“How are you, my love?” a man in his 60s asked, sitting quietly by the grave of his beloved. In one hand, he held a bouquet of flowers, and in the other, a worn-out diary . His voice was soft, filled with both sorrow and affection as he addressed the stone before him.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come tomorrow. Someone needed my help, my baby. I hope you can forgive me for that—I know you will.” A chuckle escaped his lips as he felt a small raindrop land gently on his hand. He looked up to the sky, noticing more droplets starting to fall. Slowly, he opened his arms wide, tilting his face upwards to meet the rain. The drops traced his skin as if caressing him, and in that moment, he knew—his Jungkookie had come to him once again, in the form of rain.
Tears brimmed in his eyes, blending with the rain as they rolled down his cheeks. “I miss you… every day,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he sobbed openly, allowing himself to be soaked in the downpour. Each drop of rain felt like a gentle embrace from the one he loved.
He shivered slightly as the snow was covering the ground, a blanket of white stretching endlessly in every direction. Yet, despite the snow, it was raining. The cold rain mixed with the snow in a surreal way.
He lowered his head, speaking again , “Love, today is December 10th… the same day that the divine tore us apart . This cruel, unforgiving day.” His voice trembled.
His tears mingled with the rain, as though heaven itself mourned alongside him, and his chest ached with the loss he could never escape. “I resent this day,” he continued, his voice bitter now. “But I remember it as if it were yesterday. Every December 10th… it's like I lose you all over again, baby .”
“People ask me… how I could still be stuck on you after all these years. They wonder how ten months with you could mean more than the 35 years I’ve spent without you.” His voice caught in his throat , “But they don’t know you, my moonlight. They don’t know that those ten months with you were a lifetime in themselves, so full of meaning that I could walk through a hundred more years and still not want anyone else.”
He stayed like that for a while, alone with his grief, until suddenly, the rain stopped falling over him. Looking up, he saw a young monk standing beside him, holding a wooden umbrella to shield him from the rain.
It was the same monk he had helped just yesterday—the young man who had been in an accident. But something was strange. The old man blinked in confusion. The monk looked completely fine—healthy, even—despite the fact that Taehyung was certain he had fractured his arm. He had even taken him to the doctor himself, had seen the X-rays.
“How is this possible?” the old man muttered to himself, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.
“Hello, Mr. Kim Taehyung,” the monk greeted him with a serene smile, his voice calm and steady.
Taehyung froze. His mind raced as he tried to understand how the monk knew his name. He was sure he hadn’t introduced himself yesterday. He had given no name.
“Hello,” the elder man responded slowly, still bewildered.
“Is it your significant other lying here?” the young monk asked, his eyes shifting toward the grave filled with flowers.
Taehyung’s heart clenched. “He is,” he replied softly, offering a faint, bittersweet smile as he looked at the gravestone. His Jungkook. Gone, but never forgotten.
The monk’s gaze turned intense, studying Taehyung as if peering into his very soul. “Mr. Kim, I believe in balance—a tooth for a tooth, a tit for tat,” the monk said cryptically.
Taehyung’s brow furrowed.
“HE has given you a chance to change your course of destiny,” the monk said, his voice calm yet filled with weight. “But it will come with a price.” The words hung in the air like a prophecy.
And then, in that moment, Taehyung saw it—a faint, glowing light behind the monk’s head, like a halo, as if he were something divine.
Suddenly, the old diary in Taehyung’s hand began to stir. Its pages fluttered wildly, as if an unseen force was flipping through them. With each turn, the ink on the pages began to vanish, until every word had disappeared. By the time the diary slammed shut, a fierce wind picked up, howling through the cemetery. Snow and rain whirled around them together, faster and faster, until the storm engulfed everything in a swirling vortex of white.
Taehyung blinked, his vision blurred by the storm, and in the blink of an eye, he felt his body being pulled into the whirlwind. The cemetery, the grave, even the monk—they all began to fade from his sight. And when he looked back at the gravestone, the place where it stood was now empty, as if it had never existed.
Just like that, Taehyung was gone—vanished without a trace.
The snowstorm raged on, but the spot where Taehyung and the gravestone had stood moments before was now empty.
Time had shifted. And so had he.
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