Enchanted (Bbangsaz)

52

Minji stood frozen in the middle of her living room, her hand still gripping the doorknob, as if trying to anchor herself in the moment. The silence of the house hit her harder than usual, a weight that pressed down on her chest. She had never truly noticed it before, but now everything seemed to echo with Hanni's presence. The small details, the things she had once dismissed, were suddenly too loud, too real.

Her eyes drifted across the room. On the bookshelf, there were photos of the two of them from their vacations—Hanni's bright smile, her arms wrapped around Minji, moments of simple joy frozen in time. The frames were scattered across the house: one by the window, another on the coffee table, one near the kitchen counter where they had laughed over burnt pancakes one morning.

The kitchen itself was another place. The little mug Hanni always used, the one with the cute penguin on it, was still sitting next to the sink, untouched. Minji hadn't had the heart to move it. There was even a lingering smell of the vanilla-scented shampoo Hanni always used, mixing faintly with the scent of her own perfume. It was everywhere.

Minji moved down the hallway toward the bedroom, each step heavy with the weight of memories she wasn't ready to face. She stood at the door for a long time, staring at the mess—Hanni's clothes, still strewn across the room as if she'd just left for work and would return at any moment. Minji reached out, hesitating before she picked up one of Hanni's sweaters. It still felt warm, like it had been worn just yesterday. She buried her face in it, inhaling the familiar scent of laundry detergent and Hanni's perfume.

The closet door creaked as she opened it. Inside, everything was a mix of both their lives—Minji's crisp, neatly hung clothes and Hanni's soft sweaters and jackets, stuffed between Minji's suits and jeans. Their shoes, mismatched in size but not in the memories they carried, lined the floor. Hanni's sneakers sat right next to Minji's boots, as if waiting for her to come back and grab them for a spontaneous adventure.

In the drawer beneath the closet, Hanni's hairbrush was still there, the bristles tangled with strands of her long, dark hair. Minji's fingers lingered over it, touching it gently as though it were a delicate relic. It was strange, how something so simple could hold so much weight. Her toothbrush was next to Minji's, a small pink one with a cartoon bear on it. It had always been a silly thing—Hanni's playful side—but now it was a cruel reminder of everything that had been lost.

Minji felt a sharp pang in her chest as she stared at it, her breath catching. The tears were threatening again, but she willed them back. She didn't want to cry. Not here, not now. But it was so hard. Everywhere she looked, there was a piece of Hanni, and every piece was a reminder of the woman she had betrayed.

She dropped onto the edge of the bed, her gaze falling on the space next to her own, where Hanni's side had always been. The indentation in the pillows, the sheets that were always a little tangled on her side. It all felt so foreign now. Hanni wasn't here anymore, and no matter how many times Minji looked at her side of the bed, it didn't change the truth.

A broken, hollow feeling settled in her stomach, one she couldn't escape, no matter how much she tried to bury it with work, distractions, or anything else. The house felt colder now, quieter. It wasn't just the absence of Hanni, it was the absence of the love they had shared, now tainted by the lies Minji had told.

She got up slowly, her eyes lingering on the room one last time before she closed the door behind her. She couldn't stay here. Not today.

Her phone buzzed on the table, and Minji picked it up, her thumb hovering over the message from Danielle coming. She could already feel her stomach tighten in knots just at the thought of facing the consequences.

The room fell silent again as Minji sat back down, her heart heavy and her mind swirling with regret. She had no idea how to fix any of this, but she knew one thing: this house, this place, would never feel the same again.