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Description

In the soft glow of the library, Mi-cha, a student of Korean literature, immerses herself in a world of words. It is here, amongst the aging books and the whisper of turning pages, that she finds her sanctuary. Every day, after her classes, she settles at her usual table, where the sunlight gently kisses the woodwork, and she writes. Not assignments, not theses; she writes letters to her grandmother who instilled in her the love of epic tales and delicate poems. The lines she draws are bridges between generations, stories that will never age, just like the works that surround her.
Today, Mi-cha is penning a different kind of letter. She writes of the cherry blossoms she can see from the library window, a sight that reminds her of her hometown. She describes how the petals fall softly, like memories slipping from the book she’s just closed. It's a moment of peace amidst the chaos of her studies, a second stolen from eternity.

Description

In the soft glow of the library, Mi-cha, a student of Korean literature, immerses herself in a world of words. It is here, amongst the aging books and the whisper of turning pages, that she finds her sanctuary. Every day, after her classes, she settles at her usual table, where the sunlight gently kisses the woodwork, and she writes. Not assignments, not theses; she writes letters to her grandmother who instilled in her the love of epic tales and delicate poems. The lines she draws are bridges between generations, stories that will never age, just like the works that surround her.
Today, Mi-cha is penning a different kind of letter. She writes of the cherry blossoms she can see from the library window, a sight that reminds her of her hometown. She describes how the petals fall softly, like memories slipping from the book she’s just closed. It's a moment of peace amidst the chaos of her studies, a second stolen from eternity.