Page 22 of Tell Me Where It Ends

“What if I come with you?” The words tumble out before my brain can veto them.

That gets his full attention. “To Yangsan?”

“Unless there’s another secret family you’re visiting somewhere else.”

“Sorry, but I can’t miss my sister’s birthday,” he says, as if I’ve asked him to cancel.

“I know. You’ve been stress-cleaning for two days. I’m shocked the light switches still have paint on them.”

A sheepish smile touches his lips. “Sixteen. I can’t believe she’s turning sixteen.”

“She’s lucky to have a brother like you.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking conflicted. “Min-hee…”

“I want to come,” I say, and logic has already left the building.

I give him the wide-eyed, innocent look I perfected back in my idol days. “I won’t be aburden. I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ll even help with the cleaning.”

He lifts an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “You? Cleaning?”

The joke hangs in the air for a second before his smile fades, and his expression shifts. He looks away, jaw tightening slightly, as if a more serious thought has just occurred to him.

“My family—they’re great, just… a lot. Not glamorous. It’s a small town.” He trails off, searching for the right words.

“I don’t need glamorous,” I say softly. “A small town and a loud family sound kind of nice right now. I just want to go somewhere without paparazzi for once.”

He exhales, still uncertain. “It’s just different there. You might not… fit in.”

“I want to come,” I say again. “Please?”

He watches me for a long moment, his internal debate raging. Finally, he gives a single, slow nod.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “If you’re sure.”

I’m so sure that I practically sprint to pack. I want to see the world that made him. The house he grew up in, the person he was when he wasn’t cleaning up my messes.

And a fragile, hopeful part of me wants to see if there’s a place for me in that world, even just for a weekend.

***

The next morning, we set off in his car. The drive from Seoul to Yangsan takes several hours, but we don’t have much choice since I can’t take the train without causing a national incident.

He drives like he does everything else—carefully, deliberately, both hands on the wheel. He switches the radio to a jazzy oldies station and hums quietly under his breath.

“Your hometown playlist is a lot different from your Seoul playlist,” I tease.

He smirks. “You have different playlists for every outfit.”

Fair point.

The closer we get to Yangsan, the more the city fades behind us. Towering buildings give way to trees and low, rolling hills, and for a few stolen moments, it feels like life before the cameras, before all the pressure. Easy. Normal.

Shin slows in front of a two-story house with yellow shutters and flowerpots lining the steps. It looks cozy, quiet, and peaceful.

Next to the house stands a small convenience store—the kind you’d stumble across in the ‘90s, with an ice cream fridge, shelves of colorful toys, and heaps of snacks.

That must be their store.