The third and fourth days in Hangzhou passed in a blur of mechanical clicks and flickering monitors. Seo-yoon moved through the studio like a ghost, her notebook filling with observations she barely processed. Every time her phone buzzed with a message from Mei Lin or a notification from the university, her heart leaped, then sank.
Not them. She hadn't heard from Busan in five days. In the silence of her parents' absence, a cold, heavy dread began to pool in her stomach.
At the Hangzhou East Station, the air was a chaotic swirl of departing travelers and screeching steel. As Wei and Lin argued over which snacks to buy for the train ride back to Suzhou, Seo-yoon stood apart, staring at her call log. Dozens of outgoing calls to her mother and father. Zero answered.
Hands trembling, she dialed a number she hadn't called in years: Mrs. Park, their neighbor who lived above the café.
The line crackled. "Seo-yoon-ah? Is that you?"
"Aunty... I can't reach them. What's happening?"
There was a long, jagged silence on the other end. Then, a shaky breath. "Oh, honey... your mother. It was sudden. A collapse in the kitchen during the morning rush. Your father has been at the hospital for three days straight. He didn't want to tell you, he said you were finally happy there, he didn't want to break your focus..."
The station around Seo-yoon seemed to tilt. The roar of the crowd faded into a high-pitched ring. The "Ice Prince," the festival, the script—it all evaporated, leaving only the image of her mother's pale face and the scent of salt air.
"How is she?" Seo-yoon's voice was a jagged whisper.
"She's in the ICU, Seo-yoon. It's her heart. They're waiting for her to stabilize."
Seo-yoon hung up. She didn't cry; she couldn't breathe. She looked at the platform where the train to Suzhou was arriving—the train to her new life, to her friends, to the boy who carried her on his back.
Then she looked at the signs for the airport shuttle.
"Seo-yoon! The train is here, let's go!" Mei Lin called out, waving her ticket.
Seo-yoon turned, her face a mask of pale, raw desperation. "I'm not going back to Suzhou, Lin."
Lin's smile vanished. "What? What happened?"
"My mom... I have to go. Now." Seo-yoon's voice broke on the last word. She didn't wait for an explanation. She grabbed her suitcase, her knuckles white. "Tell Professor Chen. Tell the department. I don't care about the credits. I just have to go home."
"Wait, Seo-yoon!" Wei stepped forward, but the look in her eyes stopped him. It wasn't the look of a student; it was the look of a daughter who was losing her world.
She turned and began to run toward the exit, her beige coat fluttering behind her like a broken wing. She didn't look back at the train. She didn't look back at the city. But as she hailed a taxi for the airport, a single, agonizing thought pierced through her panic.
She hadn't said goodbye to Yan-chen. And in her suitcase, buried beneath her clothes, his dark muffler was still there—a heavy, silent anchor to a city she was leaving behind in the dark.