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# Chapter 58: Whispers of the River
Eun-seo arrived at Min-jun’s pottery studio early in the morning. The soft sound of the door opening broke the silence that filled the space. The moment Min-jun saw her, his face brightened. Sunlight reflected in his eyes, casting a warm glow, and Eun-seo felt that light reach deep into her chest.
The earthy scent of clay enveloped her. Min-jun began turning the potter’s wheel, and as Eun-seo watched his fingers shape the clay, she found herself holding her breath. She read the curves forming beneath his hands as if they contained some unspoken truth.
“When I listen to the river while I work, my hands move on their own,” Min-jun said, opening the conversation.
Eun-seo heard it then—the distant murmur of the Namgang flowing beyond the studio. Sparrows chirped. Through the workshop windows, the riverbank stretched in shades of green.
“Why is that?”
“It settles my mind.”
His voice flowed like the river itself—smooth and unhurried. As Eun-seo followed the movement of his hands, she began to understand something beyond the pottery. His breathing rhythm, the pressure of his palms against the clay, the way he caressed the earth—all of it held his sincerity.
They walked along the riverbank together.
Pebbles crunched beneath their feet. The river water reached Eun-seo’s ankles, its coolness prickling her skin. Bird calls made the air vibrate, and those vibrations traveled to her heart.
“Min-jun, I want to ask you something.”
“What is it?”
“When you make pottery, is peace all you feel?”
Min-jun stopped walking. The river wrapped around his ankles. His gaze lifted toward the water’s surface, where sunlight shattered into countless glimmering fragments.
“There’s fear too. Fear that something I’ve created with these hands might break.”
Eun-seo’s throat tightened. That was exactly how he treated her—with such care, such tenderness.
His grandmother was waiting at the entrance when they returned from the river. The scent of water clung to Eun-seo’s clothes, and her cheeks were flushed from the sun. Dust from the clay still lingered on Min-jun’s hands.
The grandmother said nothing. She only smiled.
It was enough.
As evening fell, sunlight tilted through the studio windows. Min-jun sat beside Eun-seo and began shaping a new piece. Eun-seo simply watched. With each moment his hands touched the clay, the river’s voice and the birds’ songs seemed to blend together.
“What are you making this time?”
“Something for you.”
Eun-seo’s breath caught. Min-jun’s hands never paused against the clay—moving at a pace that was neither hurried nor slow, as if only this rhythm could hold true feeling.
The whispers of the river continued.