But i wasn't a liar ✔️

Part 51

Part 51

The apartment was too quiet when Hyunjin returned from the orphanage. The cheerful chaos of children's laughter still echoed in his mind, but one moment clung to him like a shadow—the little girl in that empty room, her small hands gripping a phone as she recorded messages to parents who might never hear them. 

He sank onto the couch, the weight of the memory pressing down on him. The city lights bled through the curtains, painting streaks of gold across the dark floor. 

[FLASHBACK]

The orphanage hallway had been alive with noise—shrieking, running, the occasional crash of toys—but the door at the end was slightly ajar, silence spilling out. 

Hyunjin peeked inside. A girl, no older than eight, sat hunched over a phone, her tiny frame swallowed by an oversized chair. 

"Hello, little girl," he said softly, not wanting to startle her. "What are you doing in here alone?" 

She turned, eyes too knowing for her age. "I'm making a video for my parents." 

"Your parents?" Hyunjin crouched beside her. "Do you see them?" 

"No." Her voice was steady, but her fingers trembled. "But I want to send these to them anyway." 

"Why?" 

She clenched the phone tighter. "I want to ask them why they left me here. Why they didn't love me enough to stay." 

The words hit like a punch. Hyunjin hesitated, then chose his next words carefully. "How do you know they didn't love you?" 

"Then why am I here?" Her dark eyes glistened. "Why aren't I with them?" 

He had no real answer—only the same hollow ache he'd carried for years. "Sometimes people leave even when they don't want to." 

She studied him, head tilted. "Have you ever left someone?" 

The question cut deeper than she could know. "Yes," he admitted, voice rough. "Twice. Once, I left my best friend. Once, I left my family. And once... someone left me. None of us wanted it." 

Her lips trembled, but her voice was fierce. "I would never leave anyone behind!" 

Hyunjin smiled faintly, brushing a hand over her hair. "Then you're stronger than I was." 

She held out the phone. "Uncle... can you help me make the video?" 

"Of course." 

He pressed record. The girl faced the camera with heartbreaking bravery, speaking words no child should ever have to say—her voice small, but the grief behind it vast. 

[END FLASHBACK]

Now, in the suffocating quiet of his apartment, Hyunjin exhaled sharply. That girl's pain mirrored his own too closely—the unanswered questions, the abandonment carved into her bones before she even understood what it meant. 

"Hello my parents," he began, voice hushed to match the nighttime stillness. "I know it's a little ridiculous to make a video for you both at this hour, but I really want to do it . I learned it from a little girl today."

The memory of her small, serious face made him pause."Sometimes intelligence and advice have nothing to do with age," he continued, pulling his knees up to rest his chin on them. "But it is important how people can speak worthily at the right time."

"I raised my voice a little over you, Mom, I'm so sorry." His whisper grew strained. "I really didn't mean any disrespect to you or my father."

"But you both should have understood me a little bit." His breath hitched audibly. "I really needed your hugs during these difficult times but you both never did it!" The sudden intensity of his voice seemed too loud in the quiet apartment. "I grew up without feeling the affection of my parents."