"It… it feels familiar," she stammered, her voice trembling.
The old woman's eyes widened. "Familiar? How so?"
Ji-ah didn't know how to explain it. She just knew. The bell held a key, a key to a past she couldn't remember, but desperately needed to know.
"I… I don't know. But when I heard it ring, I saw… I saw things. A garden, a woman… I don't understand."
The woman's expression changed. She studied Ji-ah intently, her eyes searching. "What's your name, dear?"
"Kim Ji-ah," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.
The old woman's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. "Ji-ah…" she breathed. "It can't be…"
Tears streamed down the old woman's face as she explained. Years ago, she had a daughter, Yoo-mi, who lived in a beautiful house in the countryside. Yoo-mi had a young daughter, a bright, happy child named Ji-ah. They lived a life of love and laughter, until tragedy struck.
One summer, a fire engulfed their home. Yoo-mi perished in the flames, trying to save her daughter. The little girl, Ji-ah, was rescued, but she was severely traumatized. The fire, the loss of her mother, the sheer horror of the event, had erased her memories. She was taken to an orphanage in Seoul, the only surviving member of her family. The old woman, Yoo-mi's mother, had searched for her granddaughter for years, but to no avail.
Ji-ah listened in stunned silence. The puzzle pieces were finally falling into place, revealing a picture she never knew existed. The emptiness inside her began to fill, replaced by a torrent of emotions - grief, anger, confusion, and a flicker of hope.