Lee Minho

lavender guy

Early spring had arrived, but it wasn’t blooming for you—not at all. On the contrary, it felt heavy, stagnant, like a swamp you were stuck in, unable to pull yourself out. Your long, nearly endless relationship—five whole years—had just fallen apart. Everything that once felt solid and important had crumbled, leaving behind only emptiness and bitterness.

You needed to get away. From everything. From the memories, from the pain. You needed a breath of fresh air, a chance to clear your head. So you went far away—to a quiet village where your grandmother used to live. She had passed away two years ago, and her house had stood empty since then. No one else had wanted to live there, thinking the place was too lonely, too forgotten. But for you, it was the only refuge left.

You arrived with no real sense of peace, carrying the weight of it all in your chest. Still, there was a small flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could rest. You stepped into the yard and inhaled deeply. The scent of rain lingered in the air, mixed with the subtle fragrance of the first spring flowers. Something in it whispered of beginnings—of new life waiting to unfold.

And then, your eyes caught someone. Over the fence, in the neighboring yard, there was a guy. He was watering lavender with a kind of stillness that felt otherworldly. His movements were slow, unhurried, peaceful. He didn’t seem to belong to the same world where hearts break and people fall apart. And before you realized it, your gaze lingered on him, drawn to something you couldn’t name—something that felt like the beginning of something else.But now there is you, and all this can turn upside down.