Choi Kang-woo sighed as he looked out the window. Nothing was going right today. His parents had left for a month-long trip to South America, and with the nanny who usually looked after the boy suddenly rushed to the hospital with a stomachache, he was the only one left to retrieve him.
“It’s pouring, even for an autumn rain.”
His secretary, always by his side, replied, “They say it’s a typhoon. A typhoon in November—the climate has truly become strange.”
“Tell me about it.”
They talked about global warming incessantly, but a typhoon in November? As the car came to a stop, Choi Kang-woo stepped out with an umbrella. The wind whipped with such force that he felt he’d be soaked regardless. That was when he saw someone standing under the bright light in front of the kindergarten entrance.
The spot felt like a different world, detached from the dark, rain-lashed surroundings. A woman stood there, holding a child tightly. Next to her clung another, smaller boy. The child in her arms was undoubtedly Minho. Was the boy clutching her leg the one whose guardian hadn’t arrived yet?
As he drew closer, her features sharpened. With a pale complexion and delicate, elegant lines, she was a beauty by any standard. For a fleeting second, an absurd thought crossed his mind: was she an angel, not a teacher? As he approached, she spoke.
“Hello. Are you Minho’s uncle?”
“Yes.”
“I’m his teacher.”
Not an angel, just a teacher. Yet, like a vision, her face was etched into his sight. He replied in a low voice.
“Ah, yes. The usual person fell ill, so I came instead.”
“Minho is the last one today.”
The last one?
“And the child next to—”
Before Choi Kang-woo could finish, the small boy clinging to her leg piped up.
“Mom. Minho’s uncle is here?”
*Mom?* That child was her son? It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t have looked a day over her mid-twenties.
“This is my son. Minho, your uncle is here now, so shall we go to him?”
As she smiled and spoke to the boy in her arms, Minho shook his head.
“No. I want to stay with Teacher.”
A voice emerged from Minho’s lips. He could speak? Choi Kang-woo asked, stunned.
“Minho can speak?”
Minho was a child who never uttered a word. He didn’t even make eye contact. He had suffered from a speech impairment ever since he was moved to the main house, never once meeting Choi Kang-woo’s gaze. Conversations were non-existent; naturally, he had assumed he would never hear the boy’s voice.
Minho’s diagnosis was selective mutism—a condition where one falls silent in specific situations due to emotional instability or trauma. He had assumed the move to the main house triggered it, but given the volatility of his parents’ marriage, the root likely went deeper.
Minho’s symptoms were severe. Yet, here he was, speaking with such clear pronunciation to his teacher. When Choi Kang-woo voiced his disbelief, Na-Eun answered.
“Of course. Our Minho is very good at speaking.”
She stroked Minho’s face as she spoke.
“Minho, let’s go home with your uncle today, and come back tomorrow to play with Teacher and your friends, okay? Come on, say goodbye to Jiho.”
“Bye, Jiho.”
Jiho waved his hand. “Bye, Minho. See you tomorrow.”
The woman stepped forward and placed Minho into Choi Kang-woo’s arms. As he caught the boy, a dizzying scent washed over him—a fragrance at once warm and cozy, like sweet vanilla and soft milk tea. A faint, musky undertone offered a sense of profound stability.
Struck by the unfamiliar sensation, Choi Kang-woo caught his breath, an impulse to pull her closer flickering briefly in his chest. Regaining his composure, he spoke in his usual, emotionless tone.
“Thank you.”
As his driver arrived with an umbrella to cover him, the woman greeted him and picked up the child beside her.
“Now, Jiho, Mommy will carry you too. Let’s go home.”
Choi Kang-woo watched her walk into the kindergarten through the car window, an indescribable sensation lingering in his gut.
Bewildered, he looked at Minho sitting beside him. The child was silent as usual. When he glanced at him, Minho turned his head and met his eyes. Choi Kang-woo deliberately crinkled his eyes into a smile. He had nothing to say to the child, and since the boy didn’t speak, he figured he should at least offer a gentle expression. But then, Minho turned his head away and muttered.
“Uncle.”
“Huh? Minho, what did you just say?”
The child had definitely called him.
“Uncle.”
Even for him, who had never felt much interest in the boy, the sound of his voice made his heart race. There was definitely a change in Minho.
* * *
After a late return from work, Na-Eun dragged her tired body home, bathed Jiho, and tucked him into bed. Having spent the day at the daycare center, Jiho was exhausted, yet as soon as he lay down, he clutched Na-Eun’s arm with his small hands.
“Jiho, should Mommy read you a book?”
When Na-Eun asked softly, Jiho rubbed his sleepy eyes.
“Yeah… the one with the wolf.”
Na-Eun stifled a laugh and stroked his hair.
“The one with the wolf? You won’t be able to sleep if I read that one.”
Jiho shook his head and pouted, his small face filled with dissatisfaction.
“I don’t like Snow White.”
Na-Eun struggled to lift her heavy eyelids and reached for the bookshelf.
“Is that so? Then, instead of Snow White…”
She pulled out a different book and smiled.
“How about this one?”
Jiho’s eyes sparkled.
“There’s no wolf in this one, right?”
Na-Eun nodded. “No wolf. Instead… it’s a story about a very cute dinosaur and kind friends.”
Satisfied, Jiho drifted off after only a few pages.
“He must have been exhausted.”
She was tired, but the moment Jiho closed his eyes, her fatigue momentarily vanished. How could he be this beautiful? She tucked him in and headed to her own room.
Her work wasn’t quite finished. While organizing photos to upload to the Kids Note app, Na-Eun paused at a picture of Minho.
She worried for him. He spoke well with her, but remained mute in front of others. Judging by his uncle’s reaction, it was the same at home. She knew little of his environment; she was simply told to treat him well. The sudden thought of the boy made her wonder how much hardship he must have harbored to develop such silence. Na-Eun sighed, thinking of his face.
It made her happy yet sad that he had opened his heart only to her. Then, unbidden, she recalled the impression of Choi Kang-woo.
In the rain, he had been striking—a presence that seemed to consume the light. Even in the dark, his suit looked like pitch, and his sharp features blended into the gloom. Each time his jacket fluttered, he radiated a, cold, shadowy intensity that was almost overwhelming. She had even, absurdly, wondered if he were a gangster, though that vanished the moment she realized who he was.
Thinking of his shocked face when Minho had spoken, Na-Eun couldn’t help but smile. He had looked truly dazed.
Though he seemed cold, the way he had looked at the child with such sudden gentleness remained etched in her mind.
*Ridiculous.* Why am I thinking of that man so vividly?
Na-Eun shook her head, trying to erase the thought. Yet, his image, standing clearly against the backdrop of the rainy night, would not easily fade.