Divided Paths.

It was Cultural Festival Day at the university, a vibrant explosion of color and sound.

Booths dedicated to various units and clubs lined the pathways, offering games, books, student-made crafts, and an array of enticing street food.

Laughter mingled with the buzz of conversations, and the air thrummed with youthful energy. Students, dressed in a mix of traditional hanbok or modern attire, flowed through the crowds like a joyful river.

Jisung, despite the heavy ache in his chest, tried to immerse himself in the festivities. Felix walked beside him, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the emotional turbulence.

They stopped at a small booth displaying handmade keychains. Jisung's eyes immediately fell on a small, fluffy cat charm, its tiny whiskers and embroidered eyes instantly reminding him of Minho. He picked it up, a gentle smile touching his lips.

"Thinking of someone?" Felix asked, his voice soft, a hint of concern in his gaze.
Jisung nodded, running his thumb over the soft fabric of the keychain. He signed slowly, his movements tinged with a familiar sadness.

"Minho hyung loves cats. I think he'd like this."

Felix sighed, a low, frustrated sound. "Jisung," he began, his voice gaining a weary edge. "We need to talk about this. He's been awful to you. That night... what he said on the balcony. He's been completely cold since."

Jisung shook his head vehemently, his fingers clenching around the keychain. "No," he signed, his denial firm. "He's just... going through something. Sister Agnes... that was hard for him too. And university stress. He's not like that, Felix. He's just... lost."

"Lost? Jisung, he screamed at you! He threw your kindness back in your face after you practically spoon-fed him through his own grief!" Felix's voice rose slightly, drawing a glance from a nearby student. He lowered his voice, leaning closer.

"He's being toxic, Jisung. You can't keep excusing it. He's hurting you. Badly."
Jisung’s hands trembled slightly as he signed back, his gaze fixed on the ground.

"You don't understand, Felix. He wouldn't. Not Minho hyung. He loves me. He's just... he's fighting something. I know he is." He paid for the keychain, tucking it carefully into his pocket. The small cat felt heavy, like the weight of his own unspoken hurt.

Felix watched him, his heart aching for his friend. "Okay," he conceded, knowing that further argument was futile for now. "But if he loves you, why isn't he here? It's a cultural festival. He wouldn't miss this. Not when you both always attended it together."

Jisung paused, his shoulders slumping slightly. He signed, his movements hesitant. "He... he said he had to go somewhere. Urgent. Something about finding things, so left early in the morning. He didn't say much other than that it's a long journey."

Jisung looked around the bustling festival, a hollow feeling settling in his stomach. He wished Minho was there, amidst the vibrant chaos, sharing a smile, even just a distant one. He missed him so much, the Minho who used to laugh and tease and hold his hand. The Minho who, just hours ago, had held him in his arms during the depths of their shared grief.

"I hope he finds what's he looking for."

★

While the university grounds thrummed with life, Minho was miles away, driving. The air conditioning in the car was on full blast, but it did little to cool the restless inferno within him.

The cityscapes of Seoul gradually faded into the blur of highways, then into the greener, more sparsely populated routes leading towards the mountainous regions of Korea. He drove for hours, a grim determination set on his face, the image of Jisung's phone screen burned into his mind.

His destination was a small, secluded village nestled deep within the countryside, an eight-hour drive from Seoul. He was seeking a shaman, a woman known throughout the region for her unusual clarity and deep connection to unseen forces.

His contacts had dismissed it as foolishness, a desperate measure, but Minho was desperate. He needed answers that science couldn't provide. He needed proof, an undeniable confirmation of his fragmented memories.

The journey was long, punctuated only by quick fuel stops and the incessant churn of his thoughts. He replayed every conversation, every glance, every touch with Jisung. The tears Jisung shed at the funeral, the heartbreaking plea,

Did you get tired of this mute person? 

They warred with the stark reality of the phone message. One was a crushing weight of guilt, the other a searing pain of betrayal. He felt like he was losing his mind, trapped between two irreconcilable truths.

As his car finally wound its way down a narrow, dusty road, the landscape began to change. The air grew cooler, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Traditional hanok houses, with their curving tiled roofs, dotted the countryside.

He finally arrived at a secluded clearing, where a single, ancient pine tree dominated the space, its gnarled branches reaching skyward.

A small, unadorned wooden hut stood nearby. The entire atmosphere was incredibly calm, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the cacophony of his mind and the bustling city he'd left behind.

A silence, deep and ancient, permeated the air, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of unseen birds.

A woman, aged but with eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of centuries, sat cross-legged on a woven mat outside the hut. Her hair was pulled back simply, and her traditional hanbok blended with the earth tones around her.

She looked up as Minho approached, her gaze steady, unblinking. Minho felt a strange compulsion to speak, to pour out his story, but before he could utter a single word, she spoke, her voice low and resonant, like stones tumbling in a deep river.

"You seek answers, not knowing which truth to believe," the shaman began, her eyes piercing into Minho's very core. "A great love, a great betrayal. A future scene, a present undone. You carry a burden that is not fully yours, a vision that clouds your heart."

Minho stood frozen, his carefully rehearsed explanations dissolving into nothing. She knew. She simply knew. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing, just listened, his heart hammering against his ribs.

The shaman continued, her gaze unwavering. "The one you seek to understand, the one whose actions perplex you, carries a pain you cannot see. A pain that mirrors your own, yet is separate from it. You believe you know the betrayal, the future, but the threads are tangled. What you saw… it was a reflection, not the whole tapestry."

Her voice grew more dramatic, more urgent. "You must seek the truth, not in shadows, but in the light. Listen, truly listen. Do not let fear blind you to what is real, to what stands before you now. You have been given a chance to re-weave your destiny. Find the truth, Minho. Find the truth before the regret becomes an unhealable wound, before the love you hold, however fractured, is lost forever."

Minho remained silent, his face a mask of stone, though inside, a tremor of doubt, cold and unsettling, had begun to snake through his conviction.

Regret? Lost forever?

He wanted to argue, to deny, to present his evidence, the messages, the vision. But her words, simple yet profound, held an undeniable weight.

He only nodded, a stiff, almost imperceptible movement, his mind churning, struggling to reconcile her words with the unwavering certainty of his own fractured reality.

He paid her, a silent exchange, and then turned, leaving the tranquil clearing to begin the long, agonizing drive back to Seoul, the shaman's words echoing in his ears, haunting his journey.

—

I fell sick thus the delay. :)