LIES BETWEEN US

CHAPTER 7: THINGS THAT DON'T MAKE SENSE

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Hyeri’s POV

It began with the shoes.

Two days after their meeting at the park, Hyeri was closing up the café when she noticed the footprints just outside the back door. Not fresh, but newer than the snowfall. Deep, angled, like someone had stood there for a while — then walked away.

She paused, hand on the light switch.

The alley behind the café led nowhere — just a brick wall and the back of a stationery shop. No reason for anyone to be back there. Still, she told herself it could have been delivery staff. Or Min-ji. Or nothing.

But the feeling settled in her chest anyway.

That old, cold intuition that something was wrong.

The same feeling she had when Eun stopped answering her calls two years ago.

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At home, Hyeri sat at her desk, flipping through an old sketchbook.

She hadn’t drawn much since he left, but sometimes she still opened it — like tonight — when her thoughts wouldn't rest. Most of the pages were filled with quick pencil lines: street corners, cups of coffee, strangers she saw on the subway. Then, toward the back, a softer set of sketches. Hands. A scarf. A boy’s profile.

Eun.

She touched the paper lightly. He hadn’t changed much — his eyes were still too sad for his age, his voice still too careful. But there was something new in him now. A tension beneath the surface. As if he was always waiting for something to catch up to him.

Her phone buzzed. A message.

> [Unknown Number]

You really don’t know, do you?

Her blood went cold.

She stared at the screen, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest.

No name. No photo. Just that one sentence.

She typed back quickly.

> Who is this?

No reply.

She waited five minutes. Then ten. Nothing.

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The next morning, she walked to the small clinic where she volunteered twice a week — a habit she kept to feel useful, needed. The air was sharp, and the streets still damp from last night’s snow. As she reached the crosswalk, someone brushed past her — a man in a gray coat.

Something about his walk felt familiar.

She turned, but he was already too far ahead.

Her phone buzzed again.

> [Unknown Number]

Ask him about Gwangjin-dong. If he tells the truth.

This time, her fingers trembled.

Gwangjin-dong.

She hadn’t heard that name in years.

Back when she and Eun were still together, he used to leave for "family stuff" once or twice a month. He never said where, but once, she saw a note in his pocket. An address. It started with Gwangjin-dong.

When she asked him about it, he smiled and changed the subject.

She thought it was nothing.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

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That night, Hyeri stared at the city from her rooftop. The skyline blinked and shifted, cars below like veins glowing under skin. She wrapped herself tighter in her scarf — his scarf — and tried to breathe.

There were still too many blank spaces between them.

Too many things that didn’t make sense.

Footprints behind the café.

A message from a number she didn’t recognize.

A name from their past.

And worst of all — the feeling that she was being watched.

She checked her phone again. No new messages.

Still, she whispered to the wind:

> “What are you hiding from me, Eun?”

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