Annyeongz One-shots

46. Words Between Us

The airport was quieter than usual at this hour, wrapped in soft light and polished calm. Wonyoung pushed the stroller slowly, careful not to rush, even though her heart had been beating a little faster since morning.

Yunwoo sat comfortably in her own little seat now, no stroller needed inside the terminal. She was small, bundled in a cream cardigan, her feet barely reaching the floor. Big eyes watched everything—people, lights, rolling suitcases—absorbing the world in silence.

“Mama,” Yunwoo murmured, tugging lightly at Wonyoung’s sleeve.

“Yes, baby?” Wonyoung bent down immediately.

Yunwoo pointed at a plane visible through the glass walls. “Dada.”

Wonyoung smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. “Not yet,” she whispered. “But soon.”

She glanced at her phone again, just to be sure.

Luxury class.
Window seats.
And the name she’d memorized long ago, printed neatly under Captain.

Ahn Yujin.

He still didn’t know.

Wonyoung had planned this quietly, carefully—choosing the date that matched his schedule, booking under her own name, making sure no one from the airline tipped him off. It wasn’t a grand surprise. It wasn’t dramatic.

It was just… family.

When they boarded, the cabin felt spacious and calm, bathed in warm light and soft music. Yunwoo’s eyes widened the moment she saw her seat—her own big seat by the window, just like Mama’s.

Wonyoung lifted her gently and settled her in, buckling the seatbelt snugly.

“Sit nicely, okay?” she said softly.

Yunwoo nodded, serious, then tapped the seat proudly. “Mama.”

Wonyoung laughed quietly. “Yes, yours.”

She sat beside her daughter, smoothing Yunwoo’s hair, watching as the cabin slowly filled. Flight attendants greeted them politely, unaware of the quiet secret sitting right there in row one.

Wonyoung slipped her phone into her hand, not opening the camera yet. She waited.

The cabin doors closed with a muted thud.

Then the speakers clicked.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking…”

Wonyoung’s breath stilled instantly.

The voice filled the cabin—calm, low, steady. A voice she heard every night at home, softer then, tired and warm. A voice Yunwoo heard reading picture books, murmuring lullabies, whispering promises.

But now it carried authority. Control. Distance.

“…Welcome aboard. We’ll be departing shortly. Please make sure your seatbelts are securely fastened…”

Wonyoung turned her head slowly toward Yunwoo.

Her daughter had gone completely still.

Yunwoo’s fingers tightened on the armrest. Her head tilted slightly, eyes lifting—not to the front, not to the window, but upward, as if sound itself had a direction.

“…Dada,” Yunwoo whispered.

Wonyoung’s lips curved immediately. She unlocked her phone and started recording, keeping it low, careful not to distract her.

Yunwoo frowned, confusion crossing her small face. She leaned forward in her seat, straining against the belt just a little, eyes scanning the aisle.

“…Dada?” she said again, louder this time.