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# Chapter 218: The Weight of a Name
Everything seemed to stop the moment Tae-o mentioned his sister. The air turned sweet, like dissolving sugar on the tongue, yet Eun-seo’s body grew cold—as if pulled from a freezer. A sister. The word was simple enough, but what lay beneath it was anything but. Family. Relationships. And some kind of wound. Inside the pottery studio, his voice filled the space like the sound of ceramic breaking. Eun-seo caught something hidden in his expression—a pain tucked away somewhere deep. His eyes were lined with creases; the corners of his mouth sagged slightly downward. As if darkness had swallowed his heart whole.
“My sister is… my family,” Tae-o said. His voice was low, and his words only deepened the wound that lingered in his chest. Eun-seo listened, trying to understand what his name truly meant. But his name was too simple. Too ordinary. It told her nothing of his past, nothing of his present, nothing of his future. The air in the studio seemed to vibrate strangely—as if his voice had altered the very molecular structure of the space around them.
Eun-seo wanted to know his name. To know everything about him. If she could know his name, she thought, she could know his past. His present. His future. She wanted to understand his soul, his essence, all of it. It seemed she could do anything—anything—to know his name. Neither of them could look at the other. Both needed time to understand their own hearts.
As time passed, Eun-seo began to piece together his story. His name was Min-jun, but his real name was Kang Tae-o. Five years ago, in Seoul, he’d destroyed all his work before a solo exhibition and fled to Hacheon-ri. He’d changed his name to forget someone—to start over. But his past was buried along with that old name. It told her nothing of who he was, nothing of what he carried, nothing of where he was going. Still, she wanted to know. If she could just know his name, truly know it, then perhaps she could know him.
They couldn’t look at each other. Both needed time to understand their own hearts.
“What kind of wound?” Eun-seo asked quietly. Her voice was gentle, seeking to understand him. Tae-o exhaled—a long, deep breath, as if he hadn’t breathed properly in five years. She felt it. His breath was soft and warm, like his heart reaching toward her. She looked away. He looked away. Time stretched between them, heavy and necessary.
“My sister is… my family,” he said again. The words landed heavier this time, reopening something in his chest. Eun-seo listened, trying to understand what his name meant. But names, she realized, were deceptive things. They revealed nothing. They promised nothing. They changed nothing.
Yet still, she wondered: “Can I ever truly know his name?”
Neither of them could meet the other’s gaze. Two people, each needing time to understand what was happening in their own hearts.