Where Hearts Dare | TAEJIN

03. Conversations in the Library

The rain continued its steady rhythm, as if the sky had no intention of clearing up anytime soon. Seokjin stepped out into the drizzle, pulling his umbrella close as the cool mist kissed his skin. He glanced up at the gray clouds, finding a strange sense of peace in the gloom. The weather mirrored his mood—heavy but calm.

Seokjin made his way to the nearest bus stop, the cobblestone streets slick with rainwater. He could hear the faint splashing of puddles as people hurried by, their faces obscured by umbrellas. The world around him felt muted, almost dreamlike, as if the rain had softened the edges of everything.

The bus arrived a few minutes later, its old frame creaking as it pulled to a stop. The vehicle, one of the few still running despite the war, was a relic from a past era—its wooden seats polished from years of use, its windows fogged from the damp air. Seokjin climbed aboard, shaking the rain from his umbrella before folding it up. He paid the fare and found an empty seat near the back, settling in as the bus began to trundle down the street.

The sound of the bus engine was a low hum, steady and familiar. Seokjin leaned his head against the cold window, watching the rain streak down the glass in thin rivulets. The city blurred outside—people huddled under umbrellas, shop signs flickering in the misty light, soldiers in uniform marching down the streets. Life continued, even under the weight of war.

As the bus made its way through the city, the crackle of a radio began to play softly through the speaker near the driver’s seat. It was an old, scratchy tune, but the melody was light, almost hopeful. The singer’s voice crooned about dreams and freedom, about chasing what you believe in despite the odds. Seokjin closed his eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over him.

“Live your dream, reach for the sky... Even when the world tells you why...
Keep running, keep trying...
And someday, you’ll be flying...”

The words felt like they were meant for him, tugging at something deep inside. He’d always dreamed of living freely—of painting and writing without fear of judgment or consequences. But in this world, where even a simple poem could get you killed, those dreams felt so far away.

The bus jolted slightly as it hit a bump in the road, pulling Seokjin from his thoughts. He opened his eyes, glancing around the bus. It was sparsely populated—an elderly man in a brown fedora sat near the front, reading a newspaper. A few other passengers sat scattered throughout, their faces hidden behind scarves and hats to shield them from the chill.

His gaze wandered to a young boy sitting a few rows ahead, no older than seven or eight. The boy was holding up a piece of paper, showing it to his mother, who sat beside him. Her face lit up with pride as she looked at the child’s drawing—a simple sketch of a house and a tree, with stick figures representing what Seokjin assumed was the boy’s family.

“Omma, look!” the boy said excitedly, his voice carrying through the quiet bus. “I drew our house! And here’s you, and here’s Appa, and here’s me!”
The mother smiled, her eyes soft as she ruffled her son’s hair. “It’s beautiful, my darling. You’re so talented. Maybe one day, you’ll become a great artist.”

The boy beamed at the praise, clutching the drawing proudly to his chest. Seokjin watched the interaction with a small, wistful smile. It was such a simple, pure moment—something untouched by the war, by the harshness of the world outside. The sight of the boy showing his art to his mother stirred something in Seokjin’s chest, a warmth that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He thought back to his own childhood, to the countless hours he’d spent drawing and painting in his room. His parents had always supported his creative pursuits, even when they didn’t fully understand them. His mother would often sit with him as he worked, offering quiet encouragement, much like the mother in front of him now.