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# Chapter 137: Scent of Spring
Eun-seo’s eyes opened with the dawn, and immediately her thoughts turned to yesterday’s letter. The words lifted her heart like a gentle breeze, and Min-jun’s gaze returned to her mind. When his eyes met hers, she felt what his heart had felt, understood the trembling beneath his composed exterior. Each time she noticed his hands shake, her own pulse quickened in response—a flutter that ignited something deep within her chest.
She ventured into her grandmother’s garden. Azaleas and forsythia bloomed in brilliant cascades, and the sight eased her restless mind. As she walked toward the riverbank, the sound of water mingled with the echo of their laughter. Her heart became one with the letter’s words, and she found herself replaying their conversation. The river breeze swept through her hair, and she remembered the warmth of his voice against her ear—how it had stirred something she could no longer deny.
His eyes haunted her thoughts. When he’d looked at her, truly looked at her, she’d recognized the same longing reflected there. She recalled his hand covering hers, the gentle pressure of it, the way his heart had spoken through that single touch. With the river’s song as accompaniment, she read the letter again, her heart racing with each carefully chosen word. Min-jun’s eyes appeared before her once more, and she felt herself drowning in them.
On the riverbank, morning light caught the smooth stones beneath her feet. She remembered his hand—how it had cradled hers, how his fingers had trembled with an emotion he couldn’t quite voice. The spring wind caressed her hair as she relived that moment, that perfect, fragile moment when his hand had held hers and she’d understood everything without words.
Eun-seo read the letter again, the river’s murmur her only companion. The words seemed to pulse with his heartbeat, and Min-jun’s presence wrapped around her like the spring breeze. Every step along the riverbank brought his voice closer, soothing something raw within her. His eyes—she could see them so clearly now. When they’d met hers, she’d felt the depth of what he couldn’t say. The flowers blooming in her grandmother’s garden seemed to sing with her joy, their fragrance making her heart lighter than air.
She watched his hands tremble and knew his heart trembled too. The river spoke in whispers as she held the letter, her pulse synchronized with every line. Min-jun’s eyes burned in her memory, and when she thought of his gaze meeting hers, she felt the truth of his feelings mirrored in her own. The pebbles along the bank glimmered in the morning light as she recalled his touch—the way his hand had enfolded hers, the way his heart had spoken in that silence.
The spring wind moved through her hair, and she remembered everything. His voice, his eyes, his trembling hand in hers—all of it wove together into something she could no longer resist. She sat on the riverbank and read the letter once more, her heart racing with recognition. Min-jun’s gaze seemed to reach across the distance between them, and the flowers’ fragrance lifted her spirit higher still.
“Min-jun,” she thought softly, “you’re such a good person. What your heart feels is exactly what mine feels.” Each time she glimpsed his vulnerability, she felt the echo of it in herself. The morning light caught the stones as she remembered his hand covering hers, the gentle strength of it, the promise it held.
She walked along the riverbank, and his voice seemed to follow her, cradling her heart. His eyes—she saw them again, filled with the same longing that consumed her. His trembling hands mirrored her own uncertainty, yet in that uncertainty lay a truth more solid than stone. The spring breeze carried the scent of blossoms and the memory of his touch.
Their conversation echoed in her mind. “Eun-seo, you’re so beautiful,” she heard him say, his voice tender against her ear. “What your heart feels is what I feel too.” His voice had soothed her then, and it soothed her now. When his eyes had found hers, she’d known. When his hand had held hers, she’d understood.
Sitting on the riverbank, she read the letter with the river’s song beneath every word. Her heart raced with each line, seeing Min-jun’s eyes, feeling the weight of his gaze. The flowers from her grandmother’s garden perfumed the air, and their sweetness seemed to carry his presence to her.
“Min-jun,” she whispered to the spring morning, “you’re such a good person. What your heart feels is exactly what mine feels.” His trembling hands, his tender gaze, his voice—all of it belonged to her now, woven into the fabric of her heart. The morning light danced on the stones as she remembered the moment his hand had found hers, holding it as though it were the most precious thing in the world.
She rose and walked the riverbank, his voice echoing in her heart. His eyes, his touch, his trembling vulnerability—all of it called to something deep within her. The spring wind lifted her hair, and she felt the promise of what was to come. With each step, she drew closer to understanding, closer to him.
Their conversation replayed endlessly. “Eun-seo, you’re so beautiful,” his words lingered like a prayer. “What your heart feels is what I feel.” She believed him now, completely. His voice had always spoken truth, and his eyes had never lied.
On the riverbank, she sat once more with the letter, her heart beating in rhythm with the water’s flow. Min-jun’s eyes gazed back at her from memory, and she felt the full weight of his affection. The flowers bloomed in her grandmother’s garden, their fragrance a benediction on this spring morning that seemed to hold the beginning of everything.
“Min-jun,” she thought, “you’re such a kind person. What your heart feels is exactly what mine feels.” His hand in hers, his eyes meeting hers, his voice calling to her across the distance—she held it all close now, understanding at last that they had always belonged to each other, waiting for this moment when the river bends toward home.