The Mountain Trip
The subway ride to the base of Bukhansan was quiet, the rhythmic clatter of the train filling the space between them.
Nari sat beside Jiho, scrolling through her phone with an easy smile, occasionally showing him pictures of the hiking trail or a café she wanted to visit afterward.
He nodded at the right moments, made the appropriate noises of interest.
But his mind was elsewhere.
The plan was simple—so simple it unnerved him. There was no dramatic setup, no complicated scheme. Just a misstep. A single push at the right moment. And then…
Nothing.
Freedom.
Yet, as he watched Nari excitedly talk about how she'd been wanting to take this trip for weeks, something unfamiliar crept up his spine.
A question he hadn't allowed himself to consider.
Did she know?
It was absurd.
Of course, she didn't know.
But the way she smiled at him, the way she seemed even softer than usual, made him feel like she sensed something.
Like she could tell he was planning to leave her forever.
Jiho glanced down at their hands—she had taken his again at some point, her thumb brushing absently over his palm. It was a habit of hers, one he had grown used to over the months.
But today, it felt different.
He could almost believe she was memorizing the way he felt.
Like she was the one saying goodbye.
Jiho turned away, jaw clenching as the train slowed to a stop.
This was stupid.
He was overthinking.
She had no idea what was coming.
If she did, she wouldn't be sitting there so happily, her eyes crinkling as she laughed about something he hadn't even heard.
The doors slid open, letting in a gust of cold air.
Jiho stood, tightening the straps of his backpack. "Let's go."
Nari hopped up beside him, adjusting her coat. "I'm so excited! The last time I came here, it was summer. It's gonna be so different in the fall."
Jiho forced a chuckle. "Yeah. Different."
As they stepped onto the platform, the crisp autumn wind hit them, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine.
The mountain loomed in the distance, a silent witness to everything about to unfold.
Jiho took a deep breath, steadying himself.
No turning back.
The forest was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant chatter of other hikers further down the trail. The air smelled of damp soil and pine, the crisp bite of autumn settling deep in Jiho's lungs with every breath.
He walked slightly ahead of Nari, their footsteps crunching over fallen leaves. She had been chatting the whole way up, pointing out small things—a squirrel darting between trees, the way the light hit the golden foliage just right, how beautiful the view was going to be at the peak.
Jiho barely responded.
His heartbeat was steady. His mind, clear.
They were almost there.
"This place is amazing," Nari said, shifting her backpack. She turned toward him, grinning. "Aren't you glad we came?"
Jiho forced a smile. "Yeah."
He wasn't sure if she noticed how strained it was.
They reached a clearing, the trees giving way to a rocky ledge that overlooked the city. From here, Seoul stretched endlessly beneath them, a sea of lights and distant movement, so far removed from the silence of the mountains.
Nari let out a breathy laugh, walking ahead to the edge. "Wow… It's beautiful."
Jiho's hands felt cold.
This was it.
She stood just close enough, her back turned, completely unaware. It would be so easy. A quick shove. No struggle, no second chances.
She would fall, and he would be free.
He took a step forward.
His breath was steady.
His hands clenched.
His heartbeat, calm.
He reached for her.
And then—
She turned around.
The wind lifted strands of her hair, her eyes soft as she looked at him. "Jiho."
His stomach twisted.
There was something in her gaze, something he couldn't place.
Not fear. Not love.
Something else.
Like she knew.
"Come here," she murmured, reaching for his hand. "Let's take a picture together."
Jiho froze.
His fingers twitched, inches away from her. The moment stretched, suspended in time.
She was supposed to be gone by now.
She wasn't supposed to be looking at him like that.
His heart Start pounding .
For the first time—he hesitated.
For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind.
Jiho's fingers twitched at his side. His breath came in slow, controlled exhales.
She was standing at the edge. The city sprawled beneath her, distant and indifferent. She had just turned to look at him, smiling softly.
"Come here," she had said. "Let's take a picture together."
And Jiho had hesitated.
That hesitation almost ruined everything.
But then—
He moved.
His hands reached out, steady. He didn't think—he just did it.
A single, forceful shove.
Nari's eyes widened, her body pitching forward.
For a split second, she didn't scream.
She didn't even react.
She simply fell.
And then—
A sickening thud.
Jiho's chest rose and fell rapidly. He stood frozen, his heart pounding as he stared down at the empty space where she had been.
Gone.
His fingers curled into fists. His breath came sharp, ragged. The cold air stung his skin.
This was what he wanted.
He took a slow step back from the ledge. Then another. And another.
When he turned, he walked.
Not too fast. Not too slow. Just enough to blend in.
The further he moved down the trail, the lighter he felt.
No more suffocation. No more weight on his shoulders.
He was free.
---
That night, Jiho lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The city outside was the same. Neon lights flickered, cars passed in steady rhythms, and the world moved forward as if nothing had changed.
And why would it?
No one had seen him. No one knew.
It would take a while before anyone found her body.
By then, he would have moved on.
His phone buzzed beside him. He exhaled, already knowing who it was before he looked.
[Nari]: Can't sleep. Thinking about today.
Jiho's blood ran cold.
His hand tightened around the phone.
No.
No, this wasn't possible.
His mind was playing tricks on him. It had to be.
But the message was still there.
[Nari]: Sleep well, Jiho. I love you.
Jiho's breath caught in his throat.
His grip on the phone loosened, his fingers shaking.
This was wrong.
He had pushed her. He had watched her fall.
She was dead.
So why—
Why was she still texting him?
Jiho's breath came in short, uneven bursts.
His body felt hot. Suffocated.
He knew—he knew—she was dead.
He had felt the force of her body leaving his hands.
He had heard the impact of her fall.
He had walked away, left her there.
This wasn't happening.
His fingers tightened around the phone. The rational part of his brain screamed at him—someone must have found her phone. This is a sick joke. It has to be.
His stomach churned.
Slowly, he forced himself to type a response.
[Jiho]: Who is this?
He hit send.
The message delivered.
The dots appeared immediately.
Jiho's throat went dry.
Seconds stretched painfully. Then—
[Nari]: What do you mean? It's me.
Jiho's grip on the phone slackened. He inhaled sharply through his nose, willing himself to stay calm. His fingers were trembling as he typed again.
[Jiho]: Stop.
[Jiho]: This isn't funny.
[Jiho]: Where did you get this phone?
Again, the dots appeared instantly.
[Nari]: Jiho…
[Nari]: Are you okay?
[Nari]: You're acting weird.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
It was her voice. Not literally—just words on a screen—but her voice.
Casual. Light. Loving.
Like she hadn't died.
Like she hadn't fallen to her death.
Like nothing had happened.
Jiho's breathing grew ragged. His vision blurred as he dropped the phone onto his nightstand, shoving himself off the bed.
No.
No, this was his guilt talking.
This was his mind punishing him, trying to break him.
He needed air.
He staggered toward the window, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. Below, the city was still alive—cars moving, neon lights flickering, people walking as if the world hadn't ended yesterday.
As if they didn't know that someone had died.
His phone buzzed again. He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to look.
He needed to ignore it.
He needed to sleep.
He needed to forget.
Tomorrow, he'd wake up and this would all be over.
Jiho exhaled shakily, peeling himself away from the window and sinking back into bed. He turned his phone over so the screen faced down, heartbeat still erratic as he pulled the covers over his body.
He told himself he was imagining things.
That this was nothing but a cruel trick of his own mind.
That everything would be normal tomorrow.
That she was gone.
But even as exhaustion overtook him, even as his body gave in to sleep—
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small, whispering voice told him:
She isn't gone.
Jiho jolted awake.
The room was dark. Silent.
His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He didn't know what had woken him, only that something felt wrong.
His phone was still face-down on the nightstand. He didn't want to check it. He didn't want to see more messages.
He just needed to calm down.
Jiho sat up, rubbing his face with both hands. His mouth was dry, his head heavy with exhaustion. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, forcing himself to stand.
Water. Just get some water.
His footsteps felt too loud against the floor as he made his way toward the kitchen. The apartment was completely still, the city outside buzzing faintly in the distance.
The tap creaked as he turned it on. Cool water ran over his fingers before he filled a glass and drank deeply, trying to push down the unease settling in his stomach.
Then—
A creak.
His grip on the glass tightened.
The sound came from behind him. From his bedroom.
Jiho turned slowly, his pulse hammering in his ears.
The door to his room was slightly open. Hadn't he left it shut?
A shadow stretched across the floor—long, thin, unmoving.
His breath caught in his throat.
It looked like… feet.
Someone was standing in the doorway.
Jiho's grip on the glass went slack. It slipped from his fingers, shattering against the tiled floor.
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
The shadow didn't move either.
Cold panic crawled up his spine, his hands shaking at his sides.
It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
His chest heaved as he forced himself to step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. The hallway stretched before him like a tunnel, his bedroom door open just enough to reveal the darkness inside.
His fingers trembled as he reached out.
One step closer.
Another.
He pushed the door open.
The room was empty.
Nothing.
Jiho stood frozen, his pulse hammering. The silence pressed in around him, thick and suffocating.
But then—
A sharp click.
Jiho whipped around.
The bathroom mirror.
His own reflection stared back at him, dimly lit by the streetlights outside. His chest was still rising and falling too fast, his pupils blown wide with fear.
And then—
She was there.
Standing right behind him.
Nari.
Smiling.
Jiho's throat locked. He spun around so fast he nearly lost his balance—
But the room was empty completely empty.
The bathroom, the hallway, everything completely still.
His breathing was erratic, hands gripping the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles went white.
The mirror was wrong. It had to be wrong.
But when he forced himself to look back at his reflection—
There was only him.
Jiho stumbled backward, his head spinning. He needed air. He needed to leave.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand again.
He didn't check it.
He didn't have to.
Because deep down, he already knew who it was.