He took her to the sea at sunrise. To a jazz bar hidden beneath a laundromat. To a rooftop garden where fireflies blinked like fallen stars. She showed him instant ramyeon eaten at 3 a.m., the smell of old paper, the way stray cats purred if you waited long enough.

"Still tired?" she'd ask.

On the 365th day, she stood before him in the rain again. Same bus shelter. Same broken umbrella.

"He's a regular," Jin-ah would say, smiling.

"I'm not going to marry you," she said without looking up. "I don't even know you. And the sword thing? Nightmare fuel."