‍On a damp Thursday morning,

H lost her native tongue.

‍

It wasn’t silence—

it was the disappearance of language itself.

‍

She opened her laptop

and typed in English:

‍

“Between the past and the present

I am trapped in the same room.”

‍

It wasn’t a message to anyone.

Not a greeting to him,

not even a note to herself.

‍

The night before,

she had seen a divorce document

spread across the table—

in handwriting that wasn’t his,

and yet

undeniably about her.

‍

Since then,

her body had begun to react

before words could form.

‍

The ink was vivid.

The script—strange.

And still,

it was hers.

‍

That morning,

as she opened the window,

H realized something.

‍

Korean had slipped away—

like a thin thread pulled loose.

‍

Only English words

clung to the tip of her tongue.

‍

The silence needed no explanation.

‍

The absence in the room

reflected her weathered wounds—

packed into a small box,

stirred once more,

glistening in the pale silhouette

that stood before the vanity.

‍

H didn’t think of that man.

‍

To be precise—

he had always hovered

like a blur in her periphery.

‍

But now,

a scene from long ago

slipped through uninvited.

‍

A shadow of a man from her past—

or perhaps

a trace of time

she hadn’t fully laid to rest.

‍

That’s what unsettled her:

‍

Were these feelings truly for the man before her now,

or were they remnants—

memories in disguise

wearing the face of the present?

‍

She couldn’t tell

whether her heart spoke

from now,

or from a time

she had failed to bury.

‍

Time folded over time.

Emotions knotted.

‍

Even the smile

she had worn moments ago

felt alien.

‍

The white marble sink

reflected her

coldly. Clearly.

‍

Then, somewhere inside,

a sharp sensation

pierced her throat.

‍

She opened her mouth.

‍

“Am I being too sensitive?”

‍

The echo rang

from somewhere in the mirror,

as if spoken

by someone else.

‍

She heard no reply.

‍

Only the marble,

the mirror,

and her own voice’s aftersound

lingered—

‍

filling the bathroom

with a strange,

almost sacred silence.

‍

That day,

H decided to own no one’s emotions—

not even her own.