Hope

Chapter 9: Not In The Plan

The door clicked shut behind her with a soft finality.

It was past 1pm.

The sky was a dull slate outside, but her room felt warm in its smallness — bed unmade, books half-stacked, tea mug from yesterday still on the sill.

And there, curled up in his usual spot under the chair, was Holang-ie.

Orange. Round. Munchkin legs tucked like a folded mochi.

He didn’t move at first — just narrowed his eyes like he was judging her for being late to a conversation they’d never scheduled.

She placed her bag gently on the floor, sat cross-legged on the mat.

Holang-ie stretched once, then padded over without ceremony.

He pressed his side into her leg. Warmth and weight and no questions.

“Why do I have to answer him like that, Holang-i ya,” she murmured, running a finger down his back. “I'm such a fool.”

Holang-ie flicked his tail like he wasn’t invested in the answer.

Her phone vibrated again.

She didn’t check it.

She already knew the name lighting up her screen.

Four missed calls. One voicemail.

All from the same number.

She exhaled — long and slow — then pressed her fingers under her nose, thumb finding the space between her eyebrows.

The pain wasn’t sharp. Just... tired.

“Ha Neul-ah, don’t be difficult. We don’t have to involve the courts. You’re fine now, aren’t you? You’re working. Isn’t that enough?”

She had stopped listening after the second message.

But she hadn’t blocked him.

Not yet.

Holang-ie bumped his head against her arm.

She looked down.

He stared back with his usual quiet defiance — like he knew her better than she did.

Didn’t purr. Instead, Holang-ie circled the crumpled jacket on the floor with purpose, his tail flicking as he sniffed along the seam like he was tracking something she couldn’t see.

Ha Neul, still half in her thoughts, tugged at her sleeves and froze mid-motion.

The letter.

Her eyes widened as she crouched down, flipping the jacket over, hands patting the lining, checking every pocket twice.

Her heart thudded. “No, no…” she whispered, as if saying it aloud would bring it back.

It wasn’t just paper.

It was that letter — the one she never planned to show but couldn’t bear to throw away.

The one she’d carried from one life to another, like a wound folded neatly in an envelope.

And now it was gone.

And Holang-ie just sat there, staring at her — still as a statue, eyes unblinking — like he was silently scolding her for her clumsiness with feelings far bigger than she knew how to carry.