Chapter 3: Threads of the Past

Han Jiwon barely slept.

Every time she closed her eyes, the woman’s face reappeared—white skin, crimson lips, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. Eun Haejin. The name clung to her thoughts as if it had been etched into her bones long before she was born.

By dawn, she gave up on sleep altogether. She sat at her desk, sketchbook open, pages littered with fragments of her dream: the palace courtyard, the bloody hanbok, the stranger’s face. None of it made sense. But the fear was real.

Her phone buzzed.

SOHEE: U alive??? Want breakfast??

SOHEE: Wait don’t answer that. Meet me @ front gate in 20 mins.

Jiwon exhaled, rubbing her temples. She needed Sohee’s chatter, something to pull her away from the fog threatening to swallow her. She stuffed her sketchbook into her bag, pulled on a jacket, and headed out.

---

The morning air was crisp, sunlight soft against the pavement. Sohee was already waiting with two croissants in hand.

“You look like a corpse,” Sohee said bluntly, shoving one pastry into Jiwon’s hand. “You seriously need to stop pulling all-nighters.”

“It’s not that,” Jiwon muttered, tearing off a bite of croissant.

Sohee squinted. “Then what? You’ve been weird since yesterday. And don’t say it’s nothing. I know your nothing-face.”

Jiwon hesitated. How could she explain? How could she tell her best friend that she was being haunted by dreams of dying in another lifetime? That she had seen a stranger’s face in both her sleep and her waking life?

Before she could answer, music drifted from the quad. A familiar sound—a guitar, warm and resonant.

Jiwon froze.

Across the lawn, Seo Minjae sat on the low steps of the library, strumming softly as a small crowd gathered. His head tilted slightly as he played, eyes half-closed, lips curving faintly in concentration. The melody was simple, but it carried weight, each note tugging at something inside her chest.

Her heart stuttered. She knew this song.

Not from the radio. Not from class. Not from anywhere that made sense.

She knew it from the dream.

The melody was the same one that had floated through the palace courtyard the night she died.

Sohee nudged her, whispering, “You’re staring again. Is he the guy?”

Jiwon couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away.

When the song ended, Minjae glanced up—and for the briefest second, their gazes locked. Something flickered in his eyes, recognition or confusion, Jiwon couldn’t tell. He stood quickly, slipping the guitar back into its case, and disappeared into the crowd before she could follow.

---

That evening, Jiwon returned to her rooftop apartment, drained. She dropped her bag on the floor and collapsed onto the bed.

She thought about the melody. The name. The woman’s face. Every piece of it tangled together like threads pulling her toward a tapestry she couldn’t yet see.

Her phone buzzed again—this time with an unknown number.

UNKNOWN: Did you draw me?

Her blood turned cold.

She typed back hesitantly: Who is this?

The reply came instantly.

UNKNOWN: Seo Minjae.

Her breath hitched. How had he gotten her number? Did Sohee give it to him? Or—

Another message appeared.

MINJAE: I saw your sketchbook at the café. That face you drew… it looked like me.

Jiwon’s hand shook around the phone. He had seen.

Before she could think of an excuse, another text arrived.

MINJAE: Can we talk?

---

The café was quieter at night, only a few students hunched over laptops. Jiwon sat at the same table by the window, clutching her sketchbook like a shield.

When Minjae arrived, he looked different—less casual, more guarded. His hoodie was gone, replaced with a denim jacket. His guitar case leaned against the wall as he slid into the chair across from her.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then Minjae leaned forward, voice low.

“Why did you draw me?”

Jiwon’s throat tightened. She opened the sketchbook, flipping to the page she had sketched the day before. His face stared back at them both, shadows and sorrow etched into graphite.

“It’s not…” She swallowed. “It’s not really you. I mean, it is, but—I saw you before I met you. In a dream.”

Minjae’s brows knit together. “A dream?”

She nodded, pulse racing. “You were there. I don’t know why. But when I saw you at the café, it felt like I’d already known you. Like I’d already—” She stopped herself before the word died and slipped out.

Minjae sat back, expression unreadable. For a long while, he said nothing. Then he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s… strange,” he admitted quietly. “Because I’ve seen you too.”

Jiwon’s heart skipped. “What?”

“In my dreams,” Minjae said. His gaze flicked up to meet hers, sharp and unsettling. “You were crying. And there was blood. I didn’t tell anyone because I thought I was losing my mind.”

The café’s air seemed to thin around them. Two strangers, bound by dreams of death that mirrored each other.

Jiwon’s hand trembled as she closed the sketchbook. “What does it mean?” she whispered.

Minjae shook his head, jaw tight. “I don’t know. But I think… we’re not supposed to ignore it.”

Outside the window, movement flickered in the dark. Jiwon turned her head just in time to catch a figure slipping past the glass—a pale woman with crimson lips. Watching. Smiling.

Eun Haejin.

Her blood ran cold.

When she looked back, Minjae was staring too.

“You saw her?” he asked, voice strained.

Jiwon nodded slowly.

The café lights flickered once. Twice. Then steadied again.

Whatever bound them together, it wasn’t just a dream anymore.

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