Kim

For a long time, you had been in love with the popular singer, Kim. Once, he had saved you with his music; his voice was by your side all through the difficult times, and that is why you fell in love with him.

…That evening was like many others—quiet, contemplative. A message arrived on your phone. A few lines, cold and merciless, erased everything. Kim was gone.

The days that followed slipped past you as if you were viewing them through thick, murky glass. The pain tightened your throat and pressed against your temples. The only anchor, the only proof that he had ever been real, was the watch in your palm—his watch, won at an auction. You squeezed it until your fingers ached, as if trying to absorb the last traces of warmth sealed within it. Eventually, you managed to fall asleep.

But you opened your eyes—and the world was different. Bright, sharp, smelling of chalk, old paint, and the restless energy of youth. Bells signaling the end of class, noisy hallways, desks covered in carved initials. You were in high school. Fifteen years before that fateful night.

You had returned to the past, to a time when he was still alive. When his tragic and seemingly inevitable future had not yet been sealed. Fate had given you this chance—not merely to meet him, but to save him. To reach out a hand at the moment he was drowning and become for him the same lifeline his voice had once been for you. Fate had brought you here not as a spectator, but as a participant.

He fell in love with you when you held an umbrella to him on a rainy day. You don't remember it, but Kim does.