The Miracle: A Collection by THE PINKLIVINGROOM 

THE MIRACLE Project : TIME: When Time is Not Time  ,  Hello Miracle: Rena's Handwritten Magic

November 16 | 1:30 PM

The afternoon sun filtered through the windshield, casting a golden glare over the face of the young man lying unconscious in the driver’s seat. Suparuj stirred with great difficulty, the low, steady hum of the idling engine vibrating through him. His breath came in ragged gasps as consciousness slowly clawed its way back.

He jolted upright, his eyes darting around in sheer confusion. The final fragments of memory still burned in his mind: the deafening roar of a gunshot, the searing impact tearing through his forehead, and the blinding camera flashes fading into a void. He should have been dead—shot down on that stage.

Yet here he was, sitting on the leather seat of his luxury car, parked in the middle of a vast, silent meadow that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Suparuj’s trembling hand rose to touch the center of his forehead. He traced every inch of his face in a panic, only to find smooth, unblemished skin—no entry wound, no blood. He froze as he looked down at his attire. Gone was the formal suit; he was now wearing a leopard-print shirt layered under a black leather jacket, dark denim, and polished boots. The hair he had kept in a disciplined bun was now slightly disheveled, as if he had just woken from a long, restless slumber.

Ping!

A notification from his phone snapped him back to reality. He grabbed it frantically. November 16 | 1:30 PM.

Before he could process how time had shifted, an incoming call from a familiar contact flashed on the screen. Frowning, he answered in a daze.

"Yeah...?"

"Got a moment?" the voice on the other end said, his tone half-playful, half-serious. "There's still a lot of work to clear up. Don't be a slacker... just because you're the new President of Powersoft doesn't mean you can ditch us."

Suparuj let out a heavy breath, giving a short response before cutting the line. The confusion was intensifying. He slammed the car into gear and sped out of the meadow, heading toward the city center where the traffic was irritatingly congested. By the time he reached the massive shopping mall—a flagship property of the Pithithak empire—night had fallen, and it was past 10:00 PM.

He swerved into the VIP parking spot. The moment he stepped out of the vehicle, a petite woman rushed toward him, her expression frantic.

"You! Please, help me! Help me open the emergency elevator. I need to get up there to help my friend!"

Suparuj stiffened for a moment. He stared at the woman standing before him with an indescribable feeling. She wore a light brown knit sweater, her hair gathered loosely with a sweet-colored cotton tie. Her face was clear and innocent, radiating a certain glow even under the dim fluorescent lights. Those rosy lips, those eyes...

Suddenly, a violent surge of memories he didn't recognize assaulted his mind.

Images of him and her holding hands, running through a downpour... of the two of them shadows stalking someone... and of him seizing her wrist.

Suparuj pressed his hand to his temple, his heart skipping a beat. What were these visions? He was certain he had never met this woman in his life.

"Do you... know me?" he asked in a low voice, his brows furrowed deeply.

The woman paused, straightening her posture to meet his gaze directly, showing none of the intimidation the journalists usually felt.

"Well, you're Mr. Suparuj, the owner of this mall, aren't you...?"

The answer was simple, yet there was something peculiar in her tone. Suparuj narrowed his eyes, re-evaluating the woman before him with newfound caution.