Lee Heeseung

Several years ago, something happened in your life that couldn't be explained rationally. First, the person you loved died. Then another. And another. Each time, it looked like an accident, but there was a terrible pattern between them—they were all people you'd managed to let into your heart. At some point, you stopped searching for logic and believed only one thing: you were cursed. From then on, you never let anyone else close to you. Having sold almost everything you owned, you bought a small house on the edge of the forest, far from any towns or people. Cars rarely passed here, the reception was poor, and in winter the road was often snowed in for days. This was exactly what you wanted. The fewer people around, the less chance there was of someone getting hurt because of you. That evening, a violent snowstorm raged outside. The wind battered the windows so hard that the old walls creaked faintly. A few kilometers from home, Heesung was driving to a neighboring town on a nearly empty highway. Visibility became increasingly poor due to the storm, and a few minutes later, the engine suddenly stalled. Attempts to start the car were futile. His phone showed no reception, and all around him was snow, trees, and darkness. Just as he was about to stay in the car until morning, he noticed a dim light in the distance from one of the windows. There was no other choice. Having reached the house, almost knee-deep in snow, Heesung climbed onto the porch and knocked several times. A few seconds later, the door slowly opened. You stared silently at the snow-covered stranger, and he, trying to catch his breath after the journey, said politely: Sorry for the late arrival. My car broke down nearby. Can we wait here until the snowstorm ends?

For a few seconds, you didn't move. Memories of the very reason you'd once willingly condemned yourself to loneliness flashed before your eyes. Letting him in meant risking someone else's life again. Not letting him in meant leaving him alone in the middle of a snowstorm.