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# Chapter 113: The Point of No Return
The setting sun cast warm light across the snow-covered field, illuminating Eun-seo and Min-jun from behind. Eun-seo held Min-jun’s hand as they stood at the path leading down to the riverbank. Their footprints marked the white snow with clarity—behind them, the path they’d walked; ahead, the way back to the village. Between these two lay Eun-seo.
“How long are we staying here?”
Min-jun’s voice was small, more of a confirmation than a question. Eun-seo didn’t answer. Instead, she squeezed his hand tighter. His fingers pressed between hers. In this frozen winter, only the warmth of his touch felt real.
“Grandmother is preparing dinner. Do-hyun is waiting for me at the branch school. Su-min is…”
“I know.”
Eun-seo cut him off. Her voice was steady, but fine lines appeared between her brows. The river wind swept around them, and stars began to emerge in the darkening sky.
“I know all of it. But…”
Min-jun turned her to face him. Both his hands wrapped around her sides. Through her winter coat, she felt the warmth of his palms. Eun-seo buried her face in his chest. She heard his heartbeat—steady, clear, alive.
“Don’t go to Seoul.”
It wasn’t a question. Not a command either. It was a plea. Min-jun’s voice trembled. This was the first time she’d heard him falter. For months, he’d been quiet and solid, handling his emotions like clay in careful hands. But now his voice carried fractures.
“Why?”
Eun-seo asked. Just one word. That was enough. In the gathering darkness, his eyes shone like fireflies.
“Why are you asking me why?”
Min-jun didn’t push her away. Instead, he pulled her closer. His voice shook more. The tremor traveled through his shoulders, his chest, his words.
“You know. You know why I’m saying this. You… already know.”
Eun-seo lifted her face from his chest and met his eyes. Something burned in the depths of his dark pupils. It could have been fear. It could have been despair. Or both, twisted together. Cold air rising from the riverbed seized their feet.
“What do I know?”
“You’re going to leave. And I… I know I can’t hold you back.”
The moment those words left his mouth, Min-jun’s face hardened—as if someone had caught him in his truth. Eun-seo didn’t try to escape his arms. Instead, she wrapped hers around his neck. His scent filled her nose. It was his scent.
“Then don’t hold me back.”
“What?”
“Don’t hold me back. Instead… will you wait for me?”
Eun-seo’s voice emerged, but it didn’t sound like hers. It was smaller, weaker, closer to the truth. Min-jun held her tighter. His heartbeat quickened. His warmth intensified.
“What do you mean by waiting?”
“I’ll go to Seoul and finish what needs to be finished. I’ll untangle the things that have bound me for four years. And…”
Eun-seo paused. The river wind swirled around them. The frozen water was barely visible in the dimming light. How far had this river traveled to reach here? And where would it go from here? His hand brushed her hair. The touch sent a gentle shiver through her chest.
“And?”
Min-jun urged her on.
“I’ll come back. Here.”
The moment those words left her lips, something shattered. Min-jun’s shoulders trembled. He was crying. This was the first time Eun-seo had seen him cry. Tears streamed from his eyes. Salt crystals formed on his face. Even in the cold air, his tears were warm.
“You promise?”
“Yes. I promise.”
“Really?”
Eun-seo lifted his face and looked into his eyes. Then slowly, she nodded. Once. Twice. Three times. Each nod felt like a vow. She felt his heartbeat against her palm.
“Really.”
Min-jun kissed her forehead. His lips were cold. And that coldness burned. It was a contradiction. But everything was a contradiction. Leaving and returning. Ending and beginning. Winter and spring. As his lips left her forehead, his breath brushed her face.
“When?”
“When spring comes.”
“When spring comes?”
“Yes. When spring comes, I’ll return.”
Min-jun laughed. A small laugh. Almost a sigh. But it was a laugh. His eyes gleamed with it. His warmth seeped into her body.
“When does spring come?”
“I don’t know. But it will. It always does. Spring always comes.”
Eun-seo watched him. His face grew darker as the sun set. Night was coming. This moment, standing here together, would end. But Eun-seo knew that an ending could mean a new beginning. His hand held hers. Their warmth mingled.
“Are you going to ask me what I’ll do in Seoul?”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll go to that publishing house and sort through what happened four years ago. I’ll figure out what mistakes I really made, what I actually did. And I’ll find out if the guilt that’s bound me is truly mine or someone else’s.”
Min-jun looked at her. Something shone in his eyes. Like starlight. Or something warmer than that. His chest touched hers. She felt his heartbeat.
“And?”
“And I’ll take care of Grandmother. All the things I couldn’t do while she was alone. And I’ll write letters to the children at the branch school. Especially to Su-min.”
“Su-min?”
“Yes. Su-min was trying to tell me something. Over and over. But I kept not listening. I was too busy. I was too trapped in my own world.”
Eun-seo’s voice trembled. This time, not from the cold. His warmth stilled her shaking.
“Now I’ll listen. I’ll really listen. And… I think that’s what I need to do.”
Min-jun placed his hand on her face. His fingers brushed her cheek. It was warm. Strangely warm. Where did that heat come from? From his chest? Or from between them? Her fingers intertwined with his.
“Are you going alone? To Seoul?”
“Yes. I have to go alone.”
“Shouldn’t I come with you?”
“No. This is something I have to do by myself. And…”
Eun-seo paused. The wind grew stronger. Snow swirled over the river.
“And?”
“You need to stay here. Keep working at the workshop. There are still pieces that aren’t finished. And… I need to know you’re here, waiting for me. That’s the only way I’ll survive Seoul.”
Min-jun embraced her again. This time, harder. As if without holding on, she’d be swept away by the wind. Their warmth became one. Their heartbeats synchronized.
“You’re not leaving me, are you?”
“Leaving? Get a grip. I’m coming back.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Snow continued its dance above the river. Eun-seo watched it. Where did the snow come from? The sky. And someday it would return to the sky—as water, flowing, evaporating, rising again.
Everything cycles. Everything returns. That’s why winter ends and spring comes.
When they returned to Grandmother’s house, the table was set. Soybean paste stew, rolled eggs, seasoned spinach, and rice. Grandmother stood in the kitchen.
“You’re late. It must have been cold.”
Grandmother looked at Eun-seo. Her face wasn’t an easy book to read. But Eun-seo saw the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Lines of worry.
“Grandmother, I have to go to Seoul.”
Eun-seo said it as soon as they arrived.
Grandmother was scooping rice. She didn’t stop moving. The ladle traveled back and forth between the rice cooker and the bowl. Once. Twice. Three times.
“When?”
“Tomorrow. Or the day after.”
“How long?”
“About a month?”
Grandmother set down the rice bowl and looked at Eun-seo’s face for a long time.
“And?”
“And I’ll come back. When spring comes.”
Grandmother smiled. A small smile. Like someone who’d known something all along.
“When spring comes?”
“Yes. When spring comes.”
Grandmother placed the rice bowl in front of Eun-seo. Warm rice. Broth seeping into it.
“Then eat. You need to eat before facing this cold world.”
Eun-seo picked up her spoon. She scooped rice. Put it in her mouth. Chewed.
It was warm.
Grandmother sat across from her. And watched her in silence.
“Grandmother, is it okay if I go alone?”
“Of course it is. You’ve always been good at being alone.”
“But this time… it might be different. This time, I have to bring something back.”
Grandmother nodded. A deep nod.
“Then bring it back. That’s your job.”
Eun-seo ate her rice. One spoonful at a time. The warmth seeped into her body. Through her stomach, through her veins, reaching her heart.
And it didn’t stop there. It continued spreading. To her fingertips, to her toes, and beyond.
Night deepened. Eun-seo lay in her room, staring at the ceiling. She could see the grain of old wood. It looked like a pattern. A chaotic pattern. But a beautiful one.
Her phone rang. It was Min-jun.
“Are you still awake?”
“Yes.”
“I’m realizing I won’t be able to see you.”
Eun-seo swallowed a laugh.
“I’m still here. Until tomorrow. Until tomorrow afternoon.”
“After that?”
“After that… I won’t see you until spring comes.”
“Is that a long time?”
“About a month.”
“That’s long.”
“Yes. It’s long.”
Silence flowed through the phone. But it wasn’t empty silence. Something lived in it. A promise.
“Eun-seo.”
“Yes?”
“Will spring really come?”
“It will. It always does.”
“Then I’ll wait here. I’ll wait for you.”
“Yes. Wait for me.”
The call ended. Eun-seo looked at the ceiling again. The wood grain was still there. What tree had it come from? How old was it? Had it been here since this house was built?
Time flows. Everything flows. And it goes somewhere.
But it returns. Like spring.
Outside the window, snow continued to fall. White snow. Endless snow. It seemed like it would never stop. Just as it seemed spring would never come.
But Eun-seo knew.
Spring always comes.
And she would return too.
The next morning, Eun-seo packed. A few clothes, a few books, and one small ceramic teacup that Min-jun had made. The cup was crooked. Imperfect. But that was exactly why Eun-seo loved it most.
Grandmother helped. Silently. Folding clothes, checking luggage, and finally wrapping food in cloth.
“Eat while you go.”
“Okay. Thank you, Grandmother.”
Eun-seo hugged her grandmother. For a long time. Grandmother’s body was small. And warm.
“Come back. You must.”
“I will. I promise I’ll come back.”
The bus left the village. Eun-seo looked back. She could see the riverbank path. Beyond it was Min-jun’s workshop. And beyond that, Grandmother’s house.
They were getting smaller. Smaller and smaller.
But they didn’t disappear.
The river still flowed. The winter river. Cold, dark, deep.
But when spring comes, that too will change.
Eun-seo watched the river through the window. And waited.
For spring.
And for the moment she would return.