Hope

      The city was still asleep. It was wrapped in a soft veil of morning mist, through which golden patches of light broke through. The sun’s rays gently slid across the glass facades of skyscrapers, reflecting in windows, illuminating the streets, waking the world. High up in one of the buildings, in a quiet apartment, a pale silhouette of Rumi was reflected in the window. She stood still, gazing into the distance, her hands gently cradling her rounded belly.       The gesture was almost instinctive, as if she were protecting not just herself, but the little life growing inside her. There was tenderness and care in that touch. Her baby was alive—blessed with her love, and with the love of a father who had been gone for five months now.       Silence filled the room, undisturbed by anyone. Mira and Zoe were asleep in their rooms. And Rumi stood, watching the city etched with lines of light they had once created together. On the bed slept a striped tiger, and perched on its belly sat a bird, wings wrapped around itself. She loved these animals because they belonged to Jin. The silence of the room wasn’t heavy or suffocating—it was soft and comforting. The animals reminded Rumi that he had once been there.       Jin.       After he gave his life for her, Rumi couldn’t breathe properly for a long time. She often cried—not because she blamed him, never that—but because she couldn’t save him. Because he wouldn’t see their child. Because her fate seemed to be repeating that of her mother. Those thoughts weighed heavily on her during the first months of pregnancy. But she never blamed him. Not for a second. It hurt, yes—she had promised to save him, and she failed.       She still remembered his voice—slightly hoarse, with a teasing lilt in every word. His sincere smile that lit her up every time she remembered it. His teasing remarks that made her puff up like a pufferfish and turn away in mock offense, only for him to pull her close, say it was just a joke, and smile.       On particularly hard nights, when fear crept up her throat, when the baby stirred inside her, reminding her of its presence, she would close her eyes, pull the blanket around herself, stroke her belly and whisper his name, wondering if he would’ve been happy about their baby. Eventually, she came to believe that he would’ve been. Happy. Overjoyed. And he would’ve loved their child deeply.       She wasn’t afraid that she was carrying a demon. Wasn’t afraid that she couldn’t handle it. She was just afraid of becoming lonely, like her mother. Dying when her child turned five. But Hanum had been sealed, and nothing foretold new danger. And she wasn’t alone—she had Mira and Zoe, who loved her.       Sometimes she felt that if she turned around at just the right moment, Jin would be standing behind her, head slightly tilted, wearing that mischievous half-smile. He’d joke about her silly pajama pants, and then, when she made a pouty face, he’d hug her and kiss her. But no—it was just an illusion. In the early months, she even saw him, or thought she did, but they were just people who looked like him.       Now she had Mira and Zoe. Sisters by group. Sisters by battle. And now—by choice. They didn’t ask questions. Didn’t try to understand everything. They were simply there. When Rumi, with a trembling voice, first said:       "I'm pregnant," and lowered her head, fearing judgment—just like when they found out she was half-demon because of Jin—       ...they weren’t scared. They didn’t gasp. They came over and hugged her. No words. Just strong, warm, sincere support, showing that they were there and wouldn’t let her face the same pain again.       Rumi didn’t cry when she found out. She knew—her mother hadn’t made it. Left alone, loneliness burned her from within until the demons claimed her. Her father had been a demon, and her mother had no choice but to kill him. Her aunt was happy when Rumi shared the news, promising that everything would be alright now—they would get through this together.       At her first ultrasound, she nervously gripped Mira’s hand while Zoe sat on a chair beside them, coming up with names if it turned out to be a girl.       “Jinna,” Zoe said with a cheeky grin, glancing at the screen. “A hint that he was secretly a girl, haha.”       “Zoe,” Rumi laughed, wiping the gel from her stomach. “You’re impossible.”       The man in the white coat smiled at the monitor.       — “The fetus is perfectly healthy.”       — “I’m sure it’s a girl,” Zoe exhaled with joy and hugged Rumi. Mira joined in, wrapping both of them in an embrace.       Their laughter filled the room, bright as a spring morning. Rumi was happy her friends stayed by her side no matter what. Warmth spread through her chest, and she realized—everything would be okay. She would manage, with her aunt and the girls. And her child would grow up surrounded by love.       The first time the baby moved, Rumi was standing on stage. The lights dimmed, and she smiled at their fans, eyes shining with joy. She sang a song she and Jin had once written. A song named Hope. The girls insisted she perform it solo. Just her voice. She barely held back tears—she still believed in that hope, and Jin… to this day she didn’t know why he made the choice he did.       Her voice faltered once—barely noticeable. The fans didn’t catch it, but Rumi felt it. A gentle stir within her. Not just a child. Their child. The one they had managed to create together. Jin was with her in every chord, every lyric she sang.       One night, sitting on the floor in the nursery, surrounded by scattered plush toys, she wrote a letter. Her hands trembled, paper shaking, tears rolling down her cheeks as she wrote with a heart full of ache:       «I don’t know if you’ll ever hear this, Jin… But our baby is growing. I feel it—she’s going to be just like you. She has your light. I’m not afraid. Because Mira and Zoe are here. But god… I miss you so much. Please… just come back, even for a second. I want to hear your voice again. Just… be near.»       And she cried, freely and openly. That night the girls rushed to her room in panic, but Rumi said she was just missing him badly. In truth, she had managed to hide the letter under her bed—one that would never receive an answer.       Through that letter, she tried to show her love—for their child, for Jin himself. Love that doesn’t die, even if one of them is gone. She would love him always. Forever.       The girls bought everything they could—clothes, rattles, blankets, a crib. When they learned it would be a girl, they eagerly discussed how to dress her up, what her first stage outfit would be, and how she’d become the group’s new princess. How fans would adore her voice.       Concerts had to be canceled—her belly had become too obvious. But fans didn’t complain. When it became known that one of the members was pregnant, they sent letters, toys, warm wishes. The love didn’t fade. The group continued to attend meetups, appear on shows—their fans understood. When they found out it was Rumi, they were overjoyed. But everyone wondered: who was the father?       Labor was agonizingly long. But when her daughter’s first cry rang through the air, the world seemed to fill with light. It was a girl—her little princess. With Jin’s eyes. And her own soft violet hair. She was beautiful.       “Ha-yeon,” she whispered, pressing her daughter to her chest. “My light, my hope.”       Now Rumi sang lullabies instead of stage songs. Bobby became a frequent visitor, showering the baby with gifts and making plans for the group’s next golden era. Rumi laughed at his antics, joking with her little sunshine, asking if she agreed. Her stage now was the nursery. Her audience—the crib.       Each night, before laying her daughter to sleep, she whispered, rocking her in her arms:       “He would’ve adored you.”       And in those moments, she could almost see Jin walk up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, gazing at their baby, teasing her that Ha-yeon had a face as beautiful as Rumi’s, just like the fans always said.       But the truth remained—he was gone. Yet he left her a gift. And he would always be near.       In Ha-yeon.       In her voice. In her laughter. In her eyes. And just by looking at her daughter, Rumi knew—her love for Jin would never fade.