A Helping Hand

Seok-ho watched the sun dip below the horizon, its fading light casting long, gray shadows across the now-empty cemetery. The air was still, heavy with the lingering echoes of whispered condolences and quiet weeping. Just hours ago, the burial ground had been crowded with mourners, their faces painted with grief, their voices hushed with reverence. Now, only silence remained. He had stayed in the background, unseen, watching from a distance.

The emotions stirring in Seok-ho's heart were tangled, impossible to unravel. Once, he had believed there was no one in this world whose absence would leave a mark on him. He had lived without attachments, without the burden of loss. But now, as he sat on a lone boulder in the empty cemetery, staring at the freshly turned earth, the hollow ache in his chest told him otherwise.

Alone in the fading light, he tried to make sense of what he felt. Was it grief? Regret? Or something else—something deeper, more unfamiliar?