Last Part: The Neighbor Who Knows Too Much
871 Words
That night, Ha-rin locked her door and leaned against it, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.
Her heart still hadn’t slowed.
She replayed the scene again and again—the man’s smile, the cracked wall, the way Min-joon had moved like gravity didn’t apply to him.
Nothing made sense.
And yet—
Somehow, it all felt familiar.
She showered, hoping the hot water would wash away the lingering chill in her bones. But even as steam filled the bathroom, she felt watched—not in a threatening way, but in the way someone watches something precious from a distance.
When she finally lay down, exhaustion claimed her immediately.
And then she dreamed.
She stood in a place she had never been—yet knew with aching certainty.
Lanterns floated into the sky, glowing softly against the darkness. The air smelled like smoke and flowers and old memories.
A man knelt before her.
Blood stained his hands.
Tears streamed down his face.
“Don’t leave,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please. Stay with me.”
Her chest ached so badly she could barely breathe.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
“So am I,” he replied. “But I’ll stay. I’ll always stay.”
Pain exploded through her body—
Ha-rin woke up screaming.
Her sheets were soaked with sweat. Tears streamed down her face as she clutched her chest, gasping for air.
Her phone buzzed.
A single message.
Unknown:
Do you remember me now?
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
Before she could react—
A knock echoed through her apartment.
Slow.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Someone was standing outside her door.
The knock came again.
Not loud.
Not violent.
Just slow and steady, as if whoever stood outside her door knew she was listening.
Ha-rin didn’t move.
She sat on the edge of her bed, phone clenched in her hand, staring at the door like it might suddenly open on its own. Her heart thudded so loudly it filled her ears.
This isn’t real, she told herself. You’re tired. You’re scared. That’s all.
But her body didn’t believe it.
Her fingers were numb. Her legs felt weak. The memory of the man’s smile in the stairwell—the way it had stretched unnaturally—flickered in her mind.
The knock came a third time.
“Who is it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
No answer.
The silence that followed felt heavier than the sound.
She stood up slowly, every movement cautious. As she took a step toward the door, her phone buzzed again in her hand.
Unknown:
Open it.
Her breath caught sharply in her throat.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “This isn’t happening.”
Her hand hovered inches from the doorknob.
Then—
A voice spoke from the hallway.
“Ha-rin.”
She froze.
It was calm. Familiar.
Min-joon.
Relief flooded her chest so suddenly her knees almost gave out.
She rushed to the door and unlocked it without thinking.
Min-joon stood there, his expression tight, his eyes alert and dark like a storm barely held back.
“You shouldn’t be this close to the door,” he said quietly.
Her voice broke. “Someone’s outside. They texted me.”
He looked past her, then back at her. “I know.”
That single sentence sent a chill through her.
“You know?” she repeated.
He nodded. “They’ve been watching you for a while.”
Her chest tightened. “Watching me how?”
“Not the way humans do,” he replied.
Another knock echoed through the hallway.
Min-joon stepped in front of her instinctively, his body blocking the door like a shield.
“Step back,” he said softly.
“Min-joon—”
“Please.”
She obeyed.
The air shifted.
Ha-rin didn’t see anything change, but she felt it—like pressure building around her ears, like the room was being squeezed from all sides.
Then the knocking stopped.
Min-joon closed his eyes, listening to something she couldn’t hear.
“They’re gone,” he said finally.
Her breath came out shaky. “Who was that?”
He turned to her slowly. “Someone from my past.”
She laughed weakly. “Why does everyone from your past keep trying to scare me?”
His jaw tightened. “Because you’re connected to it now.”
The weight of his words settled heavily between them.
She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“I know.”
“And I hate that you keep protecting me without telling me why.”
His gaze softened just slightly. “If I tell you, you’ll remember.”
“Remember what?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he stepped back, creating distance between them, like he was afraid being too close might hurt her.
“Get some rest,” he said. “Lock your door. Don’t answer anyone you don’t know.”
“And you?” she asked.
“I’ll be nearby.”
She hesitated. “Will you disappear again?”
Something flickered across his face—regret, fear, longing.
“I’ll try not to.”
- Writer
