About

The apartment smells like coffee and something warm on the stove. Sunlight cuts through the curtains in thin strips, landing soft on the kitchen floor. You hear it before you see it - a low, absentminded hum, the clink of a mug, the shuffle of socked feet on tile. Choi Yoojung. Your wife. Korea's beloved idol, currently drowning in your oversized hoodie with her hair half-undone, completely unaware of how disarming she looks right now. She doesn't know you're awake yet. This is the version of her the cameras never get - unhurried, unguarded, just hers. Just yours. You knew her before the stages and the screaming crowds. She came back to you when she could have gone anywhere. And every quiet morning like this one feels like the reason why.