𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 | (𝐆)𝐈-𝐃𝐋𝐄

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

It started with a necklace.

Not just any necklace—this one shimmered under the light, catching the moon just right, its half-moon shape delicate yet weighty, as if it carried centuries of secrets.

Shuhua held it tightly in her fist, knuckles white as her grandfather’s final words echoed in her mind.

| “Find the one who carries the other half, Shuhua. Only together can you stop what’s coming.”

She didn’t understand what he meant at the time. Hell, she barely does now. But she loved him. And when someone you love trusts you with their final breath, you listen.

So she packed up her life, tucked the necklace safely beneath her shirt, and went searching.

She didn’t know what she was looking for—just a matching piece, a mirrored crescent. That’s all. But as the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the world started to feel bigger than she’d ever imagined. Bigger, scarier, lonelier.

Until she met Soojin.

It wasn’t dramatic, not at first. Just a woman sitting across from her at a dusty old book café in Busan. They both reached for the last matcha muffin at the same time. Their fingers brushed. And that was it.

A click. Like the world exhaled.

“Oh—sorry, you can have it,” Soojin said, smile soft, warm eyes rimmed with sleep. She was in paint-splattered overalls, a sketchpad in her bag, and a necklace—the other half of the moonstone—around her neck.

Shuhua forgot how to breathe.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared. And Soojin, ever so casually, looked down at her own necklace and blinked.

“You’re kidding,” she murmured.

They didn’t even have to touch. The necklaces vibrated with energy just from being near each other. But when they did finally press the two halves together, the air in the café shifted. A pulse. A flash. And then—

A vision. The world crumbling. Oceans swallowing cities. Fire, shadows, ash.

Both girls gasped, lurching back. And in that moment of chaos, one thing became very clear:

|They were meant to save the world.
And somehow, they were meant for each other too.

---

What followed was... insane.

Visions, tests, moments of near-death and impossible beauty. They weren’t superheroes, just two people trying to figure out why the universe had dumped this fate on their shoulders. But along the way—between saving a burning library in Kyoto and surviving an avalanche of shadow wolves in Tibet—they grew close.

Painfully close.

Shuhua fell first. She tried to hide it, tried to stay focused. But how could she, when Soojin kept looking at her like she was the miracle?

Soojin wasn’t subtle either. Her hand would linger too long on Shuhua’s wrist. She started sleeping closer during cold nights, whispering things like, “You make this feel less terrifying.”

They kissed one night, under a shattered moon. It wasn’t urgent or desperate. Just right. Like the universe had always planned it.

But then they found the final temple. The one with the truth.

|“When the moonstones fulfill their purpose, the memory of love will fade.”

Shuhua had to sit down when she read it. Soojin didn’t say anything, just looked at her with glassy eyes.

“We’ll save the world,” she whispered. “Even if it means forgetting how much I love you.”

And just like that, it was decided.

---

They held each other tight as the moonstones activated. Light exploded from their palms, engulfing the sky. Their last kiss was slow, trembling, soaked in all the words they didn’t have time to say.

And then—

Silence.

Darkness.

Rebirth.

//

Years later.

The world had moved on. No memory of ancient chaos or crumbling timelines. Just cities, people, laughter, life.

Shuhua, now a rising architect, sat on a bench sketching a project proposal. Her pencil danced across the paper, tracing curves she didn’t consciously understand. A crescent shape kept appearing in the design.

Something about it felt… familiar.

A breeze swept by, tugging at her sketchbook. It flipped open to a blank page, and she reached out to catch it—only to freeze.

A woman on the next bench over looked up from her book.

Eyes. Soft and brown, like roasted chestnuts. A hesitant smile. A face Shuhua didn’t recognize—but her soul did.

They stared at each other for a second too long.

And then...

“Hi,” the woman said, voice low, a little nervous. “Do I... know you?”

Shuhua blinked. “I was going to ask the same thing.”

They talked.

About books. And art. And architecture. About coffee. And how weird it is to feel like you’ve met someone in a dream you can’t quite remember.

The woman’s name was Soojin. She was a painter. She liked storms and dogs and swore she’d been to Prague even though her passport said otherwise.

They kept meeting. For coffee. Then for dinner. Then on accident and on purpose. It was easy. Familiar. Like falling in love all over again—without realizing they were repeating history.

Then one day, on a walk by the beach, Shuhua found a moonstone-shaped pebble. She laughed and handed it to Soojin.

And the moment their hands touched, something shifted.

A flicker of light.

A glimpse of a kiss beneath a shattered sky.

And a feeling of home.

They both froze.

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” Shuhua asked.

Soojin nodded slowly. “I don’t know why… but it feels like we’ve done this before.”

They didn’t need the full memory. Their hearts already knew.

And this time, there were no prophecies. No ticking clocks. Just two people—finding their way back to each other.

In a world they had saved.

With a love that never forgot.