Seoul was a city that shimmered at night.
Even after the sun dipped below the horizon, the streets of Sinchon stayed alive — the low buzz of conversations outside cafes, students spilling from dorm buildings, headlights reflecting in puddles left by a light evening rain. Neon signs painted shifting colors on the wet asphalt, and from the eighth floor of Baeknam Hall, Seo Hana watched it all with quiet detachment.
Her dorm room was modest and clean, the small touches of her life scattered across it: a neat pile of books by the window, a single old photograph of her grandmother's arms around a younger, laughing Hana, and a paper lantern by the bedside that cast a warm glow against the pale walls. A half-finished cup of vanilla latte sat by her laptop, which displayed a half-hearted research paper she had little interest in finishing.
The soft strains of lo-fi guitar instrumentals hummed from a Bluetooth speaker, blurring the edges of the quiet night.
There was peace in this stillness.
Until the knock.
"Yo, bookworm," Chae-Rin's voice called through the door, cheerful and teasing as always. "We're hitting the night market for snacks. You alive in there or buried under another depressing novel?"
Hana smiled. "I'm good. Too much reading left."
"You'll rot in here," Chae-Rin warned playfully. "You'll have a tragic ending in your own boring story."
Hana chuckled softly as she heard Chae-Rin's footsteps retreat down the hallway, the dorm's heavy fire door clanging shut a few seconds later. The quiet wrapped itself around her again like an old, familiar blanket.
She shifted on the bed, her gaze flicking to the window, where the reflection of city lights shimmered in raindrops trailing down the glass. Her phone buzzed quietly against the table.
Without thinking, she reached for it.
An incoming call.
The screen faced away from her as she answered.
"Hello?"
A soft, familiar voice came through the line — the kind of voice that, for a moment, made the night feel safer. A little warmer.
"Hey, it's me."
Hana's lips curved into a smile. "Unnie? You calling this late?"
"I just… wanted to check in," the voice said gently. "You've been staying in a lot. You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine," Hana replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just trying to finish this awful thesis chapter. Nothing exciting."
A small laugh on the other end. The sound of rain pattering faintly in the background, as though the caller was also somewhere outside, somewhere alone.
"I know you hate hearing this," the voice continued, tone softening, "but… be careful, okay? Don't walk alone at night. Keep your phone charged. And… if anything feels strange, just call me."
Hana's brow furrowed slightly.
"You're worrying too much again," she said, though the warmth in her chest made her forgive the intrusion. "It's Seoul, not a crime drama."
A pause. The faint crackle of static on the line.
"I mean it, Hana."
There was something in the way the words landed. Not heavy. Not dramatic. But a tone people take when they know more than they're willing to explain.
"Okay, okay. I promise," Hana murmured, easing the tension with a quiet laugh.
The voice gave a soft sigh, the kind of sound you make when you want to believe everything's fine but can't. Then, the call ended without another word.
Hana stared at the phone for a long moment before setting it down, screen still facing away.
For a while, she sat in the hush of her room, the lo-fi music filling the silence.
It wasn't fear that settled over her — not yet. Just a strange, unshakable feeling of being seen. Of threads shifting around her without her noticing.
Outside, the rain thickened, streaking the window. In the distance, a siren wailed briefly before fading.
Hana drew her blanket up to her shoulders and turned the music up just a little louder, the warm, soft beats doing little to chase the unease clinging to the edges of her thoughts.