The walls of the hanok were thin to sound but thick to freedom.
By day, Lady Hae-won fulfilled her duties without flaw—graceful bows to visiting nobles, careful brushstrokes in her calligraphy, quiet nods to her father's commands. But by night, her thoughts drifted like lanterns on water, carried by the whisper of a name.
Jin-seo.
Their encounters grew less accidental, more deliberate. Beneath the moonlight, in corners of the courtyard untouched by servants' eyes, they exchanged poems folded into fans, shared stories too small for scrolls. He told her of his mother, who died when he was a boy, and of his dream to one day open a school for village children. She told him of the stars, and how as a child she used to believe each one was a soul waiting to be born.
They spoke in soft voices, as though their words might awaken the very stones around them.
Yet the walls listened.
And so did the world.
Lady Mi-sun, Hae-won's cousin, was the first to notice. "You seem distracted," she said one morning over tea. "Is the thought of Lord Kang so unsettling?"
Hae-won looked away. "He is a good man."
"But not the one your eyes search for when you think no one is looking."
The warning was gentle, but clear.
Later that evening, her father summoned her.
"Your wedding preparations will begin tomorrow," he said firmly. "Lord Kang expects obedience. I trust you will not bring shame to our house."
She bowed low, heart pounding beneath layers of silk. "Yes, Father."
That night, she found Jin-seo waiting near the garden wall, lantern in hand.
"They've chosen for me," she said, voice trembling.
His expression didn't change. "I know."
"I will be gone before the full moon."
He looked at her, eyes filled with a sorrow deeper than words. Then slowly, he held out his hand. "Come with me. We can leave. Tonight."
Her breath caught.
To follow him would mean disgrace. Exile. A life of hardship. But a life of her choosing.
"I want to," she whispered. "But I cannot dishonor my mother's name."
He lowered his hand.
The silence between them hurt more than any scolding.
Still, before parting, she touched his fingers gently—just once.
A promise left unspoken.
And behind the hanok walls, the wind carried the sound of something breaking.
---