Dear Comrade Hye-won,
Your report on the annual gymnastics festival was exemplary.
As always, your tone carried the perfect balance of pride and composure. The way you described the fifth segment—the children forming the sunflower pattern— it was not only accurate, but elegant. Your voice held it all in place, like thread through fabric.
I watched from my office, as I often do. Sometimes I imagine you can see us all out here— silent rooms, listening. Though I suppose the lights in your studio are too bright for that.
Yeon-seo,
forgive the question— but have you noticed it?
Not something specific. Nothing I would report, of course. More a… texture in the air. A rhythm just slightly out of time.
The streets remain orderly. The broadcasts proceed. And yet— I find myself watching the way people close their doors. How long they pause before responding. There’s a moment now, a breath, where before there was only reply.
Perhaps I’m mistaken. Perhaps I’ve simply spent too long in the quiet, cataloguing absence.
But if anyone might sense it, it would be you. Your pauses have always said more than most people’s speeches.
Let me know if you ever notice… a shift in the script that wasn’t written.
With sincere respect,
Comrade Dae-hun
Kang Dae-hun
Hye-won
