CHAPTER 23: Epilogue – Author’s Note

Seo-ah's POV

The sky outside her dorm window had bled into a soft twilight, streaked with violet and blush, like the last page of a poem left unfinished.

Seo-ah sat by her desk in silence. The world around her moved slowly—Ji-won's faint music in the background, the soft tap of shoes in the hallway, the scent of instant coffee drifting in from someone's kettle—but inside her, it felt like a typhoon had finally begun to settle.

It had been four days since the rooftop. Four days since he said it.

That quote. That voice. That boy.

"I tried to become him — not because you asked me to, but because I couldn't stand the thought of you settling for less."

She had replayed his voice a thousand times in her head, not because she doubted him—but because it felt like something she had written. As if reality had borrowed her own narrative and turned it into a love scene.

Even now, she couldn't decide if it was too much… or just enough.

Her laptop screen glowed in front of her. The cursor blinked, blinking like it was breathing with her.

Waiting.

The title at the top of the screen read:

Paper Planes and Moonlight – Epilogue (Final Update)

The story had ended weeks ago. But she hadn't written this part—not yet. She hadn't known how to.

Until now.

She took a deep breath. Rested her hands on the keyboard.

And typed.

I once believed stories were safer than people.

In books, love was slow, steady, honest. In books, green flags didn't wave for attention; they waved for safety.

In real life, I was never sure if someone loved me, or just the idea of me.

But then someone read me like a book.

He didn't skip chapters. He didn't ask for a summary. He didn't even ask for spoilers.

He read me line by line. And when he recognized himself in the margins—he didn't run. He stayed.

Her fingers paused. The silence in the room felt holy.

Somewhere in her drawer was the notebook Jae-hyun had given her after the rooftop night—a blank one, cream cover, no title. Inside, only one line in his handwriting:

"The realest stories aren't written. They're alive."

She exhaled and began writing again.

This story was never about Seon-woo.

It was about what Seon-woo meant: warmth, gentleness, presence. Not perfection—but peace.

And I didn't think someone like that could exist outside fiction. But I was wrong.

Because you found me.

Before my name. Before the punch. Before I was ready.

You found me in my metaphors, in my silences, in the space between one heartbreak and the next.

You saw the broken girl sketching boys she couldn't trust, and you never tried to fix her.

You just stood there—quiet, kind, consistent.

And somewhere between poetry and fiction, you became my reality.

She blinked back the heat in her eyes. Her fingers trembled, but they kept moving.

This is my last chapter. But not our last page.

Because the truth is… the best love stories don't end with confessions.

They begin with staying.

Her final words came without hesitation.

To the one who read between the lines before he ever read my name —

Thank you for turning fiction into something I could hold.

And for proving that real love doesn't need plot twists. It just needs patience.

Yours, always — MoonWriter.

She hit Publish.

The moment felt still. Sacred. Her chest felt lighter than it had in years.

It wasn't closed.

It was clear.

Later That Night

The dorm room was quiet except for Ji-won's sniffling.

"Did you really have to make me cry in my own room?" she muttered, tissues piled beside her bed. "Like—ugh! 'He read me before my name'? Seo-ah, I'm unwell."

Seo-ah chuckled softly. "You read it already?"

Ji-won threw her a look. "Seo-ah. I live with you. I refresh MoonWriter's page every hour. Don't insult me."

Seo-ah rolled her eyes fondly. "It wasn't for the readers this time."

"I know," Ji-won whispered. Then after a pause:

"He's gonna read it, isn't he?"

Seo-ah looked down at her phone.

No messages.

Not yet.

But she didn't need them. She already knew.

The Next Day – Rooftop Garden

She found a paper plane tucked under her dorm door again.

Folded precisely. The same way he used to fold her annotations when they were classmates and nothing more.

Inside, a quote from her epilogue, written in his handwriting:

"This is my last chapter. But not our last page."

— MoonWriter

P.S. I never needed an ending. I just needed you to start believing in the real me.

Seo-ah didn't wait this time.

She grabbed her coat and headed upstairs.

The rooftop was empty—until it wasn't.

Jae-hyun stood by the railing, holding a second paper plane.

He didn't speak when she approached. Just looked at her with that soft, unreadable expression—the one she used to hate because she could never decode it.

Now she knows.

It meant he was feeling too much to say anything right away.

So she spoke first.

"You read the epilogue."

He nodded once. "Three times."

"And?"

His eyes didn't leave hers. "I was scared."

She blinked. "Of what?"

"That it wasn't about me," he admitted. "That I'd imagined all of it. That I read between the lines wrong."

Seo-ah stepped closer. Close enough to hear the catch in his breath. "You didn't imagine it."

He smiled softly. "Then I'm glad I read it first. Before I ever knew your name."

She looked at the paper plane in his hands. "What's in that one?"

He opened it for her.

Just one line:

"Let's write the rest together."

(Seo-ah's POV – Final Scene Blend)

The wind on the rooftop whispered like an old page turning. The city below glimmered in fragments — headlights moving like fireflies, shadows playing tag with the moon. She sat beside him on the concrete ledge, their shoulders brushing just enough to feel like a beginning.

Neither of them had said anything for minutes.

Her fingers rested over the tiny paperback in his hands — the printed version of Paper Planes and Moonlight. The last chapter was still warm from his touch. He had read it, every word, and still chose to stay. And maybe, that's what scared her the most.

She turned to him. "You were quiet when you read it."

Jae-hyun tilted his head, eyes soft. "Some stories aren't meant to be interrupted."

She smiled faintly, like a girl remembering something she once wrote in the dark. A confession disguised as fiction.

Her voice came softer than the wind.

"I once prayed to meet a boy like Seon-woo."

Jae-hyun didn't look away. His thumb brushed the edge of the last page.

"And I prayed you'd write to someone like me."

A beat passed. She blinked hard.

That was the moment, she realized — the lines had always blurred. Between fiction and truth. Between dreams and someone choosing to stay. And for once, that didn't terrify her.

She looked up at the sky, a kind of peace settling between her collarbones.

"I folded my feelings into paper planes," she whispered, "hoping they'd land somewhere safe."

Jae-hyun reached over, gently taking her hand.

"They landed in my hands," he said, smiling, "and I never let go."

"And maybe some hearts don't need rescuing — they just need someone to read them gently, all the way through." 

 Written by – @whisperlyn.writes