Her eyes opened before the alarm went off.
Eun-chae stared at the ceiling for a long time. It was 5:40 in the morning. It took her a while to sit up.
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she buttoned her shirt one button at a time. Her fingertips moved more slowly than usual. She tied her necktie twice.
She turned on her phone while riding the subway. There was a message posted in the team chat at three in the morning. Client request. Response needed by morning. Eun-chae turned the screen off, then turned it back on. The words wouldn't register.
She arrived at the office at six-thirty. On the empty floor, the only sound was the computer booting up. Eun-chae sat at her desk and turned on the monitor. There were forty-two unread emails in her inbox.
She stopped counting.
She opened the desk drawer. She had written her resignation letter a week ago. The corner of the envelope felt familiar beneath her fingers. Eun-chae took it out and put it in her bag.
At nine, the team leader came in. Eun-chae stood, resignation letter in hand, and walked to the team leader's office.
"I have something to tell you."
The team leader looked up. Eun-chae set the envelope on the desk.
"I'm quitting."
The team leader's eyebrows lifted slightly. A brief silence passed.
"Why all of a sudden?"
"I've thought about it for a long time."
She didn't explain any further. The team leader didn't ask anything else. After looking down at the envelope, the team leader put it in a drawer.
"What about the handover?"
"I'll have everything organized by the end of this week."
On her way back to her desk, a few coworkers stared at Eun-chae. No one spoke to her. She sat back down in front of her monitor and opened the handover document.
On the way home, she saw her own reflection in the bus window. It was the same route she'd taken on her first day of work eight years ago. She couldn't quite think of what had changed between then and now.
When she got home, she took out her suitcase. A few changes of clothes, her laptop, and her bankbook. Everything fit inside in no time.
As she zipped up the suitcase, Eun-chae pressed Grandma's number for the first time in a long while.
The phone rang three times before Grandma answered.
"Gran, it's me."
"...Eun-chae?"
"Can I come down for a few days?"
For a moment, the only sound on the other end was Grandma's breathing.
"Why not come down for good instead of just a few days?"
Eun-chae tightened her grip on the suitcase handle.
"What are you talking about?"
"That's not something to talk about over the phone. Just come."
With those words, Grandma hung up.
The next morning, Eun-chae checked the bankbook where her severance pay had been deposited and headed for the express bus terminal.
Three and a half hours. As the apartment buildings disappeared outside the window and the rice fields began to spread across the landscape, Eun-chae took out her earbuds. It was a silence she hadn't heard in a long time.
When she got off the bus, no one was at the bus stop. The air was filled with the sound of cicadas. Eun-chae dragged her suitcase along a familiar road. It looked narrower than it had ten years ago.
She saw the guesthouse sign. A faded wooden sign that read, "Sandeul Haven Guesthouse." In the yard below it, weeds had grown to knee height.
It was different from the yard in her memories. The wooden platform was still there, but the garden bed was nothing but dirt, and the shed door had come halfway off its hinges.
"Gran?"
When Eun-chae called out, she heard movement from the main house. The door opened, and Grandma came out. She was leaning on a cane.
"You're here."
Grandma looked Eun-chae up and down. Eun-chae looked at her, too. Her back was more stooped than it had been ten years ago. A knee brace was wrapped around one knee.
"Gran, what happened to your knee?"
"It's nothing. Come inside and eat first."
When they entered the kitchen, the smell of rice cooking drifted from the rice cooker. Grandma limped as she took out containers of side dishes. When Eun-chae tried to carry the bowls, Grandma waved her hand.
"You sit down."
Eun-chae sat, but her eyes kept following Grandma's steps.
Only after they sat across from each other at the table did Grandma speak.
"I can't run the guesthouse anymore."
Eun-chae's hand stopped with the spoon in it.
"What do you mean, all of a sudden?"
"It isn't sudden. My knees have been like this since last year. I can't even go up and down the stairs. How am I supposed to take in guests?"
Grandma took a spoonful of soup. Eun-chae quietly watched her.
"So you're going to sell it?"
Grandma shook her head.
"If I meant to sell it, I would've done it a long time ago."
"Then what?"
Grandma set down her spoon and looked Eun-chae straight in the eye.
"You take it over."
Eun-chae put down her spoon.
"Grandma, I've never run a business before."
"It's not a business. It's a guesthouse. It's different."
"How is it different?"
"A business is selling things to customers. This is just... giving people who come a place to sleep and feeding them. It's easier than what you did at the company."
Eun-chae was speechless. She couldn't believe the word easier.
"I don't know accounting, or the booking system, or cleaning—"
"You can learn."
Grandma cut her off. Eun-chae closed her mouth. There wasn't a hint of wavering in Grandma's eyes.
"I've run this place alone for thirty years. I didn't know everything from the start either."
Eun-chae looked down at her bowl. The steam slowly faded.
"Give me some time to think."
"Fine."
Grandma didn't ask anything more and picked up her spoon again. The only sound left in the kitchen was the clinking of dishes.
After the meal, Eun-chae went out into the yard. The evening breeze moved through the weeds. A memory flashed through her mind: being in this yard as a girl in her early teens, picking lettuce with Grandma.
Back then, everything had been easy. Now, she wasn't confident about anything.
As Eun-chae dragged her suitcase into the room she'd been given, Grandma called out from behind her.
"Eun-chae."
When she turned around, Grandma was standing at the edge of the veranda.
"You don't have to decide right away. But there's one thing you should know."
"What?"
"This guesthouse doesn't have a single booking through next month."
Eun-chae's hand stopped on the suitcase handle.
"Someone from a real estate agency is coming next week. To check the market value."
"If a real estate agent comes... does that mean this place is really going to disappear?"
Instead of answering, Grandma sat down on the veranda. Her movements were slow as she carefully bent her knees.
"It isn't disappearing. It's just going to someone else."
Eun-chae let go of the suitcase handle and approached the veranda. The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet.
"But Grandpa built this house."
"I know."
Grandma answered shortly. Her gaze was fixed on the sky darkening at the far end of the yard.
"But holding on to it by myself isn't going to change anything. I'm at the point where even climbing a single step is too much."
Eun-chae couldn't say anything. The cicadas suddenly fell silent, leaving only the evening breeze moving through the yard.
"Gran... are you really okay with this place disappearing?"
After a long while, Grandma spoke.
"Do you think I could be okay with it?"
Her voice was lower than usual. For the first time, Eun-chae truly felt Grandma's age in that voice.
"But if I keep holding on until I collapse, you won't be able to do anything either, Eun-chae. It's better to put things in order before that happens."
Eun-chae sat down at the edge of the veranda. She lightly nudged the weeds with her toes.
"What time is the real estate agent coming next week?"
"Thursday at two in the afternoon."
Five days remained. Eun-chae counted them by folding down her fingers. Five nights. She had no idea what she could do, or how she could do it, in that time.
As Grandma stood up, she gave Eun-chae's shoulder a light pat.
"That's enough for today. Go to sleep. You came a long way."
Eun-chae went into her room and lay down on the bedding without even opening her suitcase. The pattern on the ceiling was unfamiliar. It was just past eight, but she couldn't fall asleep.
She turned on her phone. Her bank balance, this month's credit card bill, and a blank white calendar with nothing scheduled passed across the screen one after another.
Eun-chae turned off the screen and closed her eyes in the darkness.
Five days later, Thursday at two in the afternoon.