The day of the gallery event had finally arrived.
Hana stood in front of her mirror, triple-checking everything: hair neatly tied, art piece wrapped carefully, bag packed. She had spent countless hours pouring her heart into the painting. It wasn't just a submission—it was her growth, her way of saying: I'm not the same girl who once trembled under pressure.
Her hands trembled a little now, but this time from excitement.
She left early to be safe, headphones in, eyes wide with nervous anticipation.
But nerves can be tricky things.
Hana, too distracted by thoughts of the gallery, accidentally took the wrong train.
It was only when she noticed unfamiliar stops flying by outside the window that she panicked.
She jumped off at the next station, stepping into a neighborhood she didn't recognize. The streets were quiet, foreign, lined with small shops and sleepy houses. Her phone had little signal. Her breath caught in her chest.
She had no idea where she was.
And worse, she'd never felt so alone on a day that mattered so much.
She stared down at her phone, debating what to do. Her fingers hovered over a familiar name.
Ren.
With hesitation, she called.
He picked up immediately.
"Hey, you okay?"
"…I think I messed up. I took the wrong train. I don't know where I am."
A pause.
Then his voice, calm and certain:
"Send me a pin. Stay where you are. I'm coming."
---
It took about 25 minutes, but to Hana it felt like hours.
Then—there he was.
Ren jogged toward her, hair slightly wind-tossed, breath visible in the winter air.
"Let me guess," he said, catching his breath. "You were thinking about brush strokes and accidentally boarded a spaceship."
Despite her stress, Hana laughed—soft, but real.
"Maybe a small spaceship."
Ren looked at the wrapped canvas in her hands. "Still safe?"
She nodded. "I held it like it was a baby."
He smirked. "Good. I'd have cried more than you if it got ruined."
They began walking back toward the right train station together. Hana stuck close beside him.
"Sorry," she said quietly. "You had your own stuff today. I ruined it."
"You didn't ruin anything," Ren replied. "Honestly… I was kinda hoping I'd get to save you again. It's becoming our thing."
Hana rolled her eyes. "You're insufferable."
"You like that about me."
"…Maybe."
---
They made it to the gallery with ten minutes to spare. Hana was sweaty, flustered, and completely exhausted.
But when she hung her painting and stepped back to look at it—really look at it—it was worth it.
The judges paused by it. People whispered around it. And Hana, though tired and a little embarrassed, stood proudly next to her work.
Later, she found Ren waiting for her by the exit.
He raised an eyebrow. "Next time, just ask me to walk you from the start."
"I will," she said.
They started walking home together.
"You know," Ren said, nudging her shoulder lightly, "between surviving a stalker and getting lost in the city, you're really upping the drama this winter."
Hana smirked. "It's to keep things interesting."
Ren grinned. "Mission accomplished."