Chapter 1
The Note
The first time I saw the purple door, I thought it was ugly.
Not mysterious.
Not important.
Definitely not the kind of door that would change my life.
It was an old wooden door at the end of a hallway, painted a faded shade of purple. The paint was chipped around the edges, exposing the dull brown wood underneath. There were tiny scratches near the handle, as if someone had tried to open it with a key—or perhaps tried desperately to keep someone from opening it.
I didn’t think much of it.
Why would I?
I had been working at the recording studio for exactly six days.
Six days of making coffee.
Six days of organizing papers.
Six days of carrying files from one room to another.
Six days of pretending I understood the complicated conversations about music happening around me.
Most importantly, six days of trying not to look completely lost whenever someone used some technical music term I had never heard before.
The studio was bigger than I had expected when I first applied for the job. It had several recording rooms, offices, a small lounge, and long corridors that seemed to twist endlessly.
But there was one hallway I rarely went down.
The hallway with the purple door.
I’d noticed it on my first day.
I’d asked one of the employees what was inside.
She looked at me strangely.
Then she simply said,
“Nothing.”
I laughed.
“There’s literally a door.”
She hadn’t laughed back.
Instead, she’d lowered her voice.
“Don’t open it.”
That was it.
No explanation.
No story.
Just four words.
Don’t open that door.
I wasn’t planning to.
At least, I hadn’t been.
Until that evening.
Rain hammered against the studio windows as I finished cleaning the reception desk. The sound was almost soothing, but the empty building made everything feel strangely different.
During the day, the studio was full of voices, footsteps, music, laughter and ringing phones.
At night, it became another place entirely.
The lights seemed dimmer.
The corridors seemed longer.
And every little sound suddenly seemed important.
I glanced at the clock above the reception desk.
11:47 p.m.
I sighed.
“Perfect.”
I looked around the empty reception area.
“Because apparently going home at a normal time is illegal.”
No one answered.
Obviously.
I grabbed my bag from underneath the desk and slipped it over my shoulder.
My phone was almost dead, and I was already imagining the long walk to the bus stop in the rain.
I switched off the reception lights.
The room fell into darkness.
Only the dim hallway lights remained on.
I took a few steps.
Then I heard it.
Tap.
I stopped.
My hand tightened around my phone.
Another sound followed.
Tap. Tap.
I slowly turned around.
Nothing.
The hallway was completely empty.
My heart was beating faster than it should have been.
Probably a pipe.
Or the air conditioner.
Or some stupid loose window.
I swallowed.
“Get a grip.”
I forced myself to laugh quietly.
I wasn’t going to let an empty building scare me.
I pulled out my phone and switched on the flashlight.
The narrow beam moved across the walls.
The offices.
The doors.
The empty chairs.
Nothing.
I took one step forward.
Then another.
The tapping stopped.
That was somehow worse.
I stood there for a moment, listening.
Silence.
I was about to turn around when something caught the edge of my flashlight.
A small piece of folded paper.
It was lying on the floor.
Right in front of the purple door.
I frowned.
I was certain it hadn’t been there earlier.
I walked toward it.
The closer I got, the more uncomfortable I felt.
The purple door stood at the very end of the hallway.
Its faded color looked almost black under the weak yellow lights.
I crouched down and picked up the paper.
There was no name on the outside.
No logo.
Nothing that explained where it had come from.
Just three handwritten words.
DON’T OPEN IT.
I stared at them.
For some reason, my first thought was the warning I’d received on my first day.
Don’t open that door.
I looked at the door.
Then at the note.
“Okay,” I whispered.
I gave a nervous little laugh.
“Message received.”
I should have put the paper down.
I should have walked away.
I should have gone home.
Instead, I unfolded it.
There was only one sentence inside.
He will come at midnight.
My smile disappeared.
I checked my phone.
11:58 p.m.
I stared at the time.
Then back at the note.
My heart suddenly felt heavier.
“Who?”
The question escaped my lips before I could stop myself.
The hallway remained silent.
I looked around again.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
No voices.
Nothing except the rain outside.
I told myself it was probably a prank.
Someone at the studio had to be messing with me.
Maybe one of the employees had left the note to scare the new girl.
That made sense.
It had to.
I looked at the clock on my phone again.
11:59 p.m.
I should have left.
Instead, I waited.
I don’t know why.
Maybe curiosity is just fear wearing a different face.
Maybe some part of me already knew that whatever happened next would matter.
The seconds moved painfully slowly.
11:59:43.
My eyes stayed fixed on the time.
Then—
12:00.
The elevator at the end of the hallway suddenly dinged.
I nearly dropped my phone.
The sound echoed through the empty corridor.
The elevator doors slowly opened.
Someone stepped out.
A tall man wearing a dark coat and a black cap walked into the hallway.
His face was partially hidden beneath the cap, but I recognized him almost immediately.
Even before he looked up, I knew who he was.
Kim Taehyung.
For a second, neither of us moved.
I had seen him before, of course.
Everyone had.
But seeing someone on a screen and seeing them suddenly appear in an empty hallway at midnight were two completely different things.
He looked tired.
His shoulders were slightly tense, and his expression was unusually serious.
Then his eyes found mine.
And everything changed.
His gaze moved from my face—
to the paper in my hand.
His expression changed instantly.
The calmness disappeared.
His eyes widened slightly.
“Where did you get that?”
His voice was quiet.
I swallowed.
“On the floor.”
“Where?”
I pointed toward the purple door.
His eyes immediately moved in that direction.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he walked toward me.
“Give it to me.”
Something about his voice made me hesitate.
He wasn’t angry.
He wasn’t threatening.
He sounded afraid.
I slowly handed him the paper.
His fingers brushed against the edge of it.
He unfolded it.
Read it once.
Then again.
His jaw tightened.
His fingers curled around the paper.
“Who else saw this?”
“No one.”
He looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Nobody else?”
“No.”
He studied my face for a moment, as though trying to decide whether I was telling the truth.
Then he looked back at the note.
I couldn’t stop myself from asking,
“What’s wrong with it?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he folded the paper carefully.
Too carefully.
Almost like it was something dangerous.
I watched him.
“Is this some kind of prank?”
His eyes lifted toward mine.
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
I felt a chill run through me.
“Then what is it?”
He didn’t respond.
He walked toward the purple door.
I followed him without thinking.
He stopped in front of it.
For the first time, I noticed that the door didn’t have a normal handle.
It had an old-fashioned lock.
Taehyung reached into his coat pocket.
My eyes widened.
He pulled out a key.
“You have a key?”
He ignored my question.
The key slid into the lock.
Click.
The sound echoed through the hallway.
His hand remained on the handle.
He didn’t open it.
Instead, he stood completely still.
I looked at him.
“What are you waiting for?”
He slowly turned his head toward me.
“Go home.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Go home.”
“Why?”
“Just go.”
There was something different in his voice now.
Not annoyance.
Not anger.
Fear.
I looked at the locked door.
Then back at him.
“What is behind it?”
His eyes moved toward the purple door.
“Nothing you need to know about.”
I almost laughed.
“Nothing?”
He remained silent.
I crossed my arms.
“Then why are you scared?”
His eyes snapped back to mine.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
Silence filled the hallway.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Taehyung gave a small, almost humorless smile.
“You really shouldn’t be here.”
“I work here.”
“Not tonight.”
“What does that mean?”
He looked away.
I could tell he was hiding something.
Something important.
Something he didn’t want me to know.
I stepped closer.
“Why did the note say you’d come at midnight?”
His expression hardened.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie.”
His eyes met mine again.
For one strange second, neither of us looked away.
Then—
Scratch.
We both froze.
A faint sound came from behind the purple door.
My heart jumped.
“What was that?”
Taehyung didn’t answer.
The sound came again.
Something was moving on the other side.
He immediately stepped in front of me.
“Stay back.”
“What is happening?”
“Don’t move.”
His voice was firm now.
I took a small step backward.
Then something slid underneath the door.
A second piece of paper.
It stopped directly between us.
Neither of us moved.
Taehyung stared at it.
Then slowly bent down.
He picked it up.
For some reason, my heart was pounding harder than before.
He unfolded the paper.
His eyes moved across the words.
And his entire face changed.
The color seemed to disappear from it.
“What does it say?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
“Taehyung?”
Nothing.
I stepped closer.
He looked at me.
There was something in his eyes I’d never seen before.
Fear.
Not the kind of fear caused by a scary movie or a bad memory.
This was different.
This was the kind of fear that came from knowing something was about to happen.
“Give it to me.”
He hesitated.
Then he slowly handed me the paper.
My fingers trembled as I unfolded it.
There was only one sentence.
THE FIRST NOTE WASN’T FOR HIM.
I stared at the words.
I didn’t understand.
“What does that mean?”
Taehyung said nothing.
I looked down at the paper again.
Then I noticed something underneath the sentence.
Something I hadn’t seen at first.
A name.
My name.
My breath .
I looked up.
Taehyung was staring directly at me.
And suddenly, I understood why.
Because underneath the sentence was a name.
Mine.
"Han Seo-yun"
