-young’s reaction—so loud and emotional—actually made Hae-in feel embarrassed. She wasn’t used to such concern. Come to think of it, this was probably the normal reaction.
“They said the doctors don’t really know why.”
“So what will you do?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not in good shape, so I’m thinking of giving up the studio and resting for a while.”
“Oh, what a waste! So many artists would kill for a spot here…”
“There’s only six months left on the lease anyway. And… I don’t think I’ll recover by then.”
“Oh, then you can’t do that either!”
I-young suddenly looked troubled, as if she’d remembered something.
“You remember the exhibition we did together? In Jeju?”
“Of course.”
“You remember the woman I introduced you to there? The elegant lady with the mole near her mouth—the marketing director from that cosmetics company.”
“Hmm… Director Hwang, was it?”
“Yes! You’ve got a good memory.”
Seeing how Hae-in could remember such details, she thought maybe her mother had been right—there was no need to panic about her memory.
Her mother always said being too dramatic only made things worse—that calm people handled life better. She was a strong woman.
Hae-in had inherited that in a strange way—she liked to pretend to be strong, until she eventually broke. She often thought her fragility must’ve come from her father.
“Anyway, she called me recently. Said she had your number from before, but couldn’t reach you no matter how many times she tried. She asked if I still had your contact info.”
“…I lost my phone. I got a new one recently…”
She pulled her phone from her pocket—it was almost always on silent. Like many artists, she had developed a kind of ringtone phobia.
“So I told her your old number was probably disconnected.”
“Thank you. I’ll try reaching out. I’ll probably have to decline, though…”
“Well, that’s up to you. But seriously, you need to share your number more. People want to work with you, but no one can reach you! I get that you’re shy, but you still need to eat and pay bills, right? You’re too much of a recluse! Can you believe clients are calling me for your number?”
“I know. Once I’m feeling better, I’ll try.”
“Promise? Once you recover a bit, talk to the association. Take on some commercial work—you’re good enough for that.”
It was well known in the art world that Hae-in was shy and struggled with health and mood swings. Her productivity often fluctuated for the same reason.
She had also started her career overseas, where she won awards and exhibited often, so her reputation there was solid—but in Korea, she was relatively unknown.
Finding traces of “Park Hae-in” or her work in Korea was difficult. She had always been the type to burrow underground and stay hidden.
“Ah, before lunch, can we stop by the management office?”
“Sure. What for?”
“I want to ask how to cancel the studio lease.”
At that moment, she was already set on retreating further from the world—citing her physical instability as the reason.
________✧⑅˖♡∘˚˳°↝^._.^_________
When Hae-in visited the management office, she heard something unexpected.
“…Someone’s been looking for me?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m not sure how they found out you worked here, but they said they urgently needed to ask you something. They kept calling, and just a few days ago, they even came in person.”
Hae-in rarely went anywhere—she was almost like an endangered species. This was her first time coming to the management office herself. Maybe it was fate? The manager, clearly relieved, quickly handed her a business card.
“They asked me to give this to you. They were quite persistent, so I kept it just in case. I was actually wondering how to get it to you.”
“…That’s an unusual name.”
“Do you know them?”
“Not at all.”
The name Kang Siyul looked completely unfamiliar. Yet it struck her somehow—something about it stirred a strange feeling, as though she could recall the face behind it.
Was that weird? Probably.
“…Did they say anything else?”
“Hmm, when they stopped by two days ago, they asked if you happened to have a cat. I told them I didn’t know, of course.”
“A cat? That’s random… What a strange man.”
She had every reason to feel uneasy.
From the moment she took the business card, her heart began to react—thumping oddly. What was this? This unpleasant, unfamiliar feeling?
In the end, Hae-in shook her head and handed the card back.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know them. Please just pretend I never got it.”
Among people in her field, Hae-in was known for one thing besides her art: her impenetrable walls. She looked soft and sweet, but she was impossible to get close to.
That came from her intense shyness—an instinctive defense.
