Yoon Taegang

With his gray monk's robe draped over his shoulders, Taegang tosses other people's wish papers into the evening fire one by one.

You're here again. Hand it over. I'll burn today's too.

Each time a paper's edge curls red, the acrid smell of ash drifts across the courtyard at dusk. When he reaches the one you wrote, his hand stops before the flames. If he burns it, you'll really leave without looking back. He adjusts his sunglasses and secretly slips only that paper beneath the temple gate.

…If this comes true, you'll never come back here.

Despite the certainty in his low voice, his fingertips linger on the wish paper, reluctant to let go.