Author's Note 🌸
Hey lovely readers,I'm so sorry for the delay in updating this episode. Life got a little chaotic, but I promise not to let it happen again. Thank you for being patient and sticking with Choen's journey. Let's dive back into the story—things are about to get intense. 💫
With love,Your writer
The party lights still danced behind Choen's eyelids as she leaned her head against the car window. The world outside was smeared in gold and navy, city lights flickering past like forgotten wishes. In the backseat, she sat between Joon and her father, their presence warm but quiet. Up front, her mother adjusted the rearview mirror and glanced back with a smile that didn't quite match the silence in the car.
"You were glowing tonight," her mother said softly, her voice like a lullaby after the noise of celebration. "That dress, the way you carried yourself... Even Choel couldn't take his eyes off you."
Choen smiled faintly, not in denial—but not in surrender either.
Then her mother's voice changed—just a little. A shift like the pause before a leap.
"There's something I need to tell you all," she began.
Joon leaned in, sensing the importance. Choen lifted her head, brows knitting slightly.
"At the party… Choel's mother and Dokkaebi's mother pulled me aside," her mother continued. "They offered something… unexpected. Something big."
Choen blinked. "What do you mean?"
"They want you to join Glitter's world tour. Not just as a guest—but to travel with them, appear in some segments, maybe even help with wardrobe, styling… You'd get to see the world, meet artists, experience cultures. Choel said he'd look after you personally."
The car felt like it had gone still. Even the air didn't move.
"Me?" Choen whispered, her fingers curling in her lap. "But… I'm not good enough for something like that. I'm not trained. I'm not even… like them. I'm just—"
"You're exactly the kind of person this world needs more of," her mother interrupted gently. "And Choen, you love fashion. You always have. Imagine walking through the streets of Paris, Seoul, Istanbul. Seeing fabric traditions older than countries. Learning silhouettes shaped by continents. Styles stitched by history."
She turned slightly in her seat. "You don't have to perform. You don't have to be anything more than who you already are. But if you're open to it, this could be more than a tour. It could be… inspiration. The kind that changes everything."
Choen's heart thudded. She stared out at the stars above the highway—tiny scattered sparks, like the dreams she'd kept tucked away.
"But why me?" she whispered.
Her mother smiled. "Because sometimes, life knocks on the quietest doors. And only the luckiest of luckies get the chance to answer."
The hum of the engine was the only sound that lingered for a few moments after her mother's words settled in the air. The world tour. Glitter. Six months across the globe.
The offer tasted like a dream she hadn't dared to swallow. And yet it sat heavy in her chest.
"I don't know…" Choen murmured, her voice barely audible over the road's quiet hum. "Wouldn't I just slow them down?"
Joon scoffed lightly, nudging her shoulder. "You slow down Glitter? Please. You're the reason half the room couldn't stop staring tonight."
Her father, usually silent, added, "It's not about slowing down or keeping up. It's about being brave enough to say yes."
Choen's mother glanced back again, her expression soft. "You're always sketching dresses, getting lost in details no one else sees. This world tour... it's not just a stage. It's a living, breathing museum of fabric, color, story. It could be everything you ever needed to design something... unforgettable."
As the car turned into their neighborhood, Choen looked out at the stars blinking behind wisps of cloud. Her reflection stared back at her from the window, the lights of the street curling around her face like a painting. For a second, she didn't feel like herself. She felt like someone becoming something.
That night, in her room, she sat at her desk where loose fabric swatches, pencils, and old notebooks were scattered like memories. She flipped open her sketchpad, stared at the empty page, then slowly began to draw.
Not a dress. Not yet.
She drew a map. A rough sketch of continents—Paris stitched to Seoul, Istanbul twined with Tokyo. She added patterns inside the outlines—motifs, folds, hems in ink.
As she drew, her heart thudded again—not from fear, but from a whisper of possibility.
Then, her hand paused. Her mind drifted.
That night, the house was still.
but, suddenly
Her phone buzzed beside her.
1 new message.From an unknown number.But she already knew.
"I watched you dance tonight. You looked like someone I could never reach."
No name. No context. Just those words. But her breath caught.
Dokkaebi.
He wasn't nearby. He didn't need to be.
He always knew how to find her in the quietest of ways.
She clutched the phone, unsure how to reply. Outside, the wind picked up, and her curtains swayed like the edges of a dream unraveling.
Meanwhile, somewhere across the city…
Dokkaebi sat on the rooftop of his apartment, hoodie drawn tight, a can of soda untouched beside him. From here, the lights of the party felt like they belonged to another planet. A planet where people like Choen danced with stars and left boys like him behind.
He re-read her name in his contacts, thumb hovering over the call button.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't ask her to stay.
Instead, he hit send on that one message—the only truth he could bear to give.
And whispered to the wind, "If you go, just remember me… when you design something beautiful."
Because maybe that's what love was. Letting someone fly—even if it meant you stayed grounded