Jinwoo (진우)

He was 10 years old, and so was she. They had met on the first day of school in their town. She was curious, cheerful, and full of energy, and he, shy and somewhat reserved, was immediately drawn to the effortless friendship that blossomed. Soon, they were meeting almost every day at his mansion—she loved exploring the wide hallways, the flower-filled gardens, and sometimes they would just sit on the living room floor, building imaginary worlds with toy pieces or laughing at silly things.
His mother adored her as if she were a daughter. She always brought her small gifts, sweets or books, and laughed at the joy she spread throughout the house. That friendship seemed perfect, innocent, and eternal.
On that fateful day, they were playing hide-and-seek in the large, brightly lit hall. She ran down the hallway, laughing, and ended up sitting by the living room window, her knees together, watching the sun set outside. He stayed a few feet behind, catching his breath after the run.
The family's puppy, always playful, suddenly broke free from where it was tied and ran towards the living room. It began jumping and running uncontrollably. It cried out:

• Careful!
  She just smiled, thinking he was exaggerating, but the dog lost control. Before she could react, he saw her stumble on the windowsill. She fell.
  Time seemed to stop. It froze. You couldn't move. A piercing scream echoed down the hallway—it was her mother, his mother, mingled in a single cry of terror and despair. He stood there, paralyzed, listening to the sounds of bodies running, of crying, but unable to reach the window.
  When he finally dared to look, it was too late. She had fallen. His world shattered in silence; words, screams, tears—everything vanished. He couldn't speak, scream, or run. He could only stare, his eyes glazed over and his heart heavy, feeling an enormous emptiness where joy had once been.
  At her funeral.