Chapter Text
The apartment was quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the soft ticking of the kitchen clock as midnight approached. Myoui Mina stood in her living room, still wearing her hospital scrubs under a long beige coat, loosely holding a paper bag of takeout she no longer wanted. Every light was on, not to make the place feel warm, but to keep the silence from feeling so empty.
She let out a slow breath and set the untouched food on the kitchen counter. Her eyes moved around the apartment she had called home for almost six years. The white walls and sparse furniture made it feel cold and impersonal, with no photos or signs of life to make it real. It felt more like a place to pass through between responsibilities than a real home, and Mina realized it had always been that way.
Work had taken over most of her twenties. Residency, night shifts, emergency calls, conferences, and endless hospital rounds left little space for anything else.
While everyone around her moved forward, finding hobbies, relationships, and families, Mina kept putting her own life off for "later."
Later, when things calmed down.
Later, when she had enough time.
Later, when she finally learned how to rest without feeling guilty.
But later never came.
Her phone buzzed against the kitchen counter.
A message from Yoo Jeongyeon appeared on the screen.
Jeongyeon:
Did you leave the hospital yet?
Jeongyeon:
Or did they legally make you part of the building already?
A small smile tugged at Mina's lips.
Mina:
I just got home.
Jeongyeon:
That's exactly what someone trapped in the hospital basement would say.
Jeongyeon:
Seriously, Mina. You need a life outside work.
Mina stared at the message longer than she meant to.
You need a life outside work.
The words settled strangely in her chest.
Because lately, she'd been thinking the same thing.
Not dramatically.
Not in the way people quit everything and disappeared to another country.
Just...
She was tired of feeling like a guest in her own life.
Her eyes wandered toward the large windows near the living room.
The city lights outside looked cold, glowing against the dark sky but feeling distant, as if the world was far away. Maybe that was why the thought kept coming back to her, quietly and persistently.
A home.
She didn't want just an apartment near the hospital or another temporary place to sleep after long shifts. She wanted something real, a place quiet enough for silence to feel comforting and warm enough to ease the weight she carried each day. Most of all, she wanted a place that finally felt like her.
Mina walked toward the couch and picked up her tablet from the coffee table. The screen lit up immediately, revealing dozens of tabs she had opened over the past week:
Modern residential homes.
Minimalist interiors.
Japanese-inspired architecture.
Warm lighting concepts.
Open courtyards.
For someone who said she was "just browsing," she had done a surprising amount of research.
She adjusted her glasses slightly before opening another search page.
Top Architecture Firms in Seoul.
Several company names appeared.
Some looked too corporate.
Some felt overly extravagant.
Others seemed cold in a way she couldn't explain.
Mina scrolled absentmindedly until one portfolio thumbnail caught her attention.
The house had wide glass windows that let soft sunlight fill every corner, making the space feel open, calm, and alive. Its design was simple and elegant, with a quiet warmth that felt inviting instead of showy. There was nothing flashy or overly luxurious, but something about the house made Mina pause longer than she expected.
It felt comforting.
Like the kind of place someone could finally breathe in after years of exhaustion.
Before she could overthink it, she tapped the image on her screen.
The architecture firm's website opened instantly.
JYP Atelier.
Her eyes skimmed through project galleries and design philosophies until she reached the section labeled:
Lead Architects.
The moment the page loaded, Mina froze.
Her heartbeat stumbled so suddenly it almost startled her.
A familiar face stared back at her from the screen.
Soft brown hair.
Bright smile.
Eyes that somehow still looked exactly the same.
Hirai Momo.
Lead Architect.
For several seconds, Mina simply stared.
The room around her disappeared into silence.
"No way..." she whispered.
Years.
It had been years.
Yet she recognized Momo immediately.
Because some people never really leave your memory.
And unfortunately for Mina, Momo had been one of those people.
Back in college, everyone knew who Hirai Momo was.
Not because she tried to stand out.
She simply did.
Dance performances during university festivals.
Architecture exhibits crowded with students pretending they weren't there just to see her.
Friends gathered around her constantly.
That laugh people could hear from across campus.
Mina remembered all of it far too clearly for someone she had barely spoken to.
Which was embarrassing.
Especially because college Mina had mastered the art of admiring someone quietly.
From a distance.
Always from a distance.
She remembered sitting alone in the library pretending to study while secretly watching Momo pass by outside.
Remembered seeing her asleep over architecture drafts at two in the morning.
Remembered memorizing little things she had no business remembering.
Like how Momo always carried colorful pens.
Or how she tucked loose hair behind her ear whenever she concentrated.
Or how she smiled at strangers like they mattered.
Mina slowly lowered the tablet onto her lap.
"Why did I only notice it now?" she murmured softly.
The words echoed in her chest.
Why was it only now that life had somehow circled back to this person again?
Outside, rain began tapping gently against the windows.
Mina leaned back against the couch, eyes still fixed on Momo's photo.
Lead Architect.
The title suited her.
Of course it did.
Momo had always looked like someone meant to create beautiful things.
Mina swallowed quietly before clicking the portfolio again.
One project after another appeared on her screen, each home showing the same quiet sense of warmth that caught her attention right away. The spaces were filled with natural light, open layouts, and soft details that made every room feel calm instead of overwhelming. Nothing felt cold or too polished. Each design seemed intentional, making the homes feel lived in even before anyone moved in.
They were not simply houses built for appearance or status.
They were places designed for breathing, resting, and existing without feeling suffocated by the world outside.
And somehow, each design felt strangely personal.
Warm in the way Momo had always been warm.
Without realizing it, Mina smiled faintly.
Then sighed right after.
Because this was ridiculous.
She was thirty years old.
A doctor.
A fully functioning adult.
Yet seeing an old college crush online had suddenly turned her into someone emotionally unstable at midnight.
Her phone buzzed again.
Jeongyeon:
You disappeared.
Jeongyeon:
Did you fall asleep sitting up again?
Mina:
No.
Jeongyeon:
Then what are you doing?
Mina:
Looking at architecture firms.
Jeongyeon:
...Who are you and what have you done with Myoui Mina?
Mina let out a quiet laugh for the first time that day.
Then her eyes drifted back to Momo's profile photo again.
Before she could overthink it, she clicked the consultation request form.
Name.
Contact information.
Project type.
Brief description.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment.
Then slowly typed:
I want to build a home that finally feels like mine.
Mina stared at the sentence after finishing it.
Something tightened in her chest as she kept staring at the screen. It wasn't exactly sadness, and it didn't hurt enough to be heartbreak. The feeling was quieter than that, and hard to name.
Maybe it was longing for something she had never really allowed herself to want before.
Maybe it was exhaustion from years spent surviving instead of living.
Or maybe, after all this time, it was the unfamiliar feeling of hope quietly settling inside her.
She submitted the form before she could change her mind.
The confirmation page appeared seconds later.
Consultation Request Received.
A strange nervousness settled over her immediately afterward.
As if she had just done something reckless.
Which made no sense.
It was only architecture.
Only a consultation.
Only someone she used to admire years ago.
Nothing more.
And yet,
Mina could not stop staring at the name on the screen.
Hirai Momo.
Outside, the rain kept falling softly against the windows, while somewhere beneath years of routine, exhaustion, and carefully controlled emotions,
something in Mina's life quietly began again.