🌸 Chapter 1 : When Strangers Feel Familiar
"Why do I always paint this couple? I don't even know them… or do I? Is there a connection I'm forgetting?"
Beyond the chaos and noise of the city, where the hum of traffic turned into the rustling of leaves and the skyline gave way to hills veiled in morning mist, sat a quiet house. Its windows overlooked a forest of sleeping trees, and the wind carried with it the scent of pine, earth, and something timeless. It was a home tucked between dreams and memories—a place where the world seemed to slow down.
At the heart of this peaceful haven was a room that breathed art.
The studio, bathed in soft sunlight pouring through sheer curtains, was a world of its own. Every inch of it bore witness to the heart of the woman who worked there—unfinished canvases lined the walls, paint-splattered aprons were hung on the hooks, and a cluttered wooden table stood proudly in the center, covered with sketchbooks, brushes, palettes, and half-filled mugs of now-cold tea.
In the midst of it stood Jiwoo.
She wasn't painting anymore. Her brush had long since fallen silent, resting beside the canvas she had just completed. Her gaze, however, lingered.
The image was striking: a couple standing beneath a blossoming tree, hands interlocked, as if the world beyond them didn't exist. Their expressions were tender, eyes locked in a moment of aching familiarity. Jiwoo's heart felt oddly tight as she stared at them.
Her voice echoed quietly in her head.
"Why do I always paint this couple? I don't even know them… or do I? Is there a connection I'm forgetting?"
The question wasn't new—it returned with every finished painting, every stroke that ended with the same two figures she had never consciously meant to draw. But this time, the feeling was stronger. Stranger. Her chest ached with something she couldn't name, like trying to remember a dream just out of reach.
Her thoughts shattered like fragile glass when a familiar voice called out from somewhere down the hall.
"Jiwoo! Where are you, my little princess?"
She blinked, pulled from her reverie. Her fingers flexed around the edge of the canvas before she called back, "Appaaa! I'm here—in the studio!"
With one last glance at the mysterious couple frozen in oil, she wiped her hands on a worn cloth and stepped out of the room.
Warmth greeted her as she entered the living room. The wooden floors creaked gently beneath her steps. Sunlight danced across the lace curtains, casting gentle patterns on the faded couch cushions. Framed photographs lined the shelves—childhood birthdays, beach trips, school recitals—all centered around a man with gentle eyes and an ever-smiling face.
Mr. Kang stood near the kitchen counter with a coffee mug in hand, reading glasses perched on his nose, and an expression that was both stern and soft.
"Princess," he said, turning toward her with a smile, "have you given Manager-nim the final list of paintings for the exhibition? He's already tearing his hair out over the arrangements."
Jiwoo laughed softly and moved to lean against the back of the couch. "Appa, I sent him the list this morning. Relax, will you? Why are you acting like this is some royal event? It's just an exhibition."
Mr. Kang gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "Just an exhibition? This is your dream, sugar pie! You've been working on your art since you were barely out of diapers. This is the moment the world sees who you are. How can I not be worked up?"
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. "I know, I know. But you've done enough. Manager-nim and I have it all under control. You should sit back and enjoy the moment. Stressing out will only give you more grey hair."
He chuckled and hugged her back. "I believe in my daughter, but... I still went over every arrangement myself. Just to make sure."
Jiwoo pulled away with a groan. "Appa! That was my job!"
"Well, now that it's done, I suppose you can rest," he said, raising an eyebrow. "But don't think I didn't notice you eyeing the japchae in the fridge earlier."
Jiwoo's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Oh, thank you for reminding me!"
And with that, she darted toward the kitchen.
"Yah! That's my half! You already ate yours last night!" Mr. Kang shouted after her, half-laughing.
Jiwoo peeked from behind the refrigerator door with a cheeky grin. "Let your daughter eat it. I'll pay in hugs."
He shook his head with mock exasperation. "Fine. But next time, I'm stealing your half. No negotiations."
"Deal!" she called, already twirling the noodles onto a plate.
As she sat at the small kitchen table, happily devouring the food, Mr. Kang leaned against the doorway and watched her, a soft expression resting on his face.
"You used to hate japchae, you know," he mused. "Said it was too slippery."
She paused mid-bite. "Did I? I don't remember that. I've always loved it, haven't I?"
He smiled wistfully. "Whatever you say is true, sugar pie. You're just like your mom in that way."
Jiwoo looked up, her expression gentle. "You miss her, don't you?"
Mr. Kang didn't respond immediately. He gazed out the window, where wind gently swayed the garden flowers. " No I don't miss her, we miss someone whom we forget... or someone we can't quite remember. But she is with me, she lives here." He placed a hand over his heart. "Always."
Jiwoo stood up and crossed the room to hug him tightly. "You're such a romantic, Appa."
"Yah!" he exclaimed, flustered. "I'm your father. Show some shame!"
She giggled. "What? What did I say that was shameless?"
He rolled his eyes fondly. "Kids these days."
As the laughter subsided, Jiwoo's tone shifted slightly. "Appa… after the exhibition, I'll be moving into my new house in the city. It'll be easier for me to handle the gallery from there."
The smile on Mr. Kang's face faltered.
"New house?" he repeated.
Jiwoo nodded, placing her bowl in the sink. "Mhm. I bought it myself. Your sugar pie is officially a grown woman. You won't have to worry about me anymore."
But when she turned to look at him, his eyes were misty.
"Appa?" she said quietly. "You don't like it, do you? If you say the word, I'll stay. I don't want to go if it makes you sad."
He walked over to her and placed both hands on her shoulders. "No, sweetheart. I'm not sad. Just... a little overwhelmed. You've grown so much. It feels like just yesterday you were painting suns with crayons on my office walls."
Jiwoo's eyes welled with emotion. "I'll miss you every day. Maybe I shouldn't go…"
He shook his head. "No. We all have to move forward in life. You have to live your dreams. And whenever you miss me, just call. I'll come running. Or better yet, I'll show up with your half of japchae."
She laughed and hugged him again. "Promise?"
"Always."
The two stood there for a long time, holding on to a moment they both knew would soon become a memory.
--
Time Skip – The Day of the Exhibition
The sun dipped low over Paris, casting golden streaks across the city's historic skyline. Nestled among cobblestone streets and ivy-covered buildings, a grand gallery pulsed with anticipation. The art exhibition, the one Jiwoo had poured her heart into for over a year, was finally about to open its doors.
Inside, the gallery was transformed into a dreamscape—walls adorned with breathtaking pieces, each carefully framed and illuminated under soft, golden lights. The air buzzed with murmurs of admiration and the clink of champagne glasses. Floral arrangements lined the marble floor, and classical music drifted faintly from a quartet in the corner.
Jiwoo stood by one of the installations, her nerves wrapped tightly beneath her confident smile. Her deep burgundy dress flowed elegantly around her as she moved, clipboard in hand and eyes scanning the final touches.
"Manager-nim," she said, noticing him approach with brisk but careful steps.
"Yes, ma'am?" he replied, slightly breathless, still holding a walkie-talkie and a folded checklist.
She glanced around the venue, then looked back at him. "Did everything get arranged properly?"
The man bowed slightly, flashing a reassuring smile. "Yes, ma'am. Everything is in place. The lighting is perfect, the artist names have been updated, and the refreshment counters are ready. I must say... the theme came together beautifully."
Jiwoo breathed a little easier. "I have to say, you did a great job, Manager-nim."
He chuckled modestly. "You're being too kind. This was all your vision. I just followed orders and stressed my hairline a little."
She laughed softly. "Still, thank you. I couldn't have pulled this off without you."
"Ah, by the way," he added, voice lowering slightly, "our chief guest has arrived. He landed earlier and sent word that he'll be here before the main walkthrough begins."
Jiwoo nodded, a touch of curiosity flickering across her features. "That's good to hear. I've heard he's a very influential businessman. I just hope our humble little gallery manages to impress him."
"Impress?" Manager-nim raised a brow. "Ma'am, the entire art board is buzzing about your rise in the modern Korean-European art circuit. If anything, I'm sure he hopes he makes a good impression."
Jiwoo smiled but looked away, her thoughts drifting. "What about the rest of the guests?"
"All settled," he replied confidently. "Everyone's been greeted, seated, or introduced to their respective guides. Nothing's out of place."
Jiwoo inhaled deeply. "Let's hope it stays that way until the end."
The gallery soon began to fill steadily. Parisian collectors, press reporters, and critics dressed in high fashion entered, their eyes widening at the colorful cascade of artwork curated on the walls. Jiwoo's pieces—especially the recurring ones of the mysterious couple—were already gathering quiet buzz.
As Jiwoo mingled with guests, answering questions and discussing the concepts behind her work, she felt a growing pride she hadn't allowed herself to feel in weeks. This was her dream coming to life in every glowing pair of eyes, in every soft whisper of admiration she passed by.
Suddenly, Manager-nim approached again, whispering urgently.
"Ma'am… our chief guest is running a little behind. Just a minor delay. I'll notify you as soon as he arrives."
Jiwoo nodded, distracted. "Alright. Just… don't let him feel left out when he gets here. Make sure he's escorted in properly."
"Of course," he bowed slightly and hurried off.
A few moments later, Jiwoo found herself in front of one of her favorite paintings—a rendition of the recurring couple again, this time under a starlit bridge in Seoul, painted from a dream she couldn't remember. She was explaining the brushwork and emotional symbolism to a group of guests when she heard footsteps approach from behind.
A firm voice, respectful and low, called out to her.
"Ma'am, allow me to introduce Mr. Kim Seojun."
Jiwoo turned her head slowly, eyes lifting toward the man standing just behind Manager-nim.
And in that single breath, time hiccupped.