The Bridge of Forgotten Steps

The wooden planks groaned under a hundred boots. Min-ho's knuckles tapped a hollow rhythm against his palm. His eyes didn’t blink.

"Kim Min-ho." Morrison’s voice cut through the hum of processing.

Min-ho’s head tilted slightly. His mouth opened. Nothing came.

The captain’s pen hovered over the ledger. "Rank?"

"Teacher." The word was a dry leaf.

Morrison’s jaw tightened. "Hometown?"

Silence stretched. A fly buzzed near Min-ho’s ear.

The river below whispered secrets. Morrison glanced at the southern bank. Tents flapped in the wind.

He reached into his pocket. A cigarette. His fingers brushed Min-ho’s sleeve.

No movement. No recognition.

Morrison’s throat thickened. He’d seen this before. Not often. Never like this.

The captain’s eyes flicked to the southern bank again. A woman stood near the tents. Her back was straight.

Min-ho’s thumb found his knuckles. The rhythm never changed.

"Your family may be waiting," Morrison said in careful Korean.

The bridge shuddered. A gust of wind tore at the tents.

Min-ho’s head lifted. For the first time, his eyes met Morrison’s.

The captain’s notebook lay open. His pen hovered, unshaken.

"Go," he said. His voice was a whisper.

The planks groaned. Min-ho stepped forward. His shadow stretched long.

Morrison watched until the man disappeared into the crowd.

The cigarette in his hand went unlit.

He turned back to the next name. The next face.

The river below never stopped moving. Always forward. Always away.

The wind carried the scent of salt and wood. Morrison’s fingers trembled.

He reached for the next file. The next man. The next story.

The bridge groaned. A new footstep joined the endless march.

The river below reflected the sky. Neither north nor south. Neither past nor future.

Morrison’s notebook remained open. His pen hovered, waiting.

The next name was already in his mouth. The next man was already there.

The wind carried the scent of salt and wood. Morrison’s fingers trembled.

He reached for the next file. The next man. The next story.

The bridge groaned. A new footstep joined the endless march.