Chapter 3: Thirty-Two Petals
You don't remember walking home.
The forest is behind you. The glowing roses are gone. But the weight of Byulseo's confession follows you like a second shadow. Three hundred years. Life after life. And now, fading.
You stop at the edge of the garden.
The violet rose bush stands exactly where it always has. But now you see it differently. The petals tremble in the evening breeze. One detaches—slowly, almost gracefully—and drifts to the ground.
You kneel and count.
Thirty-two petals left on the bush. Thirty-two.
Your chest tightens. You don't know how many there were yesterday. But you know, with absolute certainty, that every fallen petal means less of Byulseo.
The house is dark when you step inside. No smell of dinner. No soft humming. You walk through the empty kitchen, the quiet hallway, and stop outside your bedroom door.
She's there.
Byulseo sits on the edge of the bed, still wearing the pale grey hanbok from the forest. Her red hair is loose, tangled. Her hands rest in her lap—translucent fingers, fading like morning mist.
She doesn't look up when you enter.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
You sit beside her. Take her hand. It feels solid, warm, but you see the floorboards through her palm.
"Don't apologize," you say. "Not yet. We're going to fix this."
She laughs—a soft, broken sound. "You can't fix a deal with a spirit. I knew what I was signing. I just didn't care. I wanted to find you."
"Then let me try."
She finally looks at you. Her eyes are wet, dark brown, full of a love that's older than the house, older than the village, older than both of you.
"You always were stubborn," she says.
"Stay. Help me search."
She hesitates. Then nods.
The search begins that night.
You start in the attic—dusty boxes, old furniture, nothing but cobwebs. Then the basement. Then the shed. Nothing.
By the second night, exhaustion claws at your eyes. You've found old receipts, broken tools, a childhood drawing of a house with large windows. But no answers.
Then you notice the floorboard.
In the corner of your bedroom, near the window that faces the rose bush. One board sits slightly raised, as if someone pried it up and didn't push it back all the way.
You kneel. Wedge your fingers into the gap. The board lifts with a groan.
Beneath it, wrapped in oilcloth, is a small leather journal. The cover is cracked, the pages yellowed. But the handwriting inside is elegant—classical Chinese characters, brushed with a steady hand.
"Byulseo," you call.
She appears in the doorway. When she sees the journal, her face goes pale.
"Where did you find that?"
"Under the floor. What is it?"
She sits beside you, trembling. "My diary. From the first life. I wrote it before I… before I died the first time."
You open it carefully. The pages crumble at the edges. Most of it is poetry, love letters never sent, sketches of a man whose face you recognize as your own. But near the back, a different hand has written—sharper, darker ink.
"The bride owes a debt. The roses keep the tally. When the last petal falls, she returns to the forest, and the cycle begins anew. To break the vow, one must find the spirit who wrote it and offer something it cannot refuse."
The entry ends there. No name. No location. No clue.
But at the very bottom, a single line in Korean—modern Korean, written recently.
"The spirit lives in the old well, behind the abandoned shrine."
You look at Byulseo. "Did you write this?"
She shakes her head, eyes wide. "No. I've never seen that before."
Then who did?
The next morning, you count the rose bush again.
Thirty petals.
Two have fallen overnight.
You find a shovel, a flashlight, and a kitchen knife. Byulseo stands at the door, wrapped in a blanket, her form flickering like a candle in wind.
"Don't go," she says.
"Stay here."
"I can't lose you again."
"You won't."
You kiss her forehead—she feels cold, too cold—and walk toward the forest path.
Behind you, a single violet petal drifts from the bush and lands on the welcome mat.
Author's Note:
Thank you for reading Chapter 3.
New chapters will be posted every Tuesdays and Fridays, 21.00 PM (GMT +8 - Malaysia Standard Time).
If you're enjoying the story, please consider leaving a rating or comment.
— Ha Ru Kim.
