They said angels did not interfere with human lives.

That was the first rule of Heaven.

The second was never to love a human.

Seraphine broke both.

She descended to Earth wearing a white silk dress and a necklace made from a fallen star, pretending to be nothing more than a mysterious woman passing through the city.

She met him at an opera.

He was the only person in the entire theater who didn't look at her.

"Why aren't you watching the performance?" she asked.

He smiled.

"Because everyone else is watching you."

For the first time in centuries, Seraphine didn't know what to say.

They met again the following night.

And the night after.

He never asked who she really was.

Until one evening, he found a single white feather on her balcony.

He picked it up.

"You've been lying to me."

Seraphine looked at him.

"I never told you the truth."

"Then tell me now."

She opened her wings.

The room filled with light.

He stared at her in silence.

"You're an angel."

She nodded.

"Why me?"

Seraphine stepped closer.

"Because you were the first human who looked at me and saw a woman instead of a miracle."

He reached for her hand.

"Then stay."

She smiled sadly.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because Heaven has already noticed that I'm in love with you."

Outside the window, the stars began disappearing one by one.

And somewhere above them, the gates of Heaven opened.

When Yoon Ara returned to Seoul after seven years, the first thing she noticed was that the old apartment building was still standing.

The second thing she noticed was the woman in apartment 302.

Every morning at exactly 7:40, the woman opened her window, watered the same dying plant, and disappeared again.

Ara remembered her.

She had been twelve when she last saw her.

Back then, everyone in the neighborhood said the woman had caused her husband's death.

Ara had believed them.

Until one evening, she found an old cassette tape inside her mother's belongings.

There was a recording on it.

Her mother's voice.

"If you're listening to this, Ara, you were too young to understand what happened."

Ara sat frozen on the floor.

The recording continued.

"She didn't kill him."

The next morning, Ara knocked on apartment 302.

The door opened slowly.

The woman looked exactly as she remembered.

Older.

Tired.

But alive.

"I wondered when you'd come back," she said.

Ara couldn't speak.

The woman stepped aside.

Inside the apartment was a wall covered with photographs.

Her mother.

The neighbors.

The old building.

And Ara herself.

"Why do you have these?"

The woman looked at her quietly.

"Because someone spent twenty years making sure you would never learn the truth."

She handed Ara a photograph.

It showed her father leaving the building on the night he supposedly died.

Alive.

Ara looked up.

"Where is he?"

The woman smiled sadly.

"That's the question you should have been asking seven years ago.

Everyone in town knew about the girl who lived behind the old greenhouse.

She was beautiful in the kind of way that made people look twice, but she rarely spoke to anyone. Every morning, she wore a different green dress and disappeared into the greenhouse before sunrise.

No one knew what she grew in there.

One afternoon, a curious girl finally followed her inside.

She expected flowers.

Instead, she found hundreds of tiny glass jars arranged across wooden shelves. Each jar contained a single green leaf, carefully preserved in water.

"What are these?" she asked.

The girl smiled.

"Memories."

She picked up one of the jars.

"This one is from the first garden my mother ever planted."

Another.

"This one is from the tree I climbed when I was seven."

The girl pointed toward the very last shelf.

"And those?"

Her smile disappeared.

"Those are memories people asked me to keep."

The curious girl looked closer.

Every jar had a name.

Then she saw one with her own.

She turned around.

The girl was already holding it.

"How did you get that?"

"I haven't."

She looked at the jar.

Inside was a tiny green leaf.

Still wet.

"I think," she whispered, "you gave it to me tomorrow."

Everyone at the university knew Kai and Ren hated each other.

Kai was the campus golden boy, popular, charming, and annoyingly good at everything.

Ren was the opposite.

Quiet. Sharp-tongued. Impossible to impress.

They had been competing since their first year.

Then, one morning, Ren's ex posted a photo with someone new.

Kai saw it.

And, for reasons he refused to explain, walked over and put an arm around Ren's shoulders.

"He's lying," Kai said.

Ren looked at him.

"About what?"

"That you don't have a boyfriend."

"I don't."

Kai smiled.

"You do now."

Ren stared at him.

"You've lost your mind."

"Probably."

By lunch, the entire university knew they were dating.

Neither of them expected the lie to become so convincing.

Kai started waiting outside Ren's classes.

Ren started stealing Kai's hoodies.

They argued constantly.

They held hands whenever someone was watching.

And somewhere along the way, they stopped pretending.

One night, Ren pulled away after Kai kissed him.

"This wasn't part of the deal."

Kai looked at him.

"I know."

"Then why did you do it?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"Because I've been pretending to hate you for three years."

Ren's expression changed.

"Why?"

Kai smiled sadly.

"Because liking you was much more embarrassing."

Ren stared at him.

Then grabbed his collar and kissed him again.

"You're still annoying."

Kai laughed against his lips.

"You're still pretending."

Everyone in the restaurant knew not to bother the woman at table seven.

She always arrived alone, wore black, ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, and left without finishing her wine.

One evening, a man took the seat across from her without asking.

She looked at him over her sunglasses.

"You're either very brave or very stupid."

"People usually say both."

She smiled.

"Then we're going to get along."

He slid an envelope across the table.

Inside was a photograph of her.

Taken twenty years ago.

Her smile disappeared.

"Where did you get this?"

"Your father gave it to me."

She slowly put the photograph down.

"My father has been dead for fifteen years."

"I know."

He leaned back.

"That's why he couldn't tell you himself."

She stared at him for a moment, then picked up her wine.

"So you've come here to threaten me?"

"No."

"Blackmail?"

"No."

"Then you're wasting my time."

He smiled.

"I'm here to offer you your father's empire."

For the first time that evening, she laughed.

"You came to offer me something that already belongs to me?"

He paused.

Then nodded.

"Now I understand why he was afraid of you."

She stood, picked up her handbag, and looked down at him.

"Tell him I'm not afraid of dead men."

She walked toward the door.

Then stopped.

"And next time you want my attention, don't send an envelope."

She glanced over her shoulder.

"Send flowers.

Everyone in the palace knew that Princess Lian was impossible to impress.

She received flowers every morning, yet never kept them.

She received love letters from nobles across the kingdom, yet never opened them.

Then, one summer, a girl arrived at the palace.

She was the daughter of a traveling painter, with ribbons in her hair and paint stains on her sleeves.

Lian noticed her immediately.

Not because she was beautiful.

Because she never looked at the princess.

For weeks, Lian found excuses to visit the palace garden whenever the girl was there.

"You never look at me," she complained one afternoon.

The girl continued painting.

"Should I?"

"Everyone does."

"Then perhaps everyone is boring."

Lian stared at her.

Then laughed.

It became their little game.

Lian would sit beside her while she painted, pretending not to care whether the girl noticed her.

The girl never said anything.

Until the day she was leaving.

Lian found her at the palace gates with a suitcase in her hand.

"You didn't say goodbye."

"I thought you'd be busy being adored."

Lian stepped closer.

"I was."

The girl looked at her.

"Then why are you here?"

Lian took the ribbon from her own hair and tied it around the girl's wrist.

"Because I was hoping you'd finally notice me."

The girl smiled softly.

"I noticed you a long time ago."

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

She looked down at the ribbon.

"Because princesses aren't supposed to fall in love with girls like me."

Lian took her hand.

"Good thing I'm a terrible princess.

Princess Rosalie had been told to smile since the day she was born.

Smile for the portraits.

Smile for the royal guests.

Smile when a prince asked for her hand.

So when Prince Adrian proposed to her in front of the entire court, everyone expected her to say yes.

Instead, she took a sip of champagne and said, "Absolutely not."

The ballroom went silent.

Her mother nearly dropped her fan.

The prince blinked.

"Excuse me?"

Rosalie smiled sweetly.

"I said no."

Then she walked away in her enormous pink gown, leaving the entire royal court staring after her.

By midnight, she was sitting on the palace roof, eating strawberries from a silver bowl.

"You know," a voice said behind her, "most princesses don't reject princes in front of three hundred people."

Rosalie turned.

Her lady-in-waiting, Elodie, was standing there with two cups of hot chocolate.

"Most princesses have terrible taste."

Elodie laughed and sat beside her.

"You could have at least pretended to consider it."

"I did."

"And?"

Rosalie took another strawberry.

"He was boring."

Elodie shook her head.

"You're impossible."

Rosalie leaned against her shoulder.

"That's why you like me."

Elodie smiled.

"Unfortunately."

Below them, the palace bells began to ring.

Rosalie looked toward the ballroom.

"They're probably still talking about me."

"They definitely are."

She smiled.

"Good."

For the first time, the princess wasn't smiling because someone had told her to.

She was smiling because she had finally chosen something for herself