Chapter 1 — The Delicate Tremor Was Never Because of the Wind. 1 (1)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.

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I pressed my ear tightly against the front door, every nerve focused on the sound of Mr. Park walking away in his leather shoes.

`Tap tap tap`

Only after confirming the footsteps had faded into the distance did I glance at the wall clock.

`8:30`

Thirty minutes left. In thirty minutes, I would open my front door, quietly slip into apartment 302 next door—whose door was always left unlocked—and go inside.

It had been about two or three weeks since that incident.

After returning from studying abroad, I'd moved into this apartment and had been living as a jobless drifter, killing time by meeting friends for drinks. Life had been dull, unbearably so.

That day, I'd met a friend briefly and parted ways early, heading back home.

As I climbed the stairs and reached the third floor, the door of apartment 302 suddenly swung open. A woman burst out, her face pale with terror, as if she'd seen a ghost at midnight. She frantically scanned the hallway, then spotted me and rushed over, grabbing my arm and shouting.

"F-f-fire... P-please... h-help me..."

She desperately pulled me inside. In the kitchen, flames roared from a pot of oil on the gas stove, leaping all the way up to the range hood like something from a bonfire.

Instinctively, I sprinted to my own apartment, unit 301, flung open the door, grabbed the fire extinguisher sitting beside it, and dashed back into 302's kitchen.

She stood frozen, clutching her phone with wide, rabbit-like eyes.

In that moment, I aimed the extinguisher at the stove and squeezed the handle hard.

`Hssss... pfft`

Even I was stunned by the power of the extinguisher—my first time using one. The fire was out in three seconds flat, but the stove was now completely covered in white powder.

"You're gonna have to clean up quite a bit today. Haha," I said awkwardly, giving her an uneasy smile.

Her eyes shimmered with tears as she looked at me, gratitude shining through.

"Thank you... I can't even... How can I ever thank you enough..."

After the chaos settled, I found myself slowly scanning her from head to toe.

She looked younger than me, her cheeks flushed pink from the shock, a faint smile playing on her lips. Even in that brief moment, I thought she was truly beautiful.

Clearly newlywed, she wore a thin gray nightgown that revealed the silhouette of her underwear beneath. A faint glimpse of white fabric peeked through.

My gaze lingered there without my realizing—until she gasped, "Oh!" looked down at herself, and then bolted into the bedroom without a word.

She reappeared moments later in simple sweatpants and a T-shirt, still repeating her thanks. I brushed it off like it was nothing.

"Turns out there were a few household things left in my apartment when I moved in. There happened to be a fire extinguisher by the door. I thought about tossing it out since it looked so messy, but it came in handy after all."

"I'm so grateful. What's your name?"

"Oh. I'm Daniel Cho. The Chinese character for 'friendship,' and 'Cho.'"

"Nice to meet you. I'm Claire Hyun. I live right next door. Let's be close friends, okay?"

After that, whenever she saw me, she'd pull me into her apartment and treat me to coffee, meals, anything she could offer.

As time passed, Claire—28 years old—grew increasingly comfortable around me, two years her senior, treating me like an older brother, yet also with the ease and warmth of a lover. And I, in turn, found myself drawn to her just as easily.