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Chapter 140: The Door of Memory
Min-jun’s eyes opened in the darkness. His chest heaved with rapid breaths, and his mind remained trapped by last night’s voice. He wanted to hear Sung-jun’s voice again. But his phone sat silent. The distant hum of the city filtered through the walls, and hunger gnawed at his stomach. He could still taste the doenjang-jjigae from earlier, lingering on his tongue, while his heart churned with restless emotion.
Through the window, city lights pierced the darkness. Yet his thoughts circled back to that voice from last night. He picked up his phone, hoping. But nothing. Only the muffled sounds of traffic and his own empty stomach. The flavor of miso soup still clung to his palate as his heart twisted.
The night sky beyond the glass was illuminated by the city’s glow, but those lights only deepened the shadows in his heart. He rose from bed and moved to the window, gazing out at the sprawling lights. His mind remained anchored to last night’s voice—to Sung-jun. He wanted to follow that voice back to himself.
What he sought, he realized, was the ability to trust himself, to love himself, to understand himself. Min-jun needed to find his own heart. The city’s noise reached his ears. His stomach ached with hunger. The taste of soup still lingered. And his emotions swirled endlessly.
He stood at the window again, looking out. The distant lights seemed to darken rather than illuminate his inner world. Still, he wanted to hear that voice. He picked up his phone. Silence answered.
The hunger, the taste, the city sounds—all of it mixed together with the ache in his chest. He wanted Sung-jun’s voice. He needed it to find his way back to himself. What he truly sought was faith in himself, love for himself, understanding of himself. Min-jun had to find his own heart.
He rose again, moving to the window once more. City lights blazed against the darkness, yet his mind remained captive to that voice. He wanted to hear it again. His heart followed that sound, searching for itself.
The night pressed in around him, but somewhere in that darkness, he knew there was a door. A door marked by memory. And beyond it—himself.