The Punishment

By Mudita Pawar

“Yeeaaahhh! Life is so good!” Kim Yuhan shouted over the thumping music, his voice slurred with alcohol and laughter. He threw back his twentieth shot like it was water. 

Every Saturday night was the same—music, flashing lights, and the illusion that he was untouchable.

Eunwoo grinned and handed him another glass. “Bro, this one’s on you!”

Yuhan downed it in one gulp, the liquid fire burning his throat. The crowd around them cheered, but before he could reach for another drink, Minjun appeared, his expression a mix of frustration and concern.

“You two are wasted,” Minjun said, grabbing their arms and pulling them away from the crowd. “It’s three in the morning. We’re going home.”

Neither of them responded. The world around Yuhan tilted and spun, neon lights blurring into one another. As soon as they stepped outside, the cool night air hit him, and he ran straight to a corner to throw up.

“Yuhan, are you okay?” Minjun crouched beside him, worry etched into his voice.

Yuhan wiped his mouth, breathing heavily. “I’m fine, Minjun. Better now.”

“Then why do you drink so much when you can’t even handle half of it?” Minjun muttered, smacking Eunwoo’s head lightly, though the younger one was barely conscious.

After a few minutes, Yuhan straightened up, his mind clearing just enough to feel the pounding behind his eyes. “You go with Eunwoo. I’ll drive myself.”

Minjun frowned. “No way—”

“Minjun,” Yuhan interrupted, his tone unusually steady, “this isn’t my first time. I’m sober enough now.”

Minjun hesitated, but Yuhan was already opening the door to his sleek black car, flashing a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Fine,” Minjun sighed. “Call me when you reach home. I mean it.”

Yuhan just waved him off and slid behind the wheel.

The city was asleep. The streets stretched ahead, silent and empty, except for the occasional hum of streetlights. He drove fast—too fast. The wind from the open window hit his face, keeping him awake.

A song played on the stereo—loud EDM beats that didn’t belong in the eerie calm of dawn. He laughed quietly to himself. “Who says I can’t handle myself?” he mumbled.

Kim Yuhan, twenty-three year old reckless boy. The only son of one of the richest families in Seoul, South Korea. A final-year university student with a reputation for breaking rules and hearts. He never cared about consequences, until that night.

3:15 a.m.

His car sliced through the quiet streets, the alcohol still whispering in his veins. His eyelids drooped, just for a second.

Then, there a loud crack.

“Oh shoot!!!” his eyes were wide in shock. 

The silence got disturbed by the screech of tires and the sound of impact. His body jerked forward as the car came to an abrupt halt.

“What the—?!” Yuhan’s voice trembled. His pulse thundered in his ears. He stumbled out of the car, his heart pounding, breath sharp against the cold air.

Under the harsh glare of his headlights lay a girl, still and fragile. Her long hair fanned across the road. A thin pool of blood glistened beside her head. One shoe had fallen off. Her bag lay a few feet away.

“No… no, no, no…” Yuhan dropped to his knees, panic clawing at his throat. He shook her gently, got no response. She was barely breathing.

The street was deserted. No cars. No witnesses. No cameras. Only the sound of his own ragged breathing.

He reached for her bag with trembling hands, but had no audacity to open it. 

“Oh God… what did I do?” His voice cracked as he buried his face in his hands. Tears mixed with sweat on his cheeks. He didn’t know what to do. He was too young, too terrified, too guilty.

Another car’s headlights flickered from a distance. Panic surged through him. He couldn’t leave her. He couldn’t call the police. He couldn’t even think.

He scooped her into his arms and laid her across the back seat of his car.

Emergency Room — 3:45 a.m.

“Sir, what happened?” the receptionist asked as he stumbled inside, still clutching her hand.

“She’s hurt—please, help her!” Yuhan gasped, voice breaking.

A nurse called for a stretcher, and he followed as they rushed her into the operating theatre. His fingers trembled. His face was pale.

Through the blur of panic, he caught a glimpse of her as the doctors disappeared behind the swinging doors. 

Min Hari. Twenty-five. An orphan. A self-made woman working at a café to fund her studies. Beautiful. Resilient. That night, she had just left her shift…When a drunk boy hit her… and shattered her dreams.

“Sir,” the receptionist said, “this looks like an accident. We’ll need to inform the police.”

Yuhan froze. His throat went dry. “N-No… I’ll file the report myself. Just—please—save her.”

The receptionist hesitated. “And who are you to her?”

He stuttered, searching for an answer that wouldn’t make everything worse. “I… I’m her hus--husband. Yes, I’m her husband.”

“Alright. Please fill this form.”

He nodded weakly and sat down, his hands shaking as he took the pen. “Name?” he muttered under his breath, sweat forming on his forehead. Then, without knowing why, he wrote:

Kim Winter.

He didn’t know where the name came from, maybe because she looked so fragile, so cold, so untouched by the chaos he’d caused.

Waiting Room — 4:10 a.m.

The sterile air of the hospital felt heavy. His legs wouldn’t stop trembling. His phone buzzed—Minjun. Then again—Eunwoo. He turned it off. He couldn’t talk to them. He couldn’t talk to anyone.

The ticking of the clock grew unbearable until finally, the doctor appeared.

“Mr. Kim?”

He jumped up, almost knocking the chair over.

“We’ve stabilized her,” the doctor said calmly. “But she’s in a coma. There was severe internal bleeding and significant blood loss. The next seventy-two hours are critical. She’s being moved to a private ICU room.”

Yuhan nodded numbly. The words barely registered.

He followed the doctor down the corridor until he reached the room. Behind the glass, she lay motionless, her head wrapped in white bandages, a faint trace of blood beneath them. Machines beeped softly beside her.

The smell of antiseptic made his stomach churn. His vision blurred. His chest tightened until he could barely breathe.

He gripped the doorframe to steady himself, then turned away and ran, out of the corridor, out of the hospital, out into the cold night air.

Collapsing beside his car, Yuhan buried his face in his hands. “I can’t… I can’t do this,” he whispered. “I can’t even look at her…”

But no matter how tightly he shut his eyes, the image of her—broken, unmoving—haunted him.

Kim Mansion — 5:00 a.m.

The sun hadn’t risen yet when Kim Yuhan walked into the mansion. His steps were heavy, his shirt still stained, his hands faintly red.

He moved toward the stairs like a ghost, each step echoing through the silent hall.

“Yuhan…”

He froze mid-step. The voice was soft, aged, trembling.

He didn’t turn. “Grandma…?”

She stood by the doorway in her pale shawl, her face lined with sleep and worry. “You’re coming home now?”

He couldn’t look at her. He only nodded.

“Alright, go to bed,” she sighed. “Your father isn’t awake yet.”

Again, he only nodded and hurried upstairs before her gaze could catch the blood stains.

In his room, he stripped off the stained shirt and stepped under the cold shower, hoping the water would wash away the smell of alcohol, the blood, the memory—but it didn’t. The image of her, the girl lying motionless under white light was burned behind his eyes.

He changed into fresh clothes and sat on the edge of his bed, his hair still dripping. The silence was unbearable.

A soft knock broke it. His grandmother peeked in and frowned when she saw him sitting upright, staring at nothing.

“You haven’t slept yet, my boy?” she asked gently, stepping closer.

Yuhan lifted his head, and she saw tears brimming in his eyes. Her heart clenched. She walked to him and sat down beside him. He leaned his head onto her lap, his shoulders trembling as the tears finally broke free.

“What’s wrong, my son?” she whispered, stroking his hair.

“I… I hurt someone, Grandma,” Yuhan stammered. “She didn’t deserve it. It was my fault.”

Her brow furrowed. She assumed it was another of his university fights.

“If you realize it’s your fault,” she said softly, “then you must apologize. That’s what good men do, Yuhan.”

He wept harder, gasping for air between words. “She won’t listen now… she won’t even see me…”

She lifted his chin, wiping his tears with her thumb, offering a patient smile. “Then you keep trying until she forgives you. No one can deny a sincere heart forever.”

He looked up at her, eyes swollen and red. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so,” she said. “You just have to try, my son.”

Hospital ICU — 6:30 a.m.

The hospital was quieter in the early morning. Sunlight crept through the blinds, painting golden lines across the sterile white floor.

Yuhan entered the ICU slowly, clutching a small brown paper envelope. The rhythmic beeping of the machines filled the silence. He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down beside Min Hari. Her face was pale, her chest rising and falling in mechanical rhythm.

“I know ‘sorry’ isn’t enough,” he whispered. “But I’m ready for whatever punishment I deserve.”

He lowered his head, guilt pressing down like a weight he couldn’t bear. On the side table, he placed a small golden box. He opened it carefully and slid the brown envelope inside. Written on it, in uneven handwriting, were the words: My Apology.

Hours passed. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. His eyes never left her face.

An elderly nurse entered quietly, smiling when she saw him. “Don’t worry, son. Your wife will be fine soon.”

Your wife. The words echoed strangely in his mind.

“When will… my wife wake up?” he asked, his voice trembling.

The nurse smiled again. “I don’t know, dear. But she can hear you. Talk to her. Sometimes, hearing the voice of someone they love brings them back sooner.”

He tried to return the smile but managed only a weak nod.

“You both look so beautiful together,” she added softly. “God bless you both.”

When she left, her words stayed. Your wife. The one you love.

He sat there, one hand gently curled around Hari’s limp fingers, the other clenched tightly on his knee. The nurse’s advice played in his mind over and over: She can hear you… talk to her.

But what could he possibly say? What voice could bring her back, when it was his that had nearly taken her life?

Still, he tried.

“So… Winter,” he began softly. “That’s what I named you. I didn’t even know your real name, and still I gave you mine. Kim Winter. Sounds pretty, doesn’t it? Though technically, it’s not even mine to give. My dad keeps threatening to take it away.” He forced a weak laugh, hoping the sound might reach her somehow.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the bed. “You know, Winter… I’ve failed three subjects in university. Three! But I always manage to pass in the finals. Guess I’m lucky or just good at sweet-talking professors.”

The chuckle died in his throat. His voice grew quieter. “Tell me about you…”

He trailed off, suddenly remembering her handbag still in his car.

Kim Mansion — 10:00 p.m.

That night, Yuhan sat on the edge of his bed, turning the small café ID card over in his hands. Her name stared back at him.

Min Hari.

“So that’s your name,” he whispered. “But I still think Winter suits you.”

He looked toward the window, where the moonlight spilled across the floor. “You froze my whole world in one night, Min Hari… and I don’t think it’ll ever melt again.”

The next morning, the ICU was dimly lit, the soft hum of machines filling the silence.
 Kim Yuhan stepped inside, holding a bouquet of sunflowers that seemed too bright for the sterile white room.

“Hello, Winter,” he whispered with a faint smile. “Good morning. See? I brought you flowers.”

He placed them in a small pot beside Hari’s head. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at her pale face, her stillness. Then he chuckled quietly to himself.

“Actually, I don’t know your favourite flower,” he murmured, voice trembling with tenderness. “So I brought mine.”

He reached into his worn leather bag and pulled out a small envelope—another letter. Carefully, he slid it into the golden box resting on the table beside her bed. Then, as always, he sat down next to her, his fingers gently brushing hers.

Couple of days had passed since the accident. He hadn’t been to university, nor told Minjun or Eunwoo about any of this.

“I haven’t gone to university since that night,” he confessed softly. “Minjun keeps texting. Eunwoo too. They think I’m ghosting them.” A faint smile touched his lips. “Maybe I am. Silly boys. They deserve it.”

He laughed under his breath, an innocent sound that quickly faded. Pouring a bit of water, he dipped a cotton swab and gently touched it to Hari’s dry lips, a task he had learned from the nurses.

“I’ve never cared about anything like this before,” he said quietly. “Maybe my wife is teaching me how to become a good husband.”

He chuckled again, though his chest ached as he glanced toward the golden box. “I wonder how you’ll react when you read these letters…”

Next day, Afternoon – Hospital ICU, 3 PM

Yuhan entered the ICU again, his steps slower than usual. His eyes were swollen, his face pale. He had been crying. Sitting beside her bed, he took Hari’s cold hand into his trembling palms.

“Was life too difficult, Winter?” he asked softly. “I know it’s a stupid question… living alone all your life must have been hard.”

A tear escaped him and fell onto her hand. He wiped it away hastily.

“No, no… I’m not crying,” he muttered. “I just… I just visited your orphanage.”

The word broke inside his throat, his voice splintering around it. He forced a shaky smile. “But you’re not alone now, okay? I’m here for you. Your husband.”

The smile faded as fast as it appeared. “The fake one…” he whispered.

Three weeks passed like that. Visiting her became his quiet ritual. He studied beside her bed, bringing his notes and papers. People around him began to notice the change. How the carefree boy had turned gentle, disciplined, almost grown. Maybe it was the invisible weight of being called her “husband” that made him more serious than ever before.

By the fourth week, the golden box had grown heavier, not just with folded paper, but with Yuhan’s soul poured into every apology written there.

He sat typing a report on his laptop, though his gaze kept drifting to Hari’s face. Pale, serene, heartbreakingly beautiful. Eventually, he stopped typing and leaned forward, resting his cheek beside her hand.

“I know you don’t have a boyfriend,” he whispered. “How about I—”

A knock on the door startled him.

“Hello, Mr. Kim,” said the doctor.

“Hello, doc,” Yuhan replied, straightening. “How is she now?”

“I can see her nerves are recovering. She might wake up any time soon.”

The doctor smiled and left.

For a long second, Yuhan froze. Then a laugh burst out of him, bright and trembling. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and hugged her, resting his head against her chest.

“Winter, did you hear that? You’ll get well soon! I’m so happy!”

But as joy flooded his chest, guilt followed close behind. She wasn’t his Winter. She was Min Hari. And he wasn’t her husband, he was her culprit. She wouldn’t smile when she woke up. She would remember. She would punish him.

Still, he stayed there, holding her, his ear pressed to her chest, listening to her heart.

“You won’t smile at me when you wake up, will you?” he whispered.

He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, his lips trembling from the kiss he’d left there.

Two more weeks passed. His exams ended. He had done well. Mr. Kim, his father, was proud and had offered him an internship at the company. Yuhan accepted without hesitation.

That morning, as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind Hari’s ear, he whispered, “Mrs. Kim, I’m going on a business trip with Dad for three days. Will you miss me? I’m sure not. You’re probably tired of my nonstop babbling.”

He laughed softly and bent to kiss her forehead. It had become a habit now. He moved back but stopped slightly close to her lips. 

He gulped. No sure why and what he was thinking right now. Pulling himself back he slide three letters in the box and turn to leave. 

But he couldn’t move. Something tugged at his chest, refusing to let him walk away.

“Bye, Mrs. Kim,” he said quietly. “See you in three days. Miss me.”

Then he forced himself to leave.

The next day, the ICU was unusually quiet. Only the hum of machines and the slow ticking of the wall clock filled the space. Then the bed shifted, just a little. One of the monitors beeped sharply.

A nurse rushed in. “Doctor! Doctor, come fast!”

Meanwhile, across the city, Mr. Kim clapped his son on the back. “Great job, my son. You’re not as stupid as I thought.”

Yuhan grinned. “Dad, I was never stupid. I just pretended to be.”

His father laughed, shaking his head. “Tell me something, who is she?”

Yuhan froze. “H-how do you know?”

“Only the right girl can change a boy this much,” his father said with a knowing smile.

Yuhan blushed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Come on, say it already.”

“I don’t know what she feels for me yet,” Yuhan admitted softly. “So I’m not sure.”

“It’s okay, Yuhan,” his father said gently. “Give her time. Give your relationship time. Time heals everything.”

Yuhan nodded. But just then, his phone rang. The hospital’s number flashed across the screen. His heartbeat quickened.

“H-hello?” he said, breath catching.

There was silence on the other end and then the doctor’s urgent voice cut through. 

He ran the entire corridor breathing heavily. He had no time to even catch his breaths. 

“Winter! Where is she?” he shouted, bursting into the room.

And there she was—Hari—awake at last. Sitting up, her back resting against the pillows. Her eyes were tired, confused… but alive.

Yuhan froze at the door, eyes trembling with disbelief.

“Winter…” he breathed.

His voice cracked the moment he saw her. Hari’s gaze snapped toward him. For a second, neither of them moved.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was messy, his shirt slightly crumpled, and one trembling hand still gripped the doorframe as if letting go would make him collapse.

“Mr. Kim,” the doctor said gently, “she’s better now, but we’ll need to keep her here for at least another week.”

Yuhan nodded, eyes never leaving her. When the doctor left, silence filled the room. His gaze drifted toward the table. The golden box lay open. The letters inside were unfolded and...read.

She knew.

His knees locked, breath hitching. The moment felt like a cruel echo of that first day. Everything seemed to replay. The accident, the blood stains, the siren and her still body.

“You’re the one who hit me, aren’t you?” Hari asked softly.

His throat closed.

“…Yes.”

She didn’t look away. “And you told them you were my husband?”

He nodded slowly, like a child waiting for punishment.

Her eyes moved to the open window where the evening sun was bleeding into the horizon.

“Winter—”

“It’s Hari,” she interrupted, voice trembling but firm.

He lost his words again.

“This hospital looks expensive,” she continued coldly. “But don’t worry. I’ll pay you back. Maybe it’ll take time, but—”

“Hari, please…” Yuhan stepped closer and reached for her hand, but she pulled away. To him, she wasn’t new, he had watched her breathe, heal, live. But to her, he was just a stranger, and worse, the reason for her pain.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered. “Please. I’m your culprit… and this is my punishment.”

Her eyes fell on the scattered letters. She picked them up, staring for a long moment before tearing them apart, the papers fluttering through the air and striking his face.

“Your punishment is over, Mr. Kim Yuhan,” she said, her voice breaking. “Now get out.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t defend himself. He just stood there, frozen.

Her breath came in harsh, uneven gasps. “Do you even know what it feels like to wake up and not recognize your own body? I had plans. Dreams. A life. And in one moment...you destroyed it. Then you walked in here, playing husband like it was some kind of drama?”

His fists clenched, not in anger but in helplessness.

“What punishment do you expect from me?” she cried. “Give me back my lost days! Give me back my working body! GIVE ME BACK MY BLOOD!”

Her voice cracked, and she began to struggle for air.

“Hari!” Yuhan rushed forward, but she pushed him away, still gasping.

“Doctor! Doctor!” he yelled, panic flooding his voice.

Later, the doctor explained calmly, “It happens when patients wake from long comas. Her brain is trying to process the missing months.”

Yuhan only nodded. He knew the truth, her pain was deeper than memory.

“I want to take her home,” he said quietly.

“Not yet,” the doctor replied. “Give it at least two more days.”

Yuhan agreed, eyes never leaving her sleeping face.

That night, the room was dim. Nurses had softened the lights to help her rest. Hari lay staring at the ceiling, her mind too loud for sleep.

A gentle knock came at the glass door. She didn’t respond.

A nurse entered with a tray of medicine and smiled kindly. “Oh, Winter… you’re still awake. You should sleep, my child.”

“How much more should I sleep?” Hari murmured.

“It’s alright,” the nurse said softly, adjusting her IV. “You both are too stubborn — like husband, like wife. Do you know, your husband Yuhan used to sit for hours, talking to you? God knows where he found all those stories… He really loves you, dear.”

Hari turned her face away. “I want to sleep.”

The nurse smiled gently and covered her with the blanket before leaving.

In the corridor, Yuhan sat slouched on the cold metal bench outside her room, elbows on his knees, head buried in his hands.

He hadn’t moved in over an hour. The emptiness in his chest was unbearable. He knew he was no one to her now — just a stranger burdened with guilt. Yet somewhere along the way, he had fallen in love with her. While caring for her, talking to her lifeless form, writing her letters, he had fallen, deeply and helplessly.

“What kind of love begins like this?” he thought. “With guilt, with blood, with broken bones and broken trust?”

A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

Then he heard movement inside. The sound of the bed creaking.

“Winter—?”

He rushed in and saw her struggling to get down.

“Winter...what are you doing?” he exclaimed, running to steady her.

“It’s Hari,” she snapped. “And leave me. I can handle myself.”

“Of course you can,” he whispered. “You’ve done that your whole life. But at least now, let me do it for you.”

Their eyes met, guilt, pain, love all tangled in one glance. She saw it in him, but she chose to look away.

“You don’t have to act like you care anymore,” she said coldly. “I’m awake now. You’re free from your punishment.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“It was never a punishment to be by your side,” he said softly, voice trembling with truth.

Her breath caught. His words dug deep, where she didn’t want them to reach.

She tried to step forward, but her legs wobbled. Instantly, Yuhan caught her. Her hands gripped his shirt before she realized and pushed him away.

“Don’t touch me like you love me,” she said quietly. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

He nodded but didn’t let go until she was safely back on the bed.

“When will they discharge me?” she asked flatly. “I want to go home.”

He covered her with the blanket. “Just one more day,” he whispered. “Then we’ll go home.”

“My home,” she corrected softly. “Not yours.”

The words sliced through him. He nodded once, gaze lowered. “Right. Your home. I’m sorry.”

As he turned to leave, he paused by the door. “I know… someday you’ll forgive me. And I’ll wait for that day.”

The next morning, Hari sat by the window, struggling to tie her hair with her bandaged hand. Yuhan entered quietly, watching her fight the stubborn strands.

“Learn to ask for help, Winter,” he said with a faint smile. “You’re not alone anymore.”

She ignored him. But when pain shot through her arm, she gasped softly.

“Hari,” Yuhan said, hurrying to her side. He took the hair tie gently from her hand. “Stop being stubborn. You’re in pain. Let me help.”

“You’ll never understand,” she muttered. “Because you’re not me.”

He froze. She was right. He would never know her pain, the struggle she endured alone all her life.

Still, he gathered her hair carefully, one strand at a time. His soft fingers brushed the back of her neck, sending shivers down her skin. Her hands clenched in her lap, eyes fluttering shut.

After a few minutes, he tied it neatly.

“Your hands are… very soft,” she murmured.

He smiled faintly from behind. “If you want, I can do this every day.”

She turned slightly. “Did you do this for me when I was in a coma?”

“No,” he said quietly, standing up. “The nurse did. I never touched you.”

And with that, he walked out.

The next day, the doctor entered with a smile. “So, Mrs. Kim...all set to leave with your husband?”

“I’m—”

“Yes,” Yuhan interrupted quickly. “She’s very excited to leave this white room after so long.”

The doctor chuckled. “Good. But, Mr. Kim, make sure she rests completely. And… try not to get too close for at least a month, you understand?”

Yuhan’s face turned crimson. “Y-Yes, Doctor. Of course.”

The doctor left, smiling knowingly. Hari’s glare could have burned holes through Yuhan’s back.

He smiled sheepishly. “Ready?”

“My phone’s broken,” she said flatly. “Please call me a cab. I’ll pay you once I reach my place.”

The smile vanished. He knelt in front of her, taking her hands gently in his.

“Hari, give me one chance,” he said softly.

“What chance?”

“To make things right. To take care of you. To—”

She pulled her hands away. “You’ve done enough. Please leave me alone. I want to forget you… like a nightmare.”

Nightmare.

The word pierced him. His chest tightened painfully, but he didn’t protest.

“So that’s what I am to you?” he whispered. “A nightmare?”

She said nothing, eyes fixed on the IV stand.

“Fine,” he murmured. “If it makes you feel better, hate me. But don’t think I’m here out of guilt.”

“Then why are you here?” she asked, cold and calm.

His lips parted, but he stopped himself. She wasn’t ready to hear it — not yet.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly instead. “Mom, Dad, and Grandma are waiting for us at home.”

Her head shot up. “Who’s waiting?”

He didn’t answer. He simply bent, scooped her into his arms in one smooth motion. She gasped but didn’t resist.

“I can walk,” she muttered.

“I know,” he said with a faint smile. “But I missed the gym these days. I need to see if I’ve still got my strength.”

And just for a moment, he saw it, a small, reluctant curve on her lips.

Yuhan walked out of the hospital, holding his Winter close.

The Kim Mansion stood tall against the golden sunset as Kim Yuhan carefully lifted Min Hari into his arms once more.

“That’s enough… put me down,” she protested softly.

“Not until I lay you on the bed safely,” he replied, a teasing glint in his voice.

At the doorway stood his parents and grandmother, their faces bright with warmth. They welcomed her not as a guest, but as family. The sight was too new for Hari; she had never been used to so much affection.

“Welcome home, my child,” Grandma said kindly, pressing a kiss to Hari’s forehead. Hari smiled, bowing her head slightly.

“Winter,” Yuhan began gently, “she’s Grandma.”

Grandma chuckled. “I may look too young for that, but trust me, I’m his grandmother.”

Hari laughed softly, her heart beginning to thaw.

Mrs. Kim smiled warmly. “Hari, I know sorry is not enough, but please forgive us if you can..” 

“Please don’t be sorry,” Hari said politely. “You’re elder to me.”

“Not just elder,” Mr. Kim added with a gentle pat on her head. “We’re family now. So stop being so formal, my dear. Yuhan, take her to her room. She should rest.”

That fatherly gesture, tender yet strong made something inside Hari ache softly. Yuhan felt his heart settle seeing her comforted in his family’s embrace.

He laid her on the bed and turned to leave, but her hair caught in his shirt button.

“Ahh…” Hari winced.

“Oh, I’m sorry...wait a minute…” Yuhan leaned closer, carefully untangling the strands. In the process, her lips brushed lightly against his bare chest. Hari froze, eyes shut tight from embarrassment.

Yuhan looked at her face, not for the first time, but never from this close. He leaned forward, brushing his nose against her cheek. A rush of warmth surged through her, her toes curling beneath the blanket.

“Stop taking advantage of the moment,” she murmured. “You’re younger than me.”

His breath touched her ear. “Does that really matter?”

She opened her eyes slowly, meeting his gaze. His sharp features softened under the low light, his voice deep but tender. For a moment, she lost herself in those eyes.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” Yuhan whispered, “I might forget what doctor had asked me to do...”

Hari blinked, flustered, and turned away. He smiled faintly, finally freeing her hair.

“Rest well,” he said, stepping back. “I’m right next door. Call me if you need anything.”

She didn’t reply, just turned toward the window.

The next morning, sunlight spilled gently through the curtains. On the bedside table sat a tray with toast, fruit, and warm water—and a folded note:

I left for the office. Will come early today. Eat well, and rest well.
 — Y.

Hari smiled unconsciously. He was coming home for her. For the first time, she found herself waiting for someone.

That afternoon, Mrs. Kim found her wandering in the garden.

“Hari, love, how are you feeling?” she asked, brushing a hand through her hair.

Hari closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. Mrs. Kim’s worry deepened.

“Are you in pain? I’ll call Yuhan home—”

Hari stopped her, holding her hand. “Nothing hurts, Aunty. In fact… everything is healing.”

She lowered Mrs. Kim’s hand gently. “Please don’t make me used to so much love. I won’t be able to part easily.”

Mrs. Kim smiled, sitting beside her. “Who said you’re parting? You’re going nowhere. I’m the mother here, everyone listens to me. So listen to your mom now. Come, I’ve cut fruits for you.”

Evening, 6:45 PM.

The sound of Yuhan’s car pulling in made Hari’s heartbeat skip.

“I’m home,” he called softly from the doorway.

Hari stayed silent, her eyes fixed on the flickering TV screen that wasn’t even playing anything of her choice.

He walked over, loosening his tie, and placed a small paper bag on the table. “Passed by a bakery… thought I’d pack some cookies for you. Try them once.”

Then he left quietly.

After a moment, she opened the bag. The cookies were still warm. She took a small bite and smiled without meaning to.

Behind the wall, Yuhan grinned to himself. “I knew she’d like it.”

Days passed gently. Yuhan tended to her every need, changing her bandages, tying her hair when she couldn’t, learning to do it better each day. Hari had stopped protesting. She had started letting him care.

One week later.

Hari sat on the terrace, wrapped in a shawl. The evening wind was chilly, but her heart felt warmer than before.

A mug of ginger tea appeared beside her.

“For the pain in your joints,” Yuhan said softly, sitting beside her.

She didn’t reply. Just wrapped her hands around the mug. 

He ask while fixing her shawl, “Why are you out in this chilly weather?...”

“Then where does Winter belong if not in the cold?” she teased.

He chuckled and bit his lower lip. 

“How’s work?” she asked. “I heard you’re working hard.”

“Yeah. Dad’s making me work like a donkey.”

“Of course,” she grinned. “You are one.”

“Yah! You can’t say that,” he pouted.

“I can. I’m older than you.”

“But I’m stronger.”

Before she could react, he pulled her by the waist, stealing her breath. He gently took the cup from her hand and set it aside.

“That was coming between us,” he murmured.

Her palms rested on his chest, trying to steady herself. “L–Let go…”

“Why?”

“You’re too close.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I never said that.”

“So you like me, then?”

Her pulse quickened. His cheek brushed hers, and she froze.

“Say my name, Winter,” he whispered. “You’ve never called me by it.”

She bit her lip, struggling to breathe. “Earn it. You need more work.”

She pushed him away and ran inside, heart pounding. He lay back on the terrace floor, smiling like a fool.

Hari collapsed on her bed, burying her face in a pillow. “What is this strange feeling… and why do I like it so much?”

Sleep refused to come that night.

Five days later.

“Winterrrr!” Yuhan burst into her room, spinning her around before she could react.

“Ahh! What are you doing? Put me down!”

“Nooo! I’m too happy today!”

“Okay, okay—tell me why!”

He set her down but didn’t let go of her waist. “I topped my university! I actually did it!”

Her eyes widened. “What?! That’s amazing!”

Without thinking, she hugged him tight. He held her even tighter, his laughter muffled against her hair. She tried to move back, but he pulled you more. 

“Just for a while,” he whispered. “Stay, please. You feel so good.”

His warmth pressed against her, his breath ghosting over her neck. Chest pressing on to eachother. He pulled her more, feeling her softness on his firm body. 

He stepped closer, making her move back until she fell softly onto the bed. He hovered above her, arms caging her gently.

“Do you know how many nights I’ve imagined this?” he said softly. “You… looking at me like that.”

Her hands rested on his chest but didn’t push him away.

“You shouldn’t say things like that…” she whispered.

“Why not?”

His nose brushed hers. “Are you scared the wall you built will melt away?”

“Stop it…” she whispered again.

“I earned it today,” he murmured, grazing his nose along her neck. “Say my name now.”

Her fingers clutched his shirt tighter, not to resist, but to hold him close.

“Say it, Winter,” he breathed. “Just once. Let me hear it from your lips.”

Her voice trembled. “Y–Yuhan.”

He froze, then smiled softly, a smile that made the whole moment breathe.

“That’s all I needed today,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’ll never rush you. But don’t stop saying my name… it heals me.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her face before walking out, leaving behind the quiet thrum of hearts learning what love feels like for the first time.

It had been almost two months since Min Hari had become part of the Kim household. So much warmth surrounded her—care, laughter, and affection she had never known before. 

And within it all, Kim Yuhan’s quiet devotion grew into something deeper. His love was constant, patient, and wordless. Slowly, inevitably, she found herself falling too. She hadn’t confessed yet, but her heart moved to the rhythm of his.

One fine evening over tea, Mrs. Kim began reminiscing.
 “Eomma, do you remember that little girl from Yuhan’s kindergarten...the one who kissed him and made him turn red for a week?”

Grandma laughed softly. “Ah, how could I forget?”

“Mom, Grandma, please…” Yuhan groaned, his ears already turning pink.

Across the table, Hari raised a brow and texted him under the table:
 ‘So your first kiss is already done? Wow.’

He shook his head in panic, mouthing, no!

Grandma chuckled again. “I saw that girl yesterday near her house. She’s grown into such a beautiful young lady.”

Mrs. Kim nodded. “Yes, she just returned from the U.S. last week.”

“Really?” Yuhan asked without thinking.

Hari’s glare could have burned holes through him.

“I must meet her then,” he said, teasing, though his eyes never left Hari’s. She rolled her eyes and looked away.

Later that evening, 

Hari stood on the balcony, watching the orange streetlights shimmer across the road. Her gaze froze when she saw Yuhan below, hugging a girl.

“So that must be his kindergarten friend,” she thought, flipping her hair back with an irritated pout before going inside.

Same night 1 A.M.

A soft creak stirred the silence. The faint scent of Yuhan’s cologne filled the room as he stepped in quietly.

“This girl,” he whispered to himself, “always forgets to cover up.”

He pulled the duvet gently up to her shoulders, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. She stirred, shifting slightly.

“Why do you always shut me out when I need you the most?” he murmured under his breath.

He sat on the edge of the bed, fingers hovering above her hand, wanting to hold it but stopping himself. With a sigh, he stood to leave.

“Don’t… go,” came a sleepy voice.

He froze, his hand still on the doorknob, and turned slowly.

“You’re awake?” he whispered.

Hari didn’t open her eyes. “Take off that shirt and get in. You smell like her.”

Yuhan blinked, then smiled faintly. “Are you seriously asking me to strip because of her perfume?”

“It’s giving me a headache,” she muttered, tugging the blanket higher.

He chuckled softly. “Yes, ma’am.”

He locked the door, removed his shirt, and slipped under the duvet beside her.

“What’s next?” he teased.

“Nothing more than hugging.”

“Fair enough. I need some warmth anyway.”

He pulled her closer until her face rested in the crook of his neck. After a few quiet moments, he felt her fingers trace random shapes across his bare chest, her lips brushing against his skin with every breath. His body tensed.

“If you don’t plan to sleep,” he murmured, voice low, “just tell me.”

She looked up, chin resting on his chest. Their eyes met in the dark.

“You’re annoying.”

“And you’re still in my arms,” he replied.

Hari didn’t answer. Instead, she placed her cheek over his heart. His hand stroked her hair in soft, steady circles.

“Do you still hate me?” he whispered.

After a long silence, she replied quietly, “If I hated you, would I let you hold me this close?”

“She’s just a friend,” he murmured.

“I know.”

Her arm slid around his waist, pulling him even closer. They fell asleep like that, entangled, peaceful, unafraid.

One evening, while passing Grandma’s room, Hari overheard a conversation.

“I’m glad Hari’s settled with us now,” Grandma said warmly.

Mrs. Kim sighed. “Poor child… she never had the love of a family.”

“We’ll make sure she receives all the love she needs,” Grandma replied.

“I just hope,” Mrs. Kim whispered, “we can somehow make up for what our son’s mistake cost her.”

Hari’s breath caught. The door blurred as tears filled her eyes. She ran to her room, shutting the door behind her. The words echoed in her chest—‘what our son’s mistake cost her.’

She slid down against the door, covering her mouth to muffle the sobs.

“Was this why they took her in? Out of guilt?”

A soft knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts.

“Winter… are you okay?” Yuhan’s voice came gently from outside.

She didn’t reply. The handle turned slowly.

“I heard something break. What happened?” he asked as he stepped inside.

When he saw her on the floor, cheeks damp, his heart dropped. He rushed to her side, kneeling beside her.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

She shook her head, avoiding his eyes, but he cupped her face.

“Talk to me, please.”

Her voice trembled. “Am I here because someone felt guilty?”

He blinked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Is this out of guilt, Yuhan?!”

He tried to hug her, but she pushed him away.

“Answer me, Kim Yuhan! Ask your heart—was it love, or just guilt that made you love me?”

Silence.

That silence told her everything.

“I thought I finally had something real,” she whispered bitterly, standing up. “But I was just someone to fix. A broken thing to ease your guilt.”

“Hari, no—”

“If it was love, you would’ve said it,” she interrupted.

He stepped closer, desperation written across his face. “Please don’t say that. I was only trying to process what I heard. Trust me, Hari—I love you. I love you so much.”

“Then why did you wait until I was broken to say it?”

His voice cracked. “Because I was scared you’d think it was guilt. And now my silence has proven you right.”

He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “You’re not a charity. You’re not someone I’m here to fix. You fixed me.”

She stared blankly.

“Still don’t believe me?” he said hoarsely. “Fine. I’ll surrender to the police. I’ll confess that I hit someone and ran. Maybe then you’ll believe I love you.”

The room went cold.

“Do you think that’s what I want?” she whispered. “For you to destroy your life just to prove something?”

“I’d give up everything if it meant you’d see that this isn’t guilt. I didn’t love you because of what I did...I loved you in spite of it. Because you made me want to be better.”

“I don’t want to be someone you owe love to,” she murmured. “I want to be someone you choose.”

He took her trembling hands, pressing them to his chest.

“Then feel this. It’s never beaten out of pity—only for you.”

A long pause followed.

“Say it again,” she whispered. “...learn to confess like a man does...to his woman....Then come back...”

She turned to go, but he pulled her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around him instinctively as he carried her to the balcony.

“If this is how you want to hear it,” he whispered, “Winter, I—”

She placed a finger on his lips. “Shhh. Some feelings are better left unspoken. Let them live inside us, heard only by us.”

He kissed the tip of her finger, eyes closing. “Then I’ll say it with silence, if that’s what your heart understands.”

Their foreheads rested together as the cold wind brushed past. His lips traced her eyes, her cheek, and then, finally, found her lips. The kiss was slow, controlled, yet filled with months of restrained emotion.

Her head tilted back, and he followed, his lips traveling down to her jaw, then her neck. Her breath hitched; her hands clutched his shoulders.

“Yuhan…” she whispered, eyes still closed.

“Yes, love?” he murmured against her skin.

Her fingers brushed his hair back. “Are we crossing the line?”

He cupped her face gently. “Do you feel doubt while I’m loving you?”

She shook her head.

“Then how does it feel?”

Her eyes fluttered open, voice trembling but sure. “It feels like home. Like something I don’t want to stop breathing.”

“Then don’t hold it in,” he whispered. “Breathe me in, Winter.”

“Make me yours, Yuhan…”

He picked her up like a feather and walked in. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he once again took her lips in. 

Her fingers tangled gently into his hair, pulling him closer. He breathed her name between kisses. 

He parted and adored her messy state. She took off her top, but his eyes never left her face. She hold his chin and kissed his eyes, “Thanks for holding me in here...it’s my safest place.”

His hands didn’t roam — they settled gently on her waist, as if assuring her: you’re safe.

When she unbuttoned his shirt, he made her wear it instead, covering her completely before tucking her into bed.

“You don’t need to give me anything, Winter. Just let me love you like this… with patience.”

He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and as he turned to leave, she caught his wrist. 

“Dare to leave,” she murmured.

He smiled softly. “How could I?”

He climbed back beside her, pulling her into his arms. Wrapped in his shirt, she rested her head on his chest, listening to the rhythm that had always been hers.

“I’ll stay,” he whispered. “Till the stars get tired of watching us.”

She closed her eyes, hand resting over his heart. For the first time, she knew, she wasn’t a burden, or a wound to be healed. She was wanted. Not from guilt. Not from duty. But simply because she was her.

The End.

By Mudita Pawar