Fragments of You. | Park Sunghoon

XVII

"I'M SO SORRY."

By the time she reached her house, she was sobbing uncontrollably. She fumbled with the door, finally pushing it open and collapsing inside. Her mind was a whirl of images and sounds—Sunghoon's desperate cries, her mother's cold words, and Park Jihoon's panic-stricken face.

She fell to her knees in the hallway, her body shaking with sobs. "I'm so sorry, Sunghoon," she whispered through her tears. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Park. I didn't know. I didn't remember. I'm so, so sorry."

Miss Choi, hearing the commotion, rushed to Hwamin's side. "Hwamin, what happened? Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

Hwamin looked up at her, tears blurring her vision. "I remembered, Miss Choi. I remembered everything. I left them. I left them and I didn't help. I'm so sorry."

Miss Choi knelt beside her, wrapping her arms around Hwamin in a comforting embrace. "Shh, it's okay, Hwamin. You didn't know. You were just a child. It's not your fault."

"But it feels like my fault," Hwamin cried. "I didn't remember. I didn't do anything to help them. Now I know why Sunghoon was so angry."

Miss Choi held her tightly, rocking her gently. "Hwamin, your mind blocked those memories to protect you from the trauma. You couldn't have done anything differently. You were a child in a very difficult situation."

Hwamin clung to Miss Choi, the words offering some solace but not enough to stem the tide of guilt and sorrow. "I need to apologize to them. I need to tell Sunghoon and Mr. Park that I'm sorry."

Miss Choi nodded, her eyes filled with compassion. "In time, Hwamin. For now, you need to take care of yourself and come to terms with what you've remembered. When you're ready, you can talk to them."

Hwamin nodded through her tears, her body slowly relaxing in Miss Choi's comforting embrace. The path ahead was daunting, but she knew she had to face it. She had to find a way to make amends and rebuild the bridges that had been burned by the past.

As she sat there, cradled in Miss Choi's arms, Hwamin whispered one final apology, hoping that somewhere, Sunghoon and his father could hear her. "I'm so sorry. I'll find a way to make it right. I promise."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Sunghoon walked home in silence, the events of the day playing over in his mind. The picnic had been exhausting, not just physically but emotionally. He couldn't shake the memory of Hwamin's haunted expression, the way she had seemed so distant and lost during rehearsal.

As he approached his house, Sunghoon felt a familiar weight settle on his shoulders. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, the quiet of the house enveloping him. His mother looked up from the kitchen, her eyes tired but warm.

"How was the picnic?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Sunghoon managed a small smile. "It was good, Mom. Just a bit tiring."

His mother nodded, understanding. "I made some dinner. It's in the oven if you're hungry."

"Thanks," Sunghoon replied, but he wasn't hungry. He just wanted to be alone with his thoughts. "Where's dad, by the way?"

"Taking a walk. Like usual," she informed him.

"Okay."

He made his way to his room, closing the door behind him. The familiar surroundings provided little comfort as he sat on the edge of his bed, his mind drifting back to Hwamin. Her distant demeanor during the rehearsal had bothered him more than he wanted to admit. It reminded him too much of the past, of the day everything had fallen apart.

Sunghoon lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He remembered the argument between his father and Yoon Mirae, the way his father had clutched his chest, unable to breathe. And Hwamin—his best friend at the time—had just stood there, frozen and unresponsive. It was as if she hadn't cared at all.

The next day at school, when she had acted like nothing had happened, had been the final straw. He had felt so betrayed, so abandoned. It was easier to cut her off than to face the hurt and confusion.

Sunghoon closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He had carried that anger and hurt with him for so long, but today, seeing Hwamin so lost and vulnerable, had stirred something different in him. A flicker of empathy, of understanding.

As he lay there, Sunghoon couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was at play. He thought about the way Hwamin had looked when he asked if she needed him to walk her home. The pain in her eyes had been real, and for the first time, he wondered if she had truly remembered anything at all. Could it be possible that she had genuinely forgotten what had happened that day?

Even though there was still anger within him, he was drawn to her. There was something about Hwamin that he couldn't ignore, a pull that went beyond the hurt and the past. He wanted to understand her, to know why she had seemed so detached.

Sunghoon sighed deeply, setting his phone aside without sending a message. He knew that confronting the past wouldn't be easy, but it was necessary if they were ever going to find closure. He decided that he needed to see Hwamin in person to talk about everything. Texting her wouldn't convey the gravity of what he needed to discuss.

The next day at school, Sunghoon resolved to approach Hwamin. He needed to know the truth, and he hoped that by talking face-to-face, they could finally begin to untangle the past and find a way to move forward.

As he drifted off to sleep, Sunghoon couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Perhaps this conversation could be the first step toward healing, for both of them.