Hansol's hands hadn't left Nabi's shoulders all morning. It was as though he feared she might crumble if he let go, his touch a silent reassurance that he was there, even if she couldn't find the words to ask for it. And when his hands did momentarily leave, his eyes didn't. He watched her with a tenderness that was both comforting and suffocating.
She hadn't said a word since coming home from work. Hansol knew she hated being pried open like a locked box, but as the silence stretched on, his concern gnawed at him. Whatever she wasn't telling him, it was devouring her whole.
"Ready?" he asked softly, his voice low enough to feel like a secret.
Hansol stood behind her, his reflection hovering in the mirror alongside hers. His hands draped over her shoulders, warm and steady. Nabi gave them a squeeze, her gaze drifting over her outfit—a pair of jeans and a simple black blouse. Effortless but deliberate.
Hansol, in contrast, had gone all out in his white button-up and black slacks, exuding a quiet elegance. She had told him it wasn't that serious, but his insistence on being respectful was a trait she couldn't argue with. He'd dressed for her, not for the occasion, and the thought made her heart ache in ways she wasn't ready to admit.
She inhaled deeply before nodding. "Yeah."
At her word, Hansol moved to the door, pulling it open with the same patience he'd shown all morning. Her apartment was still steeped in the scent of the lunch he had cooked for her earlier—a gesture that had left her secretly melting. Hansol might not have much experience with relationships, but he was trying. Trying so hard. And if she weren't so tangled up in her own emotions, she'd have let herself fall apart in gratitude.
The car ride was quiet, though not in the suffocating way silence could sometimes be. It was companionable, a safe space carved out just for her to process. She wasn't used to that—sharing the weight of her thoughts. Processing alone had always been her default, but now, with Hansol beside her, it felt...bearable.
A few minutes in, his hand found hers, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. The gesture was wordless but spoke volumes, offering a kind of comfort that even the soft music playing in the background couldn't provide. It was their playlist, pieced together during a spontaneous moment the night before. Now, the melodies floated through the car like a balm, though they did little to ease the heaviness in her chest.
She wanted to tell him about her job. She would tell him—just not yet. Not until she could untangle the mess of emotions clawing at her insides and articulate something coherent.
Hansol's voice broke through her thoughts. "We're here."
Her stomach twisted. Nabi's gaze shifted to the cemetery outside the window, its pristine rows of graves stretching out over a hillside that overlooked the city. It was the kind of cemetery reserved for people who could afford to make even their final resting place a display of wealth. The thought made her jaw tighten. Of course her mother would end up here.
Her mother.
The thought of her alone was enough to stir the storm in her chest. Nabi's emotions warred within her—grief for the loving mother she'd known as a child versus the simmering resentment for the woman who'd become a stranger as she grew older. And now that she was gone, those conflicting feelings had only grown sharper, cutting into her like glass.
Hansol waited, his hand still holding hers. "You ready?" he asked again, so gently it nearly undid her. There was no pressure in his tone, no urgency. Just understanding.
She sighed, her eyes lingering on the cemetery. "I don't know," she admitted softly, though her feet were already moving.
The moment they stepped out of the car, Nabi's hand reached for Hansol's instinctively, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping her tethered. If Hansol noticed the desperation in her touch, he didn't comment. He simply laced his fingers with hers and let her lead the way.
The path through the rows of graves was winding, and it took longer than she expected to find her mother's. Namjoo had sent her the coordinates, but even with them, the walk felt endless. And then she saw it—the polished stone bearing her mother's name—and the breath caught in her throat.
The tears came unbidden, welling up before she could fight them back. Hansol's grip on her hand tightened, anchoring her as she stood frozen before the grave. The sight of her mother's name, etched into eternity, brought every conflicting emotion crashing down on her at once.
Grief. Anger. Love. Resentment. It all swirled in her chest, too big to contain, too tangled to unravel.
Hansol stepped closer, his presence a steady warmth at her side. He didn't say anything—he didn't need to. His silence gave her space, and his closeness gave her strength.
For a long moment, she just stood there, staring at the headstone. Then, as if the dam finally broke, she whispered, "I thought I wouldn't care." Her voice cracked, the words spilling out unfiltered.
Hansol turned to her, his expression softening even more. "Nat..."
"I mean, why should I, right?" she continued, her tone bitter now, though it was clear the bitterness wasn't aimed at him. "She wasn't exactly a great mother. She wasn't the woman who tucked me in at night when I was little. Not anymore. Not for a long time."
Hansol stayed quiet, letting her unravel at her own pace.
"And yet, here I am. Crying over someone who treated me like I wasn't enough. Who made me feel like nothing I did mattered. Like I was just... there." Her voice wavered, and she sniffled, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.
Hansol reached out, brushing her hair back gently before resting his hand on her shoulder. "It's okay to feel this way," he said softly. "It doesn't make you weak. Or wrong. She was still your mom, Nabi. And that's complicated."
Nabi let out a shaky laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. "Complicated doesn't even begin to cover it."
Hansol squeezed her shoulder. "You don't have to figure it all out right now. Or ever, really. Feel whatever you need to feel. I'm here."
Something about his words—the simplicity, the sincerity—made her crumble. She turned to him, burying her face in his chest as the tears finally spilled over. Hansol held her, one hand cradling her head, the other rubbing soothing circles on her back.
For the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself cry, fully and unapologetically, the weight of everything she'd been holding in pouring out into his embrace. And Hansol just held her, steady and unyielding, grounding her as she let the storm inside her finally pass.
