Echoes of the past
Aera always believed the world moved too fast for her. While others raced ahead—chasing careers, ambitions, and big dreams—she clung to a vision far simpler, yet, in today’s world, far more fragile. All she ever wanted was a home. A warm kitchen. Laughter echoing off the walls. A man who looked at her with kindness. Children she could wrap her whole world around.
She never asked for too much. But life didn’t just deny her—it shattered her.
At eighteen, she was married off to a man she had never loved. Aera remembered her wedding not by flowers or vows, but by the choking silence of her own tears. She had no say, no dream, no fight left in her. Her parents—pressured by societal norms and blinded by fear—thought they were saving her future.
The nights were the hardest. Cold bedsheets. A stranger beside her. Words spoken like bullets. Hands that didn’t feel like love.
She was still a child, and soon she was carrying one.
At nineteen, Aera became a mother.
She barely remembered the delivery. Everything was a blur of hospital lights, pain, and the heavy weight of abandonment. Her husband, already distant, didn’t even show up. Her parents dropped her at the hospital like a burden they couldn’t carry anymore.
And when the divorce came, it didn’t even feel like freedom. Just another hollow silence.
The child—a boy—was taken in by a cultural home for care. Aera didn’t even get to name him.
Heartbroken, she left. She didn’t know where she was going. Just that she had to go. The weight inside her chest was too heavy. Too loud. She ran from the people who called her weak. From the voices that said she wasn’t enough.
From herself.
But even in brokenness, she survived.
She worked odd jobs. Cleaned cafes. Slept in shelters. She lived—not out of hope, but out of stubbornness. She had nothing, but somehow she was still breathing.
And in time, she did more than survive.
She stood on her own feet. Slowly, piece by piece, she started helping her family again. The very ones who had once abandoned her. Not because she had forgotten the pain, but because she refused to let bitterness define her. She paid her parents' bills when she could. Helped her younger siblings with school supplies. She became the strength they never knew they needed.
And though she had been separated from her child, she never abandoned him. She sent money every month to the cultural home for his care. Clothes, books, toys—anything to let him know he was never forgotten. And she visited him whenever she could. Their meetings were short, but full of love.
He called her 'eomma' with pride, eyes shining with a quiet strength.
He was a brave boy. Braver than most. He believed in her, even when she didn't believe in herself. He would cling to her fingers and say, “You’re the best, eomma. One day, I’ll take care of you.”
She would smile through her tears every time. That little boy was her reason to fight.
And then one night, in the quiet of her rented rooftop room, she heard a voice.
It wasn’t someone knocking.
It wasn’t someone yelling.
It was music.
A soft, haunting melody drifting from the next building. A boy’s voice, rich and deep, like velvet wrapped around pain. Words she couldn’t understand, yet emotions she felt to her bones.
She later found the song online. The singer’s name? Kim Taehyung.
She didn’t know him. Didn’t care for idols. In fact, she had hated the obsession people had for stars who never knew their names.
But that night? His voice saved her.
She wept for hours. Not because the song was sad, but because it felt like someone had reached into her chest and held her broken pieces together.
That’s how it began.
Not with love.
But with survival.
With music.
With Him
