👉Want to start from the beginning? Read Part 1 here.
👉 2화 보러 가기: The Rose Door Chapter 2 — When Snow Answers the Roses
The Rose Door – Chapter 3: The Time Inside the Door
When the door closed, the silence became almost sacred. She turned slowly, heart trembling with a memory she didn't recognize.
He stood there, snow melting at his feet, holding something in his hand. A single, dried rose petal.
"You gave me this," he said. "Before time stole us away from each other."
Her eyes searched his face—familiar yet distant. "Do I know you?" she whispered.
He smiled, not with joy, but with longing. "You did. And maybe... you still do."
In that quiet room where roses once danced, time began to fold itself into something new— not past, not future, but a now where hearts remember what minds forget.
And as the wind outside paused, they simply stood there— not speaking, not moving. Just remembering, together.
The Rose Door – Chapter 4: The Place Where Roses Fall
A wind passes. The petals lift.
The mirror, once still, shimmers faintly—as though time itself is holding its breath.
She is there.
But something is different.
Her form is softer, as though she's made of light, not skin. As though memory is unraveling her.
He stands before the mirror, snow still clinging to his coat, his hand reaching out—
but not quite touching. Not yet.
"I waited," she says.
Her voice is neither near nor far. It is memory itself.
He wants to speak. Wants to ask.
But he only places his palm gently on the cold glass.
She mirrors him.
A breath. A pause.
The world goes quiet.
And then—
the roses fall.
One by one. Soft, soundless. Like the end of a song.
"Do you remember?" she asks.
He closes his eyes.
"Not yet," he whispers.
Her smile is not sad.
Only kind.
Only full of all the things they might have said, might have lived, might have been.
"Then live," she says. "So I can, too."
The mirror no longer shows her.
Just his own reflection—tearful, silent, whole.
He turns away.
Outside, winter begins to melt. One petal clings to his shoulder.
He doesn't brush it away.
Because some goodbyes are just another kind of promise.
And love?
Love never needed a door.
Only a memory.
Only a rose.
Only a name, spoken softly across time.