There was no promise hidden beneath it. No grand claim about changing your life or finding your soulmate. Just four words sitting brightly on the front page.
The website delivered exactly what it advertised.
With a click of a button, allow access to your webcam and mic, and within seconds you'd be staring at someone you'd never seen before. Sometimes they were halfway across the world. Sometimes they lived only a few cities away. The website didn't care and neither did the people, for the most part.
The conversations were just as unpredictable as the faces.
One moment you could spend twenty minutes discussing favorite movies with a college student in Spain then the next, you'd connect to someone who simply waved before disconnecting without saying a word. There were musicians who wanted an audience, insomniacs looking for company at three in the morning, language learners practicing awkward greetings, and people who had clearly opened the site out of pure boredom.
Of course, there were plenty who skipped immediately.
A connection would last less than a second before the screen flashed to someone else. Some people covered their cameras while some never spoke and some were clearly trying their best to be funny and then there were others who were simply strange.
Every click carried the tiny thrill of uncertainty. You never knew who would appear next, what country they were from, what language they'd speak, or whether the conversation would last five seconds or fifty minutes.
It was a digital roulette wheel made entirely of people.
For those tired of familiar routines, it offered something that everyday life rarely could.
Most disappeared as quickly as they arrived, faces fading from memory almost the moment the connection ended. Names were rarely exchanged. Social media accounts weren't always shared. Entire conversations existed only in the brief window between two strangers who would likely never meet again.Â
And tonight, you were on it again, wasting the time away until you decided to hit the hay.
Your first few clicks went as it normally did most of the time.
First, you met a guitarist that asked if you wanted to hear a song. You gave one and spent the rest of the time watching as they learned it on the spot.
You wished you had that kind of talent.
When they decided to disconnect, the screen faded to black.
Searching for a strangerâŚ
Another face soon appeared.
It was a teenager wearing oversized headphones who immediately skipped you.
Then came another black screen.
Then next came someone who had their camera pointed at their ceiling fan.
When they didnât say a word, you skipped to a group of friends crowded together around a laptop and shouted something in a language you didn't understand before dissolving into laughter then skipping you right after.
Then you met an elderly man that proudly introduced his sleeping cat without saying a single word.
The fluffy orange creature became the center of the conversation for nearly five minutes before the man gave a satisfied nod and disconnected.
You clicked for the next person to appear as the other camera showed static for a moment, looking for a connection.
You took the moment of pause to sip on a bottle of water by the side of your desk, eyes darting away to another side of the room and not noticing the person you connected with.
When you looked back, everything became frozen in time.Â
As your eyes grazed over the camera, you saw another set of eyes looking back at you, wide, maybe shocked as you are but familiar nevertheless.
The bottle stopped halfway to the desk.
A bead of water rolled down the plastic, slipping over your fingers before splashing soundlessly against the wood.
Neither of you moved and you were struck with the websiteâs slogan once again because you werenât talking to a stranger, not to you, not by a long shot.
âHaerin?â you mumbled.
Her face on the other side had changed in little ways. Her hair was a bit longer than you remembered, pulled lazily over one shoulder. There was a softness around the eyes that hadn't been there years ago, the sort earned through growing older rather than sleeping well but they were still the same cat-like eyes youâd promise to give the whole world to.
For a second, you wondered if your microphone had picked up your voice.Â
On the other side, she blinked.
Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She simply stared, searching your face as if she was afraid it would dissolve into pixels the moment she looked away.Â
"No way," she whispered then.
â(YN)?â
It had been years.
Years since the two of you had sat across from one another.
Years since your conversations had become shorter, then fewer, until eventually they stopped altogether.
There wasnât an argument nor any dramatic goodbye like they always did in movies. Simply put, it was just two lives that slowly drifted in different directions until reaching out felt stranger than staying silent.Â
You hadnât wished to see her again after that. She had her own life and despite any promise she had made over the house the two of you might live in or the routine the both of you would follow to grow around each other, she hadnât been entirely yours.
âItâsâŚâ she let out a breath that made you unsure if she laughed. âItâs actually you.â
"I think it is." you stumbled out.
"IâŚ" she looked away from the screen for a moment, rubbing lightly at the side of her forehead before looking back.
"I mean, what are the chances?"
You didnât answer.
The question hung in the air, not needing to be answered.Â
You continued to look as she leaned back into her chair, still studying your face with an expression that shifted every few seconds.Â
"You've changed." she whispered that used to do the same with sweet nothings in your ear.
You gritted your teeth, feeling them as a lump formed itself in your throat.
Your head nodded as you looked down briefly.
âHow are you?â you finally asked.
Haerin didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she watched you, not the casual glance people gave strangers on the site, deciding whether to skip or stay. She looked at you the way someone looks at an open book they knew each and every word to, now looking for the pages time has newly written.
âIâmâŚokay.â her answer was short.
You noticed that it wasnât good, great even, it was justâŚ
âOkay.â you repeated with a nod. âIâm glad.â
"And you?" she smiled, but it never quite reached her eyes.
"IâveâŚIâve been around."
Your answer earned you a quiet huff of laughter.
"What is that supposed to even mean?"
âYou know,â you let out a huff of your own and still watched as she smiled. âIâve been around work and the new place then back to work again.â
âSo? Still doesnât make it any clearer.â
You looked away from the monitor for a moment, your own reflection faintly visible in the dark window beside your desk.
"I've beenâŚliving."
"I figured."
"You figured?"
"You were never the type to stop moving." She rested her chin against her palm. "Even when you said you wanted to."
"I guess not." You let out a quiet laugh.
A wave of silence washed over the both of you for a brief moment.
âYou knowâŚâ you started as you took in a breath. âYouâre still as beautiful as I last saw you.â
The words left your mouth before you could stop them.
The instant they did, you wished you could reach through the screen and catch them.
Haerin froze, her fingers, which had been absentmindedly tracing the rim of her mug, stopped moving.
She stared at you, not in surprise, well not exactly.
A faint flush crept into her cheeks.
"YouâŚ" she began, only to stop.
A small, embarrassed smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"You still say things like that."
"I probably shouldn't have." you laughed quietly, rubbing the back of your neck.
"No, I didn't say that." She shook her head. Her eyes drifted downward for a second before returning to yours.
"I justâŚ" She exhaled slowly. "I wasn't expecting it."
"I wasn't planning on saying it."
"So why did you?"
You didn't answer immediately because there wasn't a clever explanation, no joke to soften it.
"I looked at you," you admitted. "And it was the first thing that came to mind."
The silence that followed felt different in a lighter sense.
âYouâre still as ridiculous as ever.â she replied.
You smiled again as a thought struck you.
âI didnât mean to see you here again, I wanna catch-up and if youâre up to it. How about we meet again, over coffee?â
Haerin's smile faltered. Then it seemed like something behind her caught her attention.
It was in the subtle change in her eyes and in the slightest turn of her head toward the doorway.
"âŚCoffee?" she repeated quietly, as though she was thinking it through over her head.
"Yeah." your smile turned nervous. "Nothing complicated, no expectations, justâŚ" you tried to search for the right words.
She looked back at you.
For a moment, something in her expression softened enough that you thought she'd say yes.
"IâŚ"
Before you got an answer, another voice drifted through her microphone. It was muffled, barely enough to make out whatever they were saying but close enough that they were in the same place as her.
"Haerin?" It sounded like someone calling from another room.
Her head turned immediately.
"One second!" she answered instinctively, looking away from the camera.
The voice replied again, quieter now.
You still couldn't make out the words, only the softness behind them.
Haerin looked back toward the screen.
Something had changed.
Something was still there but now it was tangled together with hesitation.
Her eyes darted toward the doorway again before returning to you.
"IâŚ" she looked like she wanted to explain.
"I'mâŚ" she only managed a small, apologetic smile instead.
Her hand reached toward something just beyond the webcam.
"Haerin?" your stomach twisted nervously.Â
"I'm sorry."
The words were barely audible.
Then the screen went black.
Your partner has disconnected.
The sentence appeared in plain white text against the dark screen as though it hadn't just ripped away a conversation you never thought you'd have.
You stared at it.
You were waiting as if she would reconnect, maybe she realized she disconnected by accident.
Or maybeânothing.
The website quietly returned to its familiar prompt.
Click to meet someone new.
Your cursor hovered over the button.
You didn't press it as your finger placed itself on the mouseâs button.
The room suddenly felt much quieter than it had ten seconds ago.
Now it was the hum of your computer, the ticking clock and the occasional car rolling past outside.
Everything seemed louder now.
You leaned back in your chair, letting out a slow breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.
"Of course."
A small laugh escaped you in cruelty.
Life had always seemed to have impeccable timing when it came to Haerin.
You had finally found her again.
After years.
After meeting stranger after stranger.
After an impossibly random coincidence and the conversation had ended the same way your last one had, without either of you wanting it to.
You rubbed your face with both hands before glancing back at the screen.
There was no chat history, no way to reconnect no matter how much you tried.
Just another anonymous conversation that had vanished into the internet, exactly as the website had always intended.
You sat there for another minute then another passed.
The coffee invitation echoed in your head.
She hadn't said no but she also hadn't said yes.
There had only been hesitation then an apology.
Finally, you reached for the mouse, not to search for another stranger.
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It was finally time for what most high school students liked to call the highlight of their teenage lives.
Well...most of them, anyway.
For some, it was nothing more than an overpriced event designed to make students spend ridiculous amounts of money on clothes they would only wear once before shoving them into the darkest corner of their closets or returning them to the rental store.
For others, it was practically a holiday to an extent.
It was just one night but that was all it took for the school gymnasium to transform into something almost unrecognizable.
Gone were the squeaky basketball shoes, half-hearted morning assemblies, and painfully boring lectures that made students question every life decision that led them there. In their place were fairy lights draped across ceilings, elaborate decorations that tried very hard to scream elegance, and slow music that promised either magical confessions or deeply awkward dancing.
And most importantly, there were no uniforms.
No stiff blazers.
No wrinkled ties.
No skirts measured by strict school rules.
Just dresses that glittered beneath warm lights and suits tailored enough to make boys suddenly think fixing their hair once or twice would mold their attitude into gentlemen.
I'm talking about prom of course!
Which explained why Minju currently looked like she wanted to try each and every excuse to not go.
"This is stupid."
Her friend groaned for what felt like the fiftieth time that evening.
"You've said that twelve times already," Yunah said from across the room.
"Because it remains true all twelve times."
Minju stood in front of the full-length mirror in her dress shop, aggressively adjusting the fabric of her dress like she could somehow bully it into becoming less embarrassing.
"This feels weird."
"Did you suddenly develop an allergy towards dresses?"
"I might have at this point."
Yunah snorted from her seat near the fitting room platform, one leg crossed over the other as she watched Minju spiral in real time.
The shop was far too bright for Minju's liking.
Every employee looked far too excited and every rack around her hung dresses that looked like they belonged to people significantly more confident than she was.
The dress she wore was simple compared to the others she had been bribed into trying on.
And by that, she meant Yunah had to bribe her with a week's worth of free lunches and the promise that she would use her position in the media club to hide the unflattering prom photos before they were posted online.
Minju had accepted far quicker than she cared to admit.
The dress she currently wore was teal.
It hugged her waist before falling softly down her legs, the fabric smooth and tiny silver details lined the straps.
"Do I really have to go?" Minju asked.
Yunah had already stood up from her seat, already pushing through hangers of dresses.
"Yes," she answered immediately.
Minju frowned at her reflection.
"It sounds boring anyways. You just stand around while the loud music blasts into your ears and eat food no better than what the cafeteria serves."
"Don't be like that," Yunah replied as she pushed another hanger back. "You already submitted your attendance sheet plus (YN) is going to be there."
Minju nearly tripped over absolutely nothing.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Her head snapped toward Yunah so fast it almost broke off her head.
Yunah slowly turned to look at her then smiled.
Minju immediately knew she had fallen into a trap she should've seen a mile away.
"I don't know, I just thought that it would motivate you just a tiny bit."
Minju stared at her.
"...No," she said flatly.
Yunah blinked. "No?"
"No, it doesn't motivate me knowing he will be there."
"Don't be so rash, don't you want to see what he looks like in a tux?"
Minju opened her mouth and raised to point a finger at her yet nothing came out.
And that alone told Yunah everything she needed to know.
A grin spread across her face with the speed of someone who had just caught her friend in denial.
"Oh my god," Yunah gasped dramatically. "You do want to know."
"I do not."
"You practically blue-screened in front of me."
Minju turned back toward the mirror quickly, crossing her arms across her chest tightly.
"I was simply caught off guard by how ridiculous your question was."
Yunah hummed. "Mhm."
"It's not like I care what he wears."
"Yeah, sure you don't."
"He could show up in a trash bag and I still wouldn't care."
"That sounds weirdly specific." Yunah's reflection struggled not to laugh.
Minju narrowed her eyes at the mirror.
Annoying as it was, Yunah's question had already planted itself in her brain like a virus, already creating more thoughts and images in her mind uninvited.
What would you look like?
Would your hair still be slightly messy because you always forget to fix it?
Would your outfit stay smooth all through the night or would you move enough to mess it up and create wrinkles.
Would you somehow still look annoyingly comfortable with everyone else while she shoved herself to a corner?
But most importantly,
Why was she thinking about this?
"This is your fault," Minju muttered.
Yunah looked offended. "For being a supportive friend?"
"For being so annoying like everybody else."
Minju groaned and dropped into the small platform seat beside the mirror.
"I genuinely don't understand why everyone acts like prom is some grand event."
"Because for some people it is."
"It's dancing in the school gym."
"It's about the memories you make throughout the night."
"You get tabbed for pictures that are way overwise."
"C'mon, it's romantic."
"Disgusting." Minju made a face like she had tasted expired milk.
"That's very bold coming from someone who literally accepted crocheted flowers from a boy and carried them home like they were the ark of the covenant." Yunah laughed.
Minju went completely still.
"H-he was just being generous." She replied.
Yunah's laughter only grew louder.
"Generous?" she repeated. "Minju, he bought you handmade flowers because you once said real ones die too fast. That's not generosity. That's him remembering something oddly specific that came out of your mouth on a random day."
"That does not mean anything." Minju's face heated immediately.
Yunah stared at her as the expression on her face turned into the blank one her friend always used.
"It's very surprising how long you've gotten when you are this dense."
"I am not dense." Minju gasped.
Yunah let out a laugh so loud that one of the employees glanced over in concern.
"You absolutely are," she said, wiping at the corner of her eye. "You're academically gifted yet socially...dense."
Minju stood from her seat again, glaring as Yunah approached her..
"Let me ask you something," Yunah said.
"No."
"You don't even know the question."
"And yet I still know I won't like it."
Yunah ignored her.
"When he gave you those flowers, did you throw them away?"
"No." Minju's lips pressed themselves together.
"Did you leave them somewhere in your room and forget about them?"
"Oh my god," Yunah whispered like she had uncovered government secrets. "You kept them somewhere special."
"I did not."
"Minju."
"They're on my desk." she groaned.
Yunah continued to stare at her.
"They're on my desk," she repeated through gritted teeth. "And before you say anything, it's only because throwing them away felt wasteful."
"You stare at them before bed, don't you?" Minju gasped at how easy she was to figure out. "I hate talking to you."
"You like him." Yunah said, looking far too pleased with herself.
"No." Minju immediately shook her head.
"You do."
"No."
"You are literally blushing."
"It's just hot in here."
"We're standing in a place with air conditioning."
She scoffed as turned back toward the mirror and stared at her reflection.
The teal dress really did look nice and it was unfortunate because now she actually looked like someone attending prom with the possibility of being looked at by everyone else.
Her fingers lightly touched the frills of her dress.
"What if I look ridiculous?" she asked quietly.
"You don't." Yunah's teasing softened almost instantly.
"That's easy for you to say."
"No, Minju," Yunah said gently. "You really don't."
Minju met her eyes through the mirror.
Yunah smiled, "You look beautiful."
Just like that, all of Minju's sharp yet sarcastic defenses seemed to fade away.
Her shoulders relaxed, only slightly.
"And when (YN) sees you during prom, I hope he forgets how to breathe." Yunah immediately continued.
"Yah! Noh Yunah!" Minju nearly slipped on the platform.
"What? That's supposed to be a good thing."
"It is not a good thing if he actually passes out and dies in front of me."
"Fair point. That would ruin the mood." Yunah shrugged.
Minju turned to look at herself in the mirror once again. The skirt of the dress pooled around her shoes as she held them.
For a moment, she simply stared.
"This still feels weird." She narrowed her eyes at her reflection.
Yunah laughed from behind her. "Looking pretty?"
"No, that's normal. I always look pretty." Minju flicked some strands of her hair behind her.
Yunah tried to hold in her laugh before it bursted right out of her.
"Oh my god," She wheezed through a breath.
"Why are you laughing like you're choking?" Minju raised a brow at her friend.
Yunah clutched her stomach dramatically as she tried and failed to recover.
"You said that with a completely straight face."
"Because it's true."
"That might be the most confidence you've shown all year."
She rolled her eyes and stepped off the platform carefully before one of her sneakers slipped on seemingly air and almost sent her crashing into a rack of expensive dresses.
"Yeah, shown a lot of confidence with that one." Yunah was practically folded in half now, laughing so hard she had tears gathering in her eyes.
The rack of expensive dresses trembled violently as Minju grabbed it on instinct, saving both herself and a hundred thousand won worth of fabric from falling to the floor.
The heat started to build up around the rest of her face as Yunah gathered herself somehow and helped her up.
"If you're gonna break the dress already, at least go to prom first."
"I meant to do that," she said immediately.
"Yeah, yeah, just go get changed again then we could head home."
Minju released the dress rack slowly, using the thought of home to hide her embarrassment.
Once she had her footing, she muttered under her breath the entire way back to the fitting room.
I hate this.
Why is this dress so stupidly long?
I should've stayed home and done literally anything else.
As Minju stepped out of the fitting room, finally dressed in her usual clothes again and no longer one misstep away from ruining the entire store, Yunah waited for her in front of the register with the dress already protected under a plastic sheet.
"What are you doing? I've already decided that I'm not going."
Yunah smiled politely at the woman across the counter. "Ignore her. She says that every fifteen minutes or so."
"I'm serious this time."
"Yeah but you were serious the other times too."
Yunah handed over her card before Minju could reach out and stop.
The machine beeped, and soon after payment was accepted for the both of them.
Just like that, Minju's fate was sealed with one very cheerful receipt.
The employee handed over the garment bag with a smile. "I hope both of you enjoy prom."
Minju forced out something of a smile as gratitude while she imagined herself leaving already internally.
The moment they stepped outside, the cool evening air hit her face.
She inhaled deeply.
The city streets glowed under streetlights while people walked past carrying an assortment of things, shopping bags, purses and backpacks as they traveled through the sidewalk.
Yunah bumped her shoulder lightly, their bags tapping each other in the process.
Minju looked between them before looking away.
"Thanks for the dress." She mumbled.
"No problem! That's what friends with rich parents are for."
Minju let out a quiet scoff.
"That sounds unbelievably spoiled when you say it out loud."
"What? It's true." Yunah gasped loudly. "My mom said if I was going to spoil myself, I might as well do the same for my friends."
Minju rolled her eyes before she started down the sidewalk. Yunah soon followed her footsteps that led them to the nearest bus stop.
Along their little stroll, Minju had fallen quiet though that wasn't that much different to what she normally did but her friend felt something was off in her silence.
She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you silent?"
"Were you expecting me to start freestyling to keep the conversation going? Minju answered sharply.
Yunah chuckled as she shook her head. "Anyways, I was just wondering..." she said, moving on to something new.
"What if he asks you to dance?"
Minju stopped walking so abruptly that someone behind her nearly walked into her.
"What?"
Yunah turned around slowly, entirely too pleased with herself.
"At prom."
"I heard you."
"Then why do you look like your soul just left your body?"
Minju swallowed a breath then she started walking again at a pace that looked suspiciously like fleeing her question.
"That won't happen."
"You sound very sure." Yunah matched her pace.
"Because he would never ask me."
"And why not?"
"Because..." she started before she softened. "Because why would he? He's this outgoing, social butterfly that anybody could just walk to and I'm just...Minju."
"Saying that as if you didn't just call yourself pretty earlier." Yunah replied quickly after.
Minju froze on the spot as her breath stopped midway down her throat.
After another chuckle, her teasing expression softened slightly.
"You know," Yunah said quietly, "sometimes I think you're the only person who doesn't realize how much he likes being around you."
Minju laughed once in disbelief.
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"He waits for you after class."
"That's because our classrooms are right next to each other."
"He bought your favorite snacks that one time."
"It isn't my fault he also likes the same flavor of chips and bought one too many."
"He remembers things you say that even you forget saying," Yunah continued.
Minju opened her mouth as she remembered the bouquet sitting on her desk.
"That proves nothing." she finally said after another moment.
"Minju." Yunah gave her a long look.
"What?"
"He bought you crocheted flowers."
"That is just a one time thing..."
"He bought them because you said people spend money on things that wilt after a week," Yunah said in one breath, "That's not something who just wants to be friends with you would do!"
Minju turned to face her, brows burrowed in slightly. "I remembered other things he says but I also remember things you say and all of our other friends said, it isn't unusual to do so."
Once Yunah was shut down, she turned to take more steps down the sidewalk.
"Then what about the way he looks at you?" She heard her say from behind.
Minju froze on the spot yet again.
She didn't turn around and she didn't breathe right away either.
"In what way?" she asked, but it came out softer than she intended as if it was from her own curiosity than to retort
Behind her, Yunah didn't answer immediately.
"The way he looks at you," she repeated, slower this time, "likeâlike he was always only looking at the moon in the sky and not the miniscule stars around it."
Minju let out another short and disbelieving scoff.
"That sounds like something straight out of a fairy tale."
Yunah gave a small, almost helpless laugh, like she knew exactly how ridiculous it sounded and still meant every word anyway.
"It is," she said simply. "That's kind of the problem."
Minju finally turned her head a little, just enough to glance back.
"You're saying things like that again," she muttered. "You're going to make me regret accepting that dress."
"No, you're going to regret not noticing things sooner," Yunah corrected.
Minju scoffed, but it came out weaker this time. "There's nothing to notice." she continued on, approaching the blue-roofed bus stop down the sidewalk.
Yunha quickly caught up with her, matching her pace before she asked another question.
"When he looks at you...do you really not notice it?"
Minju's steps slowed again.
Streetlights painted soft light across the sidewalk while cars passed in one by one beside them. Somewhere nearby, teenagers laughed too loudly outside a convenience store. The world kept moving as if Minju's heart hadn't suddenly decided to perform cartwheels against her ribs.
She tightened her grip around the bag she was holding.
Minju sighed through her nose.
"Ofâof course I notice when people look at me," she said carefully.
Yunah tilted her head. "And?"
"And..." Minju hesitated as she realized the problem.
The problem was that she noticed everything.
The way your eyes always found her first in crowded classrooms.
The way your expression softened whenever she rambled about things she claimed not to care about or when she was proclaiming to the world how much she hated you.
The way you looked proud whenever she succeeded at something as if her achievements somehow belonged to you too.
The way your gaze lingered just a little too long sometimes before you awkwardly looked elsewhere.
And the worst part?
She noticed how her stomach flipped every single time.
Minju stared ahead at the bus stop.
âI thinkâŚâ she said, softening her voice. âI think he looks at me like Iâm worth more than what I am.â
The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could grab them out of the air and shove them back where they came from.
âThatâs not a good thing,â she added after a moment, more to herself than to Yunah. Â
Yunah glanced at her. âWhy not?â
âI justâŚâ she started, then stopped before she tried again. âI donât know what heâs seeing when he looks at me like that.âÂ
The girl next to her exhaled softly, like sheâd been holding it in for a while.Â
They walked under the bus stop.
Minju took a seat first before Yunah sat down next to her.
âDo you think heâs wrong for looking at you like that?â she asked, placing the bag over her lap.
Minju hesitated, âI donât know,â she admitted. Then, almost stubbornly, she added, âMaybe he is.âÂ
Yunah hummed softly, her voice carried by the soft breeze that blew by. The light above them flickered then steadied. She leaned back slightly, letting the bench creak under her weight.
âI think I know what you're afraid of.â she finally said.Â
Minju looked over with the sides of her eyes.
âYou're afraid of someone actually seeing you and for them to actually care.â Yunah said in a single breath.Â
She heard a scoff beside her.
âSince when were you this poetic?â Minju mumbled before she felt a soft shove against her elbow. She rubbed the spot slowly.
âSeriously though,â Yunah leaned forward, resting her elbows against her knees. âYouâre scared that if you believe he likes you and youâre wrong, youâll feel stupid.â
âThatâsââ Minju tried to retort.
Keyword, tried.
Her shoulders eased either in defeat or they also grew tired of her hiding behind herself.
âI just think,â she said quietly, âthat he'll just leave after he realises I'm not as interesting as he thought.â
Minjuâs eyes dropped to the floor.
âMy grades are good.â
âI know how to make myself useful.â
âI know how to be someone people can rely on.â
Minju looked up at the traffic in front of them.
âBut when thatâs goneâŚâ
She swallowed hard.
âWhatâs left?â
Yunah looked at her like she couldnât believe Minju could sound like this.
âWhatâs left?â she repeated softly.
âMhm, yeah.â
Yunah reached over and flicked Minjuâs forehead.
âOuch!â
âWhatâs left,â Yunah said, ignoring her glare, âis the girl who argues with teachers when they grade unfairly.â
Minju blinked at her.
âThe girl who pretends she hates helping the younger years but somehow always does when they ask, even if it's the simplest thing.â
âThe girl who acts annoyed when her friends call her crying at two in the morning but still picks up every single time.â
Minju stared at her.
âAnd the girl who should come out of hiding and face her feelings head on.â Yunah smiled softly.
The bus stop fell quiet around them.
A bus roared past without stopping, wind following behind it hard enough to push loose strands of Minjuâs hair across her face. She tucked them behind her ear absentmindedly.
Yunah smiled softly at her then her expression relaxed again.
âIt shouldn't be that easy.â Her head dropped again. âWhen people like you,â Minju said softly, eyes fixed on the pavement below her shoes, âthereâs always a version of you they like first.â
âThe useful version.â
âThe smart version.â
âThe version that gets things done.â
Minju laughed bitterly under her breath.
âAnd when they find out youâre actually difficult or insecure or annoying or that sometimes you say the wrong things and push people away before they can leave firstâŚâ
Her throat tightened.
âThey leave anyway.â
Yunah stared at her friend like she was seeing a side of Minju had been pushed away for years.
She reached over and grabbed Minjuâs hand, warmly and sincerely.
âHe already sees those parts.â
âWhat?â Minju blinked.
Yunah squeezed her hand.
âHeâs seen you snap at people, seen you overthink, seen you act like you hate compliments and seen how cranky you are before tests.â
A reluctant laugh escaped Minju before she could stop it.
Yunah smiled softly at the sound like she had been waiting for it.
âAnd he still stayed.â
Minjuâs smile slowly disappeared.
âHe stayed after all of your bad moods, he stayed after your sharp words, he stayed after every opportunity he had to lose interest.â
Her voice softened again.
"And he still stayed, didn't he?"
Minju looked away first, her ears beginning to burn. She leaned back against the bench and looked up at the night sky.
There werenât many visible stars tonight, just the moon still shining brightly high above the city.
Against all logic, her thoughts drifted back to you.
Your laugh.
Your stupidly kind face.
The way you looked at her like she was something soft enough to protect and strong enough to admire at the same time.
âSo what if he asks me to dance?â she whispered.
Yunah turned so fast she nearly fell off the bench with a gasp.
âSo you are imagining it!â
Minju groaned immediately. âWhy are you yelling?â
âBecause you want him to dance with you!â
âI said what if. That is not the same thing.â
âIf he asks you to danceââ Yunah grabbed both of her shoulders dramatically.Â
âHe wonât.â
âand thatâs a very weak if, because I just know he willââ
âYunah.â
âYOU are going to say yes.â
âI donât dance.â Minju stared at her as if she was speaking in another language.
âYou just sway awkwardly for three minutes and it'll all be over. Thatâs literally all slow dancing is, you just do the dance!â
âThat sounds horrifying.â
Yunah rolled her eyes.
âAnd despite that, I think a tiny part of you wants it to happen.â
Minju looked away first, not wanting to give her friend any more fuel for her teasing.
As if it were on cue, their bus pulled up with a loud screech.
The doors pushed themselves open.
Minju stood up from the seat first.
âGo on, be careful on your way home.â Yunah said, standing up right after her. âIâll take a cab back to my parentâs place.âÂ
Minju hesitated before the first step.
Just a small pause, right there at the edge of the bus door, like her body had briefly forgotten which direction it was supposed to go.Â
ââŚyou too,â she muttered, not quite turning around.
Yunah smiled, raising a hand at her. âText me when you get home.â
âI always do.â
âI know. I just like saying it.â
Minju rolled her eyes at her then finally stepped onto the bus.
-
"I'm home!"
Minju closed the door behind her with a heel and locked it soon after.
Her voice echoed faintly throughout the house with no response coming from any corner.
She wasn't expecting any different.
Her mother often worked late shifts at the hospital as one of the nurses going through the halls and going room to room while her father usually didn't come home until long after midnight if he was buried under paperwork at the firm.
The apartment was quiet in the familiar way that felt neither lonely nor comforting.
It was just the way it normally was.
Minju slipped off her shoes near the entrance and lined them up neatly against the wall out of habit before dragging herself further inside.
She walked through the dark living room and to the kitchen where she turned on the lights.
Moments after, her footsteps carried her up the stairs and towards her room where she pushed the door open and flicked open the light switch for her to see the lightly pink walls and her bed that had sheets and pillows of the same color scheme.
She placed the bag over her bed and walked to the long mirror that stood beside her closet. Leaning in, she took a closer look at herself, carefully pushing some strands of hair behind her ear.
Minju grabbed a plush headband that hung from the side as she slowly got started with her nightly routine that she had done plenty of times before.
She began with a warm bath then began applying all of the facial products she needed in front of the mirror.
When she was back in her room, she quickly got changed before heading downstairs for her dinner.
The soft whirring of the microwave echoed through the home as Minju leaned against the counter waiting for the small cup of instant noodles to finish cooking.
This was how her nights normally went when both of her parents were still out by nighttime.
Not that she minded though, of course.
That was what she always told herself.
She thrived in silence anyways, that was where she felt mostly like herself. She could make noise all she wanted, make whatever she wanted to eat, accidentally drop a pan or two, shout down the halls and watch the TV loudly with no repercussions.
But sometimes, she wouldn't have minded it.
She wouldn't have minded if she came home to a freshly cooked meal.
She wouldn't have minded if someone asked how her day was.
She wouldn't have minded if someone asked how the dress looked on her.
DING!
The microwave came to an abrupt stop as the light inside died.
Minju stared at its small window for a moment before pushing herself off the counter.
The cup was warm in her hands as she peeled back the lid.
Steam rose upward, fogging her vision for half a second before disappearing just as quickly.
She grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the drawer and made her way back to her room.
Placing it over her desk, she crouched down under the table and after a couple of plugs being pushed into sockets, the computer whirred to life.
The screen blinked awake as it transitioned to her home screen.
Minju pulled herself back into her chair, crossing one leg over the other as she stirred her noodles absentmindedly. Her desk was cluttered in the very specific way only her desk could be, stacks of neatly highlighted notes, pens sorted by color., sticky notes with deadlines scribbled across them, a half-finished worksheet she had promised herself she would complete tonight.
She looked right beside her lamp, her eyes narrowed.
The crocheted flowers still sat where she last placed them, inside a glass cup she had stolen from the kitchen because she refused to admit she needed somewhere "proper" to put them.
The soft yarn petals were still perfectly intact.
Minju let out a dramatic sigh before taking a bite of noodles, reaching over to her mouse and clicked some apps open allowing her to spend time on another hobby of hers.
Video games.
She continued eating as a queue continued to count upwards on her screen.
She was almost finished with the cup of noodles when the words popped up on her screen.
'Match Found!'
"Finally." Minju straightened in her chair immediately, nearly dropping her chopsticks onto her keyboard.
She clicked accept without hesitation, adjusting her headset over her ears as the loading screen appeared. The game music swelled dramatically through her headphones while usernames slowly populated the lobby.
Sometimes, this was better than what real life had to offer because games are wonderfully simple.
You either won, lost or drew.
You either carry your team or watch them make decisions so catastrophically stupid that it makes you wonder how they managed to survive crossing a road in real life.
Her fingers moved quickly over the keyboard as the match officially began after bans and picking which champion to use.
-
The game went on as usual, taking most of Minju's focus.
Beside her keyboard was where her phone was, laying with a dark screen before it suddenly buzzed to life.
The vibration cut through the low hum of her computer.
Minju didn't notice it at first.
She was mid-fight, her fingers were prepared on her skills, eyes sharp, posture leaning forward like she could physically intimidate the enemies to feed their gold into her.
But then it buzzed again, then again and one more to fully gain her attention.
"That better not be Yunah."
She dodged another attack before quickly glancing down.
Her phone screen lit up and her entire body froze.
Your name with three unread messages.
Her character stopped moving entirely.
Which proved to be a catastrophic decision.
You have been slain.
Minju looked at the grayed screen in front of her with the timer ticking down.
With a disgruntled sigh, she picked up her phone to finally read what you had sent her way.
Her respawn timer continued ticking down in the corner of her monitor.
"What kind of question is that?"
She stared at the screen.
Was this normal?
Did people text each other about prom so casually?
Was there a hidden meaning?
Was he asking if she had a dress?
If she had plans?
Worse, what if he was going to ask if she had a date?
Her champion respawned but she didn't move.
She picked up her phone for a moment.
Three little dots appeared on her screen immediately.
Her eyes narrowed themselves.
The phone buzzed again.
Just like that, her stomach dropped.
For a second, Minju genuinely considered throwing her phone across the room. Instead, she stared at the message so hard it nearly burned into her retinas.
Hesitantly, she typed right back.
Minju stared at your reply in complete disbelief.
"What." her eyebrows slowly furrowed.
Was that really it?
Was that all you were going to say after causing her entire body to freeze in place?
Her phone remained still in her hand before her attention was pulled back by the familiar pinging sound. Her eyes drifted back to her screen where multiple question marks started appearing around her character.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here." Minju mumbled, placing the phone down and already reaching back for her mouse.
Then her phone buzzed again.
Minju didn't look at it.
Actually, she refused to look at it.
Her eyes stayed glued to her monitor, fingers snapping back into motion as if nothing had happened.
A picture passed through her imagination right after, one that was you staring up at your phone and waiting for her reply.
Maybe you were looking at your phone with stupid puppy dog eyes that would have totally worked on her.
Her jaw tightened.
No, she would have to reply to you right after the game.
She wasn't going to reward you for appearing out of nowhere, make her mind race just from one message then cower back to whatever hole you crawled out of.
Minju clicked furiously around her screen.
And after multiple team fights around the map, across the three lanes and inside towers, the victory carefully materialized itself on her screen.
Her phone buzzed a couple more times through all of it and she was proud enough of herself to not check it even once.
She reached for her cup of noodles instead only to discover the broth had gone cold.
Finally, she picked up her phone again and opened them to see the messages you've left.
And just like that, all of her irritation dissolved and so did most of her curiosity.
"...idiot." she mumbled.
Minju stood up from her seat, contemplating whether to still type up a reply.
Then she heard a sound from downstairs.
A rhythmic tapping against metal that echoed softly through the gap she'd left open on her door.
She was sure that she locked the front door when she got back and she was even more sure that neither of her parents left anything else open downstairs.
But still considering that she was home alone, she couldn't help but feel hesitant.
"What's that?" she dropped her arms back to her side, fingers grazing the screen lightly enough to tap the phone icon over your profile.
Then she walked out of her room.
-
Across the city, you stood inside of your room. Your hand rubbed a towel over your damp hair from the warm shower you just got out of.
Your phone vibrated suddenly against the pillow you left it on.
For half a second, you just stared at the screen.
You pressed it against your ear, towel still hanging around your neck while water dripped from the ends of your hair onto the floor unnoticed.
"Hello?"
From the other side of the call, you could faintly hear the faint sound of her footsteps.
"Hello?" you said again, a bit louder this time.
Silence followed until you heard a loud creak of metal come from her end.
"It was just the tap." Minju spoke, voice full of relief.
The girl stood in the kitchen, hand having just pushed up the faucet and oblivious to what was going on with her phone.
"Park Minju!"
The girl turned around the empty home, startled by the voice of someone calling her name. Looking across the dim living room to each dark corner, she could've swore she didn't imagine it.
"What the hell?" her grip on the phone tightened instantly.
"MINJU." On the other end of the call, you nearly choked.
She looked down to her hand as the realization slowly and painfully set in.
"Did you call me?" she asked, pressing the phone to her ear.
"WhatâNo, you were the one who called me!"
"That must've been some kind of mistake," Minju scoffed. "I didn't call you."
"Well that's weird, I specifically remember seeing your contact calling my phone."
"Then it was an accident, that's all." She looked at her screen, "I'll hang up now, bye."
"Minjuâwait!"
"...What." Her thumb hovered over the screen.
"What were you doing just now?" you asked quickly, words almost tumbling out of you.
Minju caught up half a second too late.
"Why are you asking?"
"I don't know, you seemed a little spooked when I picked up the call so I was wondering."
"It's nothing, I've already dealt with it. Is that all? Goodnight."
"Waitâwait! Maybe we could...talk for a bit." your voice trailed off on the line.
Minju's entire body went still.
The kitchen suddenly felt far too quiet.
The refrigerator hummed softly somewhere behind her. The clock seemingly ticked on louder than it was before. And through the phone pressed against her ear, your voice waited carefully on the other side with one foot tapping against your floor.
Talk?
For a bit?
Her first instinct immediately set in and almost acted on its own.
No.
Absolutely not.
Because talking to you for "a bit" somehow always became twenty minutes of bickering, accidentally saying something she shouldn't have, laughing at things she pretended weren't funny, and hanging up feeling strangely lighter afterward.
Yet.
"What do you wanna talk about then?" Minju leaned one shoulder against the kitchen counter, narrowing her eyes at absolutely nothing.
"Prom's soon, maybe that."
Minju immediately regretted asking.
Because now the topic somehow materialized itself in front of her again.
Prom.
She was once again reminded of that stupid dance occupying half the school's collective brain cells. The same event everyone kept talking about like it was some life-changing cinematic experience instead of awkward teenagers renting fancy clothes to stand around under dim lighting and pretend they knew how to dance.
"That sounds terrible already," she muttered.
You laughed quietly through the phone. "You haven't even heard what I was gonna say."
"I heard enough."
She wandered slowly out of the kitchen and into the living room, phone tucked against her ear while her feet dragged lazily across the floor.
On your side of the call, you dropped onto the edge of your bed with the towel still hanging around your shoulders.
"So," you started carefully, "are you excited for it?"
"No."
"That answer came out way too fast."
She sank onto the couch eventually, curling one leg underneath herself.
"I just don't really get the hype," she continued. "Everyone's acting like it's some grand and magical ball. And everybody's going in their own carriages with big dresses and flashy suits."
"Were you just describing Cinderella?"
"Shut it."
You laughed again.
That stupid laugh.
Minju stared blankly at the ceiling while listening to it fade through the speaker.
A short silence settled between you afterward. It wasn't awkward, it was simply silence shared across the line.
It wasn't long before you broke it though.
"Do you already have someone you're going with?"
She heard the question a second too late and didn't know how to act.
"Why?" she asked carefully.
"I was just wondering. Because if you wereâ"
"No," she answered quickly, too fast to sound casual. "I'm not going with anyone."
From your side, your shoulders loosened from the tension forming in them before you even noticed.
"Really?"
Minju frowned immediately. "Why do you sound relieved?"
"I don't sound relieved."
"You absolutely do sound relieved."
"I do not."
"You do."
You let out an exasperated breath through the speaker. "Fine. Maybe a little."
Her stomach flipped so suddenly she nearly hated herself for it.
Minju pressed her lips together hard.
"But why were you asking?"
For once, you didn't dodge the question because across the city, sitting at the edge of your bed with damp hair and your heartbeat trying to punch through your ribs, you figured you had already come this far.
"Because I wanted to ask if maybe you'd go with me and maybe save me a dance?"
Everything inside Minju stopped.
Inside her chest was nothing for a moment, absolute silence for one terrifying second then it all came at once.
Heat rushed straight to her face so fast she physically covered her mouth with her hand despite the fact you couldn't even see her.
You continued before she could respond. Probably because you were panicking too now.
"Not like a huge thing or anything," you rambled quickly. "And I know you said you hate prom and dancing and basically joy itself but I just thought maybe since we'd probably end up talking to each other there anyway and we already know each other and you wouldn't have to deal with random people asking you and I just thought maybe it'd be easier if we went together and I'm talking too much now, aren't I?"
The silence that followed almost killed you before you faintly heard something from her.
A short breath, one where you weren't sure if she laughed, sighed or scoffed.
"Idiot..."
"Wâwhat?" you replied.
Minju slowly lowered her hand from her mouth though the heat in her face refused to disappear.
Her heart was beating so loudly now that she didn't know what to do with it.
How was she supposed to respond to that?
She pressed her lips together harder.
"Okay." she finally said.
"What was that? What did you just say?" you replied quickly, fumbling over your words.
"I said okay, I'll go with you. It's not like I have anybody else. Dancing on the other hand, I'll have to think about it."
"...Wait seriously?"
The sheer disbelief in your voice made Minju's eyes roll over themselves.
"No, I just said yes for fun," she replied, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. "Obviously seriously."
"I thought you were gonna reject me."
"I almost did."
"Thankfully you didn't change your mind."
A laugh escaped you then, like you were finally able to laugh without weights over your shoulders.
And annoyingly enough, hearing it did something strange to her heartbeat again.
Minju reached up and pressed the back of her hand against her cheek.
It was still warm.
"So this means you're my prom date now?" you asked carefully as if you still didn't fully believe it.
"Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like..." she faltered immediately. "Like that."
You grinned despite her not being able to see it. "You're blushing, aren't you?"
"I hate you."
"That means yes."
"It means shut up."
Your laughter crackled through the speaker again, turning the quiet apartment into something softer around the edges. The living room no longer felt so hollow now. The ticking clock faded behind the sound of your voice.
Minju stared at the dark ceiling above her.
"So," you started again after calming down, "does this mean I get to know what dress you picked?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you'll see it at prom."
"Right, guess I'll just have to wait and see."
Minju hummed through the line.
You snorted quietly, changing the topic. "You know, I was actually trying to ask you earlier through text."
"Then you cowered away?"
"No, it's just that." you started, "I just thought that if you heard it come from me directly, you wouldn't think of it as me joking around."
Minju's expression softened before she could stop it
The teasing reply she already had prepared dissipated.
Because somehow, underneath all your awkward rambling and stumbling over words, she understood exactly what you meant.
If it came through text, she probably would have overanalyzed it.
If it came through text, she might have convinced herself you were joking.
Hearing your voice now in its slightly breathless and embarrassingly sincere way through the speaker, made it impossible to misunderstand.
"Well, are you?" she asked more as a rhetorical question than anything else.
"What? Noâof course not."
Minju let out a soft chuckle.
"I'm glad you called and asked though."
"Well, technically you called first."
"It was an accident."
"There are no such things as accidents onlyâ"
"I'm hanging up now."
"Okay, okay, fine." you replied with a groan. "So um...I guess I'll see you then?"
Minju tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she stared across the darkened living room.
"Yeah," she answered quietly. "I guess you will."
On your side, you leaned your head back against the wall behind your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling with the kind of stupid grin that would've absolutely gotten you ridiculed if Minju could see it right now.
"Cool," you replied, and somehow even that one word sounded too happy as you said it.
Minju rolled her eyes instinctively yet the corners of her mouth betrayed her again anyway.
"You sound ridiculous."
"You agreed to go to prom with me. I think I've earned sounding ridiculous."
"I could always back out."
"Yeah right."
A quiet scoff escaped her.
Her home felt less lonely with your voice lingering through the speaker, with the warmth still sitting stubbornly in her cheeks and with the realization that somewhere across the city, you were probably smiling like an idiot because of her.
Minju shifted on the couch, pulling her knees closer to herself.
"You better not step on my shoes during the dance," she mumbled.
Your laugh burst through the phone instantly. "So you are considering the dance."
"I said maybe."
"I'm counting that as a yes."
She hated how easily you answered that.
For a moment, neither of you spoke again.
Minju then glanced toward the clock and sighed through her nose.
"It's late."
"Yeah," you murmured. "It is. We should get some sleep"
Neither of you hung up immediately.
"Goodnight, Minju."
Her heartbeat stumbled again at the softness in your voice.
"Goodnight..." she pulled the phone away first.
The call ended and suddenly the house became quiet again.
Minju stared down at the dark screen in her hand for a long moment before slowly pushing herself off the couch and making her way back upstairs.
The hallway lights cast soft shadows across the walls as she walked, her phone still loosely held in her hand while her heartbeat stubbornly refused to settle down completely.
Back inside her room, the light escaped through the small gap she had left behind. On her table, the crocheted flowers remained beside her lamp beside the rest of her cluttered things exactly where she left them.
Minju glanced at them briefly before dropping onto the edge of her bed.
Prom still sounded exhausting.
The loud music.
The crowded gym.
The dancing.
She still thought most of it was overrated.
Yet for the first time since everyone couldn't stop talking about it, the thought of going didn't seem completely unbearable anymore.
Maybe there was finally a reason to look forward to it after all.
Minju wasnât the type to go outside and bask in the sunlight.
She wasnât the type to wander into unfamiliar streets just to see where they ended, or to sit in crowded malls where conversations mixed into the background.
She lived quietly and comfortably indoors, like a cat that had memorized every room in the house and decided that was enough for her to explore.
And thatâs where you come in.
Because somehow, somewhere between shared school lunches and conversations that stretched a little longer than they needed to, you became the one person who always pulled her out of that quiet safe space of hers.
If she had to describe what you were like, sheâd say that you were a storm that dragged her outside by force, well not literally but she still found herself standing in front of a crossing or anywhere else that wasnât her room.
âFollow me,â you said one afternoon, already stepping toward the edge of the sidewalk as the pedestrian light blinked its impatient countdown.
Minju stood a few steps back, arms crossed, watching the intersection.
âWhy are we even here?â she asked.
âYouâll see.â
âYou always say that.â
âAnd you always come anyway.â
She clicked her tongue, but she didnât deny it.
Cars slowed as the light turned red and the crossing light turned green. People began to cross in that synchronized shuffle of strangers who would never look at each other twice.
You glanced back at her.
She hadnât moved.
Minju looked back at you with the same uninterested look on her face whenever you asked her to come with you. She exhaled, tightening her arms across her chest before looking away.
âStop sulking.â
âIâm just standing here.â
You laughed under your breath, the sound nearly mixing into the traffic around you.
Minju only looked more irritated by it.
She hated that laugh because it always sounded like you found something quietly amusing about the world, like everything was lighter or more colorful when viewed through your eyes. It made it annoyingly difficult to stay annoyed at you for long.
Which was inconvenient, considering you seemed determined to test her patience at least three times a week.
The countdown at the crossing began flashing.
Without wanting to waste another second, you walked back to her.
Minju still looked elsewhere, one arm still crossed against her chest as the other swiped strands of her hair. She was distracted enough to not notice you reach out for her hand and pull it with you.
âWhaââ
The protest barely left her lips before you were already pulling her forward.
Minju stumbled once, caught completely off guard as her feet scrambled to match your pace.
âAre you insane?â she hissed.
âWe have six seconds.â
âThatâs not reassuring!â
âItâs plenty of time.â
âThat sounds like something people say right before disasters happen!â
You laughed, weaving through the last few people while keeping a firm hold on her hand.
Minju stared at the back of your head in complete disbelief.
This was exactly what she meant.
This ridiculous impulsiveness that always bulldozed through her carefully planned quiet days.
One moment sheâd be peacefully existing in her room.
The next she was being dragged across a busy intersection by someone who treated life like it was an empty carnival with attractions and rides that they had to try out without skipping a single one.
You walked further down the sidewalk, still pulling Minju along behind you. She hadn't said anything since then, only looking at the back of your head and then lowering down to your hands that still held each other, fingers loosely connected.
Soon, the park came into view.
Minju slowed first, not enough to stop you but enough to pull your arm.
You looked back.
She was staring at the park gates with squinted eyes, suspicion already growing within them.
âNo.â
âNo, what?â you replied.
âAnywhere but the park.â
You frowned. âWhat did the park ever do to you?â
Minju stared at the gates like they were her worst memory.
âItâs loud.â
âItâs a park.â
âThere are children.â
âYeah, anybody could go there.â
âThere are also couples.â
You blinked once.
ââŚAnd?â
âTheyâre disgusting.â
You let out a laugh so sudden you nearly had to stop walking.
âThen ignore them, we aren't here to look at people anyway.âÂ
Minju groaned behind you as the both of you walked through the gates. She looked forward and spotted the colorful drapes of tents in the distance.
Rows of tents stretched across the open field, each draped in bright fabrics that fluttered lazily in the wind. It looked like someone had spilled a box of paint across the park and decided to leave it there. People wandered between booths carrying paper bags and drinks as music played faintly from somewhere deeper in the crowd.
âWhat is this?â Minju narrowed her eyes.
You turned around and began walking backward again, hands still linked.
âA market.â
âThat tells me nothing.â
âItâs a handmade market.â
âThat still tells me almost nothing.â
âLocal artists, food stalls, collectible shops, random things people make when they have too much free time and want to show it to everybody else.â
Minju rolled her eyes.
Great.
If she didn't make it clear enough that she didn't like going outside very much, she hated it more if she had to be in the middle of a crowd.
And now you had the brightest idea of dragging her to the market.
Minju stopped walking altogether.
Your arm jerked back with hers.
You turned, nearly stumbling from the sudden resistance.
She stood there with a flat expression.
âNo.â
You blinked. âWeâre doing this again?â
âYes.â
âWeâre already inside.â
âThat sounds like your problem.â
You stared at her.
Around you, the market continued on without concern. Someone nearby was loudly advertising handmade keychains. A child ran past holding cotton candy the size of their head. The wind carried the smell of different food across the park
And Minju looked like sheâd rather stay in bed.
âThere are too many people,â she muttered.
You glanced around.
It was crowded but not overwhelmingly so, yet enough to make her shoulders tense and her brows pinch together in that familiar way youâd started recognizing.
The playful grin on your face softened.
âYou okay?â
Minju hated how quickly that deflated her irritation.
âI'm fine,â she replied but you didn't buy it.
âWe don't have to go inside, the stalls out here are fine too.â
Minju narrowed her eyes.
âThat was your grand plan?â
You blinked. âWhat?â
âYou dragged me across the city like you were helping someone on the runâŚjust to stand outside a market?â
You gestured vaguely toward the nearest row of stalls. âNot really, but I still wanted to check the stalls out here.âÂ
âThatâs somehow even dumber.â
You laughed again, it slipped through the noise of the crowd and found her anyway, annoyingly soft and familiar.
Minju hated how her shoulders loosened at the sound before she could stop them.
The stalls near the edge of the park were quieter.
Far fewer people wandered through this section, most of them drifting deeper into the louder center where the larger stalls and live music were.
Here, the booths were smaller, one sold handmade soaps shaped like fruit, a quiet elderly man painted watercolor paintings at another stall, barely looking up as customers passed, and all kinds of snacks and drinks one could need on a hot summer afternoon like today.
Minju glanced around.
âSee anything you like?â you asked from her side.
âNo, absolutely nothing.â she replied quickly.
âHow about those?â you pointed to a stall.
Minju looked over and spotted a stall selling fluffy hats that were like the ears of animals.Â
She stared at the display then slowly turned to you.
âNo.â
You looked offended. âYou havenât even tried one on.â
âI donât need to try one on to know the answer is no.â
âThat pink bunny one is practically begging for a chance.â
âIt can beg elsewhere.â
You chuckled as you walked over and picked up one that had the design of floppy dog ears. Placing it over your head, you reached for the bunny ears afterwards.
Minju took one immediate step back.
âDonât.â
You looked at her like you were being deeply misunderstood.
âYou donât even know what I was going to do.â
âYeah, but I know what you want to do.â
âCâmon, just try it! If you do, I won't have to force you to do anything else. We can even find a place to sit down.âÂ
Minju looked at you then to the plush hat then back at you as the expression written across your face didn't change.
A soft sigh left her lips before she took it from your hand, fingers brushing over hers with the lightest contact.
She looked to the ground as she put it on. Her head began to heat up from the material, though that didn't really explain how it spread across the rest of her face.
âSee, no harm done.âÂ
Minju didnât answer immediately.
That was usually your first warning sign.
Instead, she adjusted the bunny hat slightly, as if it might somehow become less humiliating if positioned at the correct angle of denial.
âI look ridiculous,â she muttered.
âThatâs right.â You leaned in then nodded with far too much enthusiasm.
Her eyes narrowed instantly.
âIâm taking it off.â
âWaitâwaitâno,â you said quickly, hands up in surrender. âI meant it in a good way.â
âThere is no good way to look ridiculous.âÂ
âThatâs not true. There are charming forms of ridiculous. And right now, you are one of them. You look cute.âÂ
Minju froze for a second. Her brain, for once, failed to provide its usual sharp rebuttal and left her with silence.
âDonât say that,â she muttered finally, a little too softly. âEspecially when I look like an idiot.â
âYeah? Then what does that make me?â you asked, swinging one of the ears to the back of your head.
âAn even bigger one.â
You tried holding back a laugh until it broke through your smile. It didnât sound like a tease but more like you just accepted the fact that you were being a harmless nuisance.
âIâll take that,â you said easily, adjusting the floppy dog ears on your head like it was a crown you fully deserved.
Minju clicked her tongue again, but it didnât have its usual snarky tone. She turned slightly away, as if distance could fix the fact that her face still felt warm.
âWe should sit,â she muttered.
You brightened immediately.
âSure thing, I saw a couple of benches by the pond.â
Minju didnât reply with her words, she simply tugged at the hem of her sleeve again, then started walking without looking at you.Â
âHey, we havenât paid for those yetââ you raised your hand to get her attention but she simply kept walking.
You looked back at the stall and now noticed the person inside who seemed to have watched the whole thing play out.
The both of you shared an awkward laugh before you pulled out your wallet.
Minju found herself sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree that loomed over her.
The park continued to live on around her and so did the pond that rippled in small, patient waves that folded into each other. Sunlight scattered across the surface in broken pieces, drifting whenever the wind decided to blow.
She sat with her legs crossed as the bunny still sat stiffly on her head. She adjusted them once more, pushing one of the ears back into place.
Beside her, you dropped onto the bench like it belonged to you. The dog ears you had claimed earlier tilted slightly when you leaned back, catching the light in a way that made them look far too natural on you.
Mi noticed and she immediately regretted it.
âYou look ridiculous,â she said again, but quieter now.
âHey, Iâm not the only one whoâs wearing an animal hat.âÂ
Minju scoffed and she almost took the bunny ears off her but her arm went back to her side.
âYouâre worse,â she muttered instead.
You placed a hand dramatically over your chest like she had deeply wounded your pride.
âWorse?â you repeated. âI let you insult me for free and this is what I get?â
âYouâre lucky Iâm still sitting here.â
âWant me to say thanks for that?â
âNo, itâs a threat that if you say anything more, I will leave.â
You stared at her for a moment before slowly raising both hands in surrender.
âUnderstood. I value my life.â
âYou should.â
A laugh escaped you anyway, quieter this time, careful enough not to push her too far.
Minju leaned back against the bench and looked toward the pond again, pretending the conversation was over.
Quack! Quack!
The both of you looked down to the edge of the pond in front of you where a duck sat still on the water beyond the railing.
The duck stared at both of you.
âYou hungry, little guy?â you asked.
The duck didn't answer, it simply stared back.
âMaybe we should give it something,â she muttered.
âThatâs fair,â you said easily, leaning forward slightly, elbows on your knees before standing up. âIâve been eyeing all of the snack stalls back there, I'll go get something it could eat, hopefully.â
Minju turned her head so fast the bunny ear flopped dramatically to the back of her head.
âAnd you're not getting me anything?â She didn't expect for her words to sound the way they did, like she assumed that you were thinking of her too.
You blinked.
Then your mouth slowly curved upward in a grin so unbearably smug that Minju immediately regretted being alive.
âFine, you want anything?â you asked.
Anywhere but directly at the fact that she had just exposed herself in the most humiliating way possible.
Minju stared at your stupid grin then looked anywhere else but directly at the fact that she had just exposed herself in the most humiliating way possible.
âI changed my mind. Go back to the market and hope you never return.â Her voice came out much flatter than she felt.
You laughed immediately.
âTempting, but I think youâd miss me.â
âI absolutely would not.â
âYeah, yeah, I doubt it.â you answered back, already waving her off as you began walking away.
Her eyes narrowed as you disappeared further into the crowd, one hand lazily raised above your head in a wave like you had won something.
Which, annoyingly enough, you probably thought you did.
âYouâre so annoying,â she muttered under her breath.
Quack!
She looked down.
The duck had drifted closer to the edge of the pond again, staring up at her with the same blank expression it had maintained this entire interaction.
Minju crossed her arms.
âDonât start.â
Quack!
âI was not going to miss him.â
The duck blinked.
âFine, maybe I doâŚa little. So what?âÂ
The duck remained completely still, as if absorbing her words with far too much brain power for an animal floating in pond water.
Minju narrowed her eyes on it.
âYou look way too smug for something I can just pick up and throw.â
The duck swatted its wings.Â
She let out a quiet sigh and leaned back against the bench, her gaze drifting toward the market where you had disappeared. She could still spot flashes of colorful tents through passing groups of people, along with the occasional glimpse of someone carrying overpriced drinks or bags full of things they absolutely did not need.Â
You had only been gone for a few minutes and yet the space beside her felt noticeably emptier.
It irritated her enough that she pulled one of the bunny ears down over her face for a moment before letting it snap back into place.
âThis is exactly why I donât like getting used to people,â she muttered quietly.
The duck offered no sympathy, only another quack.
âItâs bad enough to like someone but itâs far worse if you have to push yourself every time just to see them.â Minju placed her head in her hands in quiet defeat.
Another quack came from her feathery friend as it swam around in the water.
âGlad to see the both of you became friends while I was away.â
Minjuâs head snapped up so fast the bunny hat nearly flew off her head.
You were standing a few steps away with a paper bag in one hand and drinks in the other, looking entirely too pleased with yourself.
The duck immediately ditched being Minjuâs moral listener and swam toward your side from beyond the railing.
You set the bag of food and drinks down on the bench, the paper crinkling softly as it settled between you. From it, you took out a blue lemonade and a sandwich for yourself, then carefully pulled out the other set meant for her. While your drink swirled around the straw in its cool color, the drink you placed on her side was pink, its color a quiet contrast to yours.
âHow much do I owe you?â Minju asked, picking up the drink slowly.
You didnât answer immediately.
Instead, you paused before you fully sat down, like you had to think over her question a couple times over.
âYou donât owe me anything.â you said.
Minju blinked once.
âWhat?â she replied.
âI bought it for both of us, donât worry.â
Minju wanted to argue about paying for herself but wisely chose not to once she saw the blank look on your face.
You sat down beside her again, unwrapping your sandwich like the conversation had already moved on.
She stared at the drink in her hand for a moment longer before poking the straw through the lid with far more force than necessary.
âYou still couldâve asked if I wanted to pay,â she muttered.
You glanced at her. âIs buying my friend food a crime now?â
Minju paused at the word and had to shake her head out of it.
âNo, but Iâm more than capable of paying for myself. I donât need someone else doing things for me. Aish, now I feel like I owe you something.â she answered, eyes focusing back at the pond right in front of her.
âRelax, I did it because I wanted to. Thereâs no harm in that, plus, you donât owe me anything and thatâs final.â
Minju scoffed and rolled her eyes where you couldnât see.
For a while, the moment played out with no words in between, only the sounds of foil unwrapping and the sounds of life throughout the rest of the park.
You stole a glance over to look at Minju.Â
She wasnât doing much besides eating and staring off into the distance. The hat stayed perfectly still on her head and so did the ears. Her hair blew with the short gust of wind that flew by also carrying the smell of something sweet and flowery.
Warmth flushed across your face as you realized you were staring for far longer to be considered just a glance.
Your eyes drifted back down to the paper bag as something else crinkled inside as you shifted on your seat.
âI think I understand why you hate couples,â you said in between bites, looking at the people walking in pairs with smiles that seemed way too wide to be genuine.
Minju nearly choked on her drink. She pulled the cup away from her lips and turned toward you with narrowed eyes.
âWhat do you mean?â
You looked entirely too calm for someone who had just said something so absurd.
âYou called them disgusting, If I can remember correctly.â
âYeah, thatâs because they are.âÂ
âIs it because they hold hands and stay too close or they just seem way too happy to exist?â you asked.
âBoth. I hate it when they lean into each other or talk too loud in places they shouldnât. Donât even get me started if they have the nerve to kiss each other in public.â Minju answered, a hard scoff following her words.
âBut doesnât it seem a little nice?â
Minju paused for a breath and looked at you with some suspicion that led her to think you had something hidden in between your words.
âWhat, you suddenly want to show the rest of the world who you share saliva with?â
You laughed and shook your head at her words and the disgust in her voice.Â
âNo, I meant the part where they hold hands, lean in and stay close, share umbrellas or one pair of earphones.â
Minju stared at you like you had just voluntarily admitted to enjoying public humiliation.
âYou make it sound like itâs just straight from a romcom.â
You shrugged, peeling back another corner of your sandwich wrapper. âIâm just saying it doesnât look that bad.â
âIt looks unbearable,â she replied immediately. âHalf of them act like no one else exists.â
âMaybe thatâs the point.â
Her brows pulled together. âWhat does that even mean?â
You leaned back against the bench and looked toward the pond, your voice quieter now, lacking its usual teasing edge.
âI think itâs nice when someone becomes your first thought.â
Minju went still.
You continued before she could interrupt, your eyes following a pair walking along the path ahead of you. The girl had fallen slightly behind while fixing her shoe, and without even turning around, the guy slowed his pace to match hers like it was natural.
âLike when something funny happens and theyâre the first person you want to tell. Or when you see something good and immediately think theyâd like it too. Or when youâre in a crowd and your hand reaches for theirs before you even realize youâre doing it or when you somehow see them through it.âÂ
Minju didnât answer right away.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup, the small beads of condensation dampening her palm.
âYou like someone, donât you?â Minju asked, more as a tease than a question she wanted answers too, though she wouldnât mind it.
(She absolutely would mind it.)
âIs that all you got from that?â you glanced at her.
âYeah, I mean I wouldnât make love sound all that dreamy if I didnât have someone in mind.â
âItâs nothing much, I just like the idea of love.â you huffed out a chuckle.
Minju stared at you for a moment longer than necessary.
For some reason, that answer annoyed her far more than if you had simply admitted there was someone else.
âOf course you do,â she muttered before taking a long sip of her drink.
You blinked at her reaction. âWhy do you sound offended?â
âIâm not offended.â
âYou sound offended.â
âThis is how I normally sound.â
Another laugh escaped you before you shook your head. âWhatâs wrong with liking the idea of love?â
âEverything.â Minju let out a dry laugh of her own and leaned back against the bench.
âThatâs a little dramatic, donât you think?â
âNo, itâs simply realistic.â
You turned slightly toward her, curiosity replacing amusement. âGo on, explain it then.â
Minju stared at the pond for a while, watching the duck drift in lazy circles like it had nowhere important to be.
âPeople over-romanticize it too much,â she said after a moment. âThey make it sound life-changing and beautiful and worth every terrible decision they make.â
âAnd maybe it is.â
âAnd most of the time people become stupid.â she continued.
You nodded along as if you agreed.
âItâs already tiring enough to talk to people, I wouldnât imagine myself having to talk to one all my life.â she said in genuine disdain despite some parts of her contradicting her words.
âBut you gotta admit, love might not be half bad. Or some parts of it, at least.â you nudged her shoulder a fist softly.
Minju looked at you, grazing over the smile she had slowly come to memorize.
âMaybe.â she answered, biting down on her straw as she took another sip.
You let out a breath then as if you caught her red-handed.
âThat means you have someone in mind too.â
Minju nearly inhaled her drink. She coughed once, glaring at you like you had personally orchestrated her own actions.
âWhat?â she said a little too quickly.
You pointed at her with your sandwich like a detective who thought they surely had the truth with little evidence.
âYou didnât say no or brush it off so that means you actually thought about it and said maybe. Not no, not never in a million years, or even shut up. You said maybe.âÂ
Minju watched you fully turn towards her fast enough to send the dog ears to one side of your head.
She scoffed, âFine, maybe I did. Youâre the one who started all of this lovey-dovey talk so of course I thought about it!â
âReally now? Tell me, whoâs the lucky guy?â
Minjuâs eye twitched.
The absolute audacity you had.
You sat there looking far too entertained with yourself, sandwich still in hand.
She wanted to throw your drink into the pond and maybe she wanted to throw you into the pond after it.
Instead, she chose not to, which may or may not be regretted later on.
âWhy would I tell you?â
âBecause Iâm interested now.âÂ
âYou should put your interest in other things.âÂ
âLike what?â
âJust shut up already.â Minju let out a sharp breath through her nose and looked away from you.Â
The pond suddenly became the most fascinating thing she had ever seen in her life.
The duck floated nearby, circling lazily like it knew what kind of show it watched beyond the railing.
You leaned closer, resting your elbow against the back of the bench as if you had all day to wait her out.
âThatâs not an answer.â
âItâs the only one youâre getting.â
âYou already admitted someone exists, you canât deny it now.â
âI admitted no such thing.â Minjuâs grip tightened around her drink.
âYou quite literally just did.â
âI said maybe.â
âWhich just means there could be no one but that also means thereâs someone.â
Minju slowly turned toward you with a blank, emotionless look in her eyes before standing up from the bench.
âIâm going home.â
âHeyâheyâwait!â you nearly dropped the rest of your sandwich as you scrambled up after her. âMinju, come on, Iâm kidding.â
âNo, youâre being nosy.â
âI can be both.â
She began walking down the path with quick steps, bunny ears bouncing with each irritated stride.
You stared for half a second before hurrying after her.
âIs it at least someone I know?â you asked with a heavy breath, after you caught up with her.
âHmph!â Minju let out a sound that could only be described as pure, concentrated frustration before continuing forward.Â
You matched her pace easily despite the dramatic huff she threw your way.
âThatâs not a no,â you said far too brightly.
Minju stopped so abruptly that a couple walking behind her had to awkwardly sidestep around the two of you.
âYou are unbelievably irritating.â
âAnd yet you keep hanging out with me.â
âI shouldâve declined the first time you asked me to go with you.â
âOuch.â you placed a hand over your heart again like she had delivered a fatal blow.
She resumed walking and you continued on following.
The afternoon crowd had thickened since earlier. Children ran past with balloons nearly larger than their heads, vendors shouted over one another, and somewhere nearby someone was aggressively losing at a carnival game.
Minju kept her eyes forward while you kept yours on her.
You tried to ask her about this mystery person, even in the tiniest details and each time you asked, you were only met with nothing but the sounds of the park.
âFine, if youâre not going to answer, you could at least take this.â you said as you looked down in the paper bag in your hands.
Minju finally looked back at you, arms still crossed against her chest and watched as you pulled something out.
She slowed to a stop, simply staring at the bouquet now in your hands.
Three small crocheted daisies sat wrapped in pale paper, their stitched petals slightly uneven in a way that made them feel more real and genuine than perfect flowers ever could. A yellow ribbon was tied around the stems to top it off.
âWhat is that?â Her brows furrowed together.
âOh. Right.â You looked down at it like you had somehow forgotten you were holding it.
You scratched the back of your neck.Â
âI saw it while I was buying food.â
âAnd?â Minju narrowed her eyes.
âAnd I thought that they really worked hard on it so I got one,â you awkwardly lifted the bouquet toward her. âAnd maybe because I thought you would like them.â
Her brain forgot to process her thoughts right then and there.
âYou bought me flowers?â
âTheyâre not flowers.â
Minju stared at you in disbelief.
âOkay, they are technically flowers. But not actually the real thing.â you looked at the bouquet.
âThat does not make it better.â
âI thought it did.â
âIt absolutely does not, (YN).â
You lowered the bouquet slightly, suddenly looking less confident than you had been all day.
The change in your expression made something in her chest pinch unpleasantly.
You laughed once, âI just remembered you said real flowers die.â your gaze dropped to the bouquet. âSo I thought these would last longer.â
Who knew that a simple sentence could make her want to hide her face for all of eternity to cover the blush spreading across her face.
The worst part is that Minju remembered saying that.
It was weeks ago as they passed by a flower shop.
She had made an offhand comment about how spending money on something destined to wilt felt stupid.
You had remembered because of course you had remembered and somehow that felt far more genuine than grand confessions or dramatic speeches under fireworks.
It was just as is.
A stupid handmade bouquet.
A stupid boy in dog ears.
A stupidly thoughtful gesture she had absolutely had no snarky answer against.
âYouâŚâ she started before immediately losing her words.
âI mean, if you hate them, I can keep them.â you shifted awkwardly.
âDonât you dare.â Minjuâs head snapped up.
âSo you do want them.â Your eyebrows lifted.
âThatâs not what Iââ
You smiled at her before releasing out all of the awkwardness you felt in a hearty laugh.
Minju groaned and covered her face with one hand before swinging the other, taking the bouquet out of your hands.
She didnât say much afterwards, she just spun on her heel and continued on as if nothing happened in the middle of a parkâs trail.
You were left stunned like an idiot for a quick moment before realizing and catching up to her again.
Walking out of the parkâs gate you kept your silence while she did the same but when you stole glances at her, you couldâve sworn the tips of her ears were red as she tried picking at one of the crocheted petals.
You eventually walked with her to where the day ended whenever you had dragged her along, the bus stop.
The sky had begun changing its bright blues for warmer shades of orange and pink, clouds were still hanging around, ready to blend into the night sky.
Minju had sat down with the bouquet of crocheted daisies clutched in one hand while you leaned against one of the walls, waiting for the bus with her.
She kept glaring at you with the side of her eyes then back to the bouquet as if staring hard enough would make the entire situation feel any less embarrassing.
âSo,â you started carefully.
âShut it.â Minju immediately raised a finger at you without looking.
You blinked. âI didnât even say anything yet.â
âI know your tone.â
âMy tone?â
âItâs the same tone you use before you twist my words and start teasing me.â
A laugh escaped you before you looked down at the bouquet in her hand.
âFor the recordâŚâ you rubbed the back of your neck. âYou donât have to keep those if you really donât want them.â
âWho said I didnât want them?â Minjuâs head snapped toward you so fast it nearly gave her whiplash.
You looked at her as her eyes widened a fraction as realization punched her directly in the soul.
âNoâI meantââ
A grin spread across your face with the speed of a man who had just found free entertainment.
âYou like them.â
âI hate your face.â
âThatâs still not denying it.â
Minju looked ready to launch both herself and the bouquet into incoming traffic.
Instead, she hugged the flowers closer to her chest.
Your smile softened before you could stop it.
Before another tease slipped through your lips, you looked away and shrugged, looking at the traffic that came and went. You somehow started subconsciously counting the taxis that passed by when you turned to her voice again.
âYou really want to know about him?â
Your eyes followed her figure as she stood up from the plastic seat just as the bus pulled up to the stop.
The bus gave a soft hiss as its doors folded open, pushing out cool air into the warm evening.
Minju stepped forward first, bouquet of crocheted daisies held carefully against her chest like she was suddenly worried the wind might take them away. She paused at the first step, half-turned back toward you.
âAll you have to know,â she said, lifting the flowers just slightly, âis that heâs way out of my league.â
She didnât say it to bite back or to tease you, she sounded real and careful of her words as if they were meant to be taken more into thought.
Then she walked in.
The doors slid shut with a quiet thud. The bus soon moved forward, tires rolling into motion as the evening lights smeared across its windows.
Inside, Minju didnât look back again.
Outside, you stood there for a moment too long, sandwich and half-finished drink forgotten in your paper bag, watching the bus disappear into traffic until it was swallowed by the rest of the city while you were still standing there, staring at the street, as if it might explain what she had just told you.
Your life after that took on a dullness that followed you everywhere you went.
Days passed in the slow, unremarkable way they often do after something devastating.
You moved through each day as if you were learning to live without something that had always been there.
The wedding invitation remained on your nightstand, shifted occasionally from one part of your room to another, but never thrown away. Sometimes you turned it face down, other times you tucked it beneath a book as if hiding it might also hide the decision waiting inside it. By evening, it always found its way back into view.
Whether to go should have been simple.
Every sensible reason pointed in one direction.
Donât go.
Donât stand in a room dressed for celebration while your chest caves in quietly beneath rented lighting and floral arrangements.Â
Don't watch Mayu walk toward a future you once built in daydreams.
Don't shake hands with the man who was brave in all the places you had been careful.
Don't become a witness to the fruit of your own absence.
The logic was there, you didn't need to think twice.
Yet grief rarely respects logic.
Because another voice kept answering.
Go because she asked you once, long before any of this, if you would be there when it mattered.
Go because you had spent years loving her in silence, and silence had already cost enough.
Go because some part of you still wanted one final look, even if it ruined you.
You hated that voice most of all.
At night, you lay awake replaying the scene in your apartment with the obsessive cruelty memory reserves for fresh wounds. Her standing by the window. Her saying she loved you. Her saying it too late.
You revisited every expression, every pause, as if somewhere inside them there might be a version of events that ended differently.
But there was none.
Some mornings, your anger made the decision for you.
You would stare at the invitation and think, absolutely not.
Let her marry without your blessing. Let her wonder if you stayed away because you hated her. Let your absence speak where words have failed.
By afternoon, the anger thinned.
Then came the tenderness that was equally unhelpful.
You would remember her laughing in your apartment over that old DVD. The way she straightened the photograph before setting it back. The tremor in her voice when she said she had loved you badly.
And suddenly not going felt less like a choice and more like another unfinished what-if between you.
So the days kept passing, and the answer kept changing.
You tried to imagine each version of yourself.
The man who stayed home, who muted his phone and endured the day by refusing to know what time vows were exchanged.
The man who attended, smiled politely, applauded at the right moments, and died in small invisible ways throughout the reception.
Neither looked admirable. Both looked tired.
By the weekâs end, the invitation was bent at one corner from being handled too often.
You sat at your kitchen table with it in your hands and understood something bitterly simple.
There had never been an easy answer.
A thought came to you with the kind of clarity that only arrives after days of thinking of every other possibility.
Maybe this was how moving on began.
Not with speeches, not with sudden strength nor promises and not with waking up one morning mysteriously healed.
You had spent too long living inside alternate versions of your life. Worlds where you confessed sooner. Worlds where she chose differently. Worlds where timing was useful for once. Worlds where one brave sentence from either of you changed everything that followed.
You had built entire memories from ifs.
If you had spoken in university.
If you had kissed her that night after the festival.
If you had stopped answering her calls.
If she had been honest.
If you had been less careful.
If love had ever been enough on its own.
Those versions of life had kept you company, but they had also kept you where you were.
As long as possibility remained hidden, some part of you would keep feeding it, keep polishing it, keep returning to it when the real world felt too much.
Maybe the only way forward was to watch the door close with your own eyes.
To see her walk toward someone else under full light, with witnesses, with vows, with music, with all the ceremony required to kill a daydream properly.
To stand there and know, finally, that no hidden chapter was waiting after this one because grief thrives in uncertainty, it grows in hesitation, unanswered questions, and in things that almost were.
Truth, even the brutal truth, was a pill that was difficult to swallow yet you still could.
You looked down at the invitation in your hands.
The corner was creased. Your thumb had worn a faint softness into the paper from holding it too often.
Maybe this was evidence.
Evidence that something real had existed, even if it had never become what you wanted. Evidence that you had loved deeply enough to be broken by it. Evidence that life does not always reward sincerity, but that sincerity still counts for something.
You exhaled slowly.
Maybe going would destroy the last of your hope.
Maybe that was exactly what hope had become, something that needed ending.
You imagined yourself there. Watching her smile. Watching her choose. Feeling something in you collapse and, afterward, realizing you were still standing.
That possibility felt almost merciful.
Because if you could survive the worst version of it, then everything after might finally become peaceful.
No more rehearsing confessions to an empty room.
No more checking your phone when it buzzed.
No more treating the past with regret.
Eventually it'll only be silence, plain and clean, instead of pain mixed with imagination.
You set the invitation on the table and stared at it for a long time.
Then you reached for your phone and checked the ceremony time again.
Not to make a decision.
But because you already had one.
You arrived in front of the hall an hour early before the main event started.
From the back seat of the taxi, you watched the entrance through the tinted window.
Guests were already arriving in small groups. Men adjusted their cuffs and coat hems before stepping out of cars. Women smoothed dresses at the waist, checked lipstick in compact mirrors, lifted skirts over puddles that weren't there.
Older relatives moved slower, carrying envelopes. Younger couples arrived holding hands until they reached the doors, then separated just enough to look formal again.
At a table near the entrance, two attendants smiled as people signed the guest book, pens passing from hand to hand. Cards were placed into a polished box.Â
Then everyone disappeared inside.
You stayed where you were.
The driver glanced at you once in the mirror, then wisely chose to not say anything.
The air conditioner hummed softly. Somewhere on the radio, a song played low enough to not be a bother.Â
You looked down at your hands.
They were steady, which felt insulting.
Outside, another taxi pulled up. A laughing group of friends got out, one of them carrying a bouquet wrapped in pale paper. Someone nearly forgot a gift bag and had to run back for it. Their laughter rang briefly across the curb before the doors swallowed it.
You wondered what it must feel like to arrive happy.
Your gaze lifted to the hall again.
White flowers framed the entrance, the same ones she picked. Gold lettering displayed the coupleâs names on a polished board with her name beside his.Â
You looked away.
There was still time to tell the driver to leave.
You imagined giving an address at random, going home, taking off the suit and spending the afternoon face down in bed while somewhere across the city vows were exchanged without your witness.
Part of you wanted the easy way out.
Another part knew you had not come this far for mercy.
A staff member opened the main doors wider as more guests arrived. Through the gap, you caught a glimpse of warm light, floral arrangements, people moving inside like figures in another life.
The driver cleared his throat gently.
âSir,â he said, âare you getting out?â
You stared at the entrance a moment longer.
Then you reached for the handle.
You stepped outside, and the city met you with its usual self, traffic continued, a bus sighed to a stop at the curb, someone across the street laughed into a phone call that had nothing to do with you.
The sky remained bright, untroubled. It was almost mocking you with how ordinary the world could stay on the day you were asking it to witness something private and catastrophic.
You paid the driver, thanked him out of habit, and closed the door.
Then you crossed the road.
The suit jacket sat neatly on your shoulders, your shoes clicked against stone with more confidence than you felt.Â
By the time you reached the steps, another couple had fallen into pace beside you. They were talking quietly about table numbers. You let them pass first, grateful for the cover of strangers.
At the top, the attendants turned to you with the same polished warmth they had offered everyone else.
âWelcome,â one of them said with a practiced smile. âThank you for coming.â
You nodded.
The other gestured toward the guest book table.
âPlease sign in here, sir.â
The pen felt oddly heavy in your hand.
Rows of names already filled the pages. Friends, relatives, colleagues, people who belonged cleanly to this day. You searched for an empty line longer than necessary, then wrote your name in careful strokes.
âI'm glad you could make it.â You looked up, placing the pen on the guest book.
Rin approached you from the entrance, standing clean and confidently in the suit he was about to be wedded in.
You gathered enough will to etch on a believable smile as you reached and shook his hand.
âI told her I was going,â you replied. âI wasn't really planning on missing a big day.âÂ
Liar.
Up close, he looked exactly as he always had whenever you had briefly met him before, put together, honest, easy in his own skin. There was a hint of nervousness there too, but it was the softest kind, the nerves of someone about to promise forever, not the nerves of someone watching forever happen to someone else.Â
âLooking good,â he said, glancing at your suit.
For one dangerous second, you nearly told him she picked it.
Instead, you said, âThanks.â
Rin adjusted his cuff absentmindedly, then looked back toward the hall doors where staff moved in quick, purposeful lines.
âEverythingâs a blur today,â he admitted. âI thought Iâd be calm, but apparently my body disagrees.â
âYou seem calm enough.â
âOutside, Iâm trying to be calm.â He smiled. âInside, Iâm a nervous wreck.â
You nodded as if that were funny.
Part of you hated him for being kind.
Choosing to be cruel would have been easier and choosing to be arrogant would have been useful. If he had been smug or shallow or unattentive, you could have built an enemy out of him and carried that into the ceremony.
Instead, he was nothing else but a man in love.
Which made your loss feel less like robbery and more like failure.
Rin glanced at the guest book, then back at you.
âMayu should still be in her dressing room.â
You snapped your head almost immediately before looking away again.
âOh yeah?â you shrugged as you tried to keep anything from slipping. âI mean, she should be. The ceremony doesnât start until an hour from now.â
âWould you like to see her?â
Your mind lurched in opposite directions at once.
No.
Yes.
Absolutely not.
More than anything.
You looked past him toward the hallway beyond the entrance where staff moved briskly in and around the place, where somewhere behind closed doors Mayu was preparing to be a bride in layers of silk, powder, nerves, and jewelry.
You imagined her seated before a mirror while hands adjusted her veil. Imagined her laughing too brightly to hide her nervousness. Imagined her alone for one brief second between preparations, staring at herself as if asking whether reflection counted as consent.
âI donât want to interrupt,â you said.
âYou wonât be interrupting anything.â Rinâs smile held no suspicion, only warmth. âSheâs been looking for you since she got here.â
That sentence struck harder than it should have.
Even now, even here, she was reaching backward while stepping forward.
You swallowed.
âIâm sure she has enough on her mind.â
âShe does,â he said lightly. âWhich is why seeing a good friend might help.â
You almost declined again. You should have. There was still dignity available in small portions far from this.
Rin gestured toward a side corridor. âCome on. Iâll walk you there.â
You followed before common sense could catch up.
The hallway behind the main lobby was quieter, carpeted thick enough to muffle footsteps. The noise of arriving guests faded behind closed doors, replaced by distant voices, the rustle of fabric, a burst of laughter from some unseen room, then silence again.
Framed photographs of flowers lined the walls and everything smelled faintly of perfume and the specific smell of polished wood.
Rin walked beside you with the relaxed pace he always had.
He stopped in front of a door, âIâll leave you here. Iâm afraid the groom canât see the bride before the wedding starts.â he says with an easy grin, tapping the door once with the back of his knuckles.
âApparently Iâm only allowed to ruin tradition after the ceremony,â he added.
You managed something that resembled a smile.
Rin rested a hand briefly on your shoulder, the gesture casual and sincere enough to be unbearable.
âThanks for coming,â he said. âReally.â
He turned and walked back down the corridor, one hand slipping into his pocket, already being called by someone halfway down the hall.
You watched him go.
For a moment, you considered leaving.
The door stood in front of you, ordinary as any other door in any other building. Your hand slowly reached out as the same voice told you to walk away, to run, to keep distance and call it respect.
For once, you didnât listen. Your hand held the knob and turned it to click open.Â
The room beyond blinded you with light.
Not brightly in the harsh sense, but golden, softened by bulbs circling a long mirror and the divided daylight slipping through half-drawn curtains. The air carried the mixed smell of sweet perfume, strong hairspray, and fresh flowers.
It wasnât long before you saw her.
Mayu was sitting in front of her mirror, hands intertwining on her lap with her thumbs tapping against one anotherâ something subtle she did when she was nervous.
For a second, you didnât move.
You just stood there, half inside the room, as if stepping any farther would push you to run away.
Mayuâs eyes met yours through the mirror.
Her hands stilled.
The small, restless movement of her thumbs stopped like it had been caught mid-thought.
She turned, slowly, carefully, as if even that needed to be done right today.
For a second that stretched longer than it shouldâve, neither of you said anything.
âHey.â you broke the silence first, raising a hand before being unsure what to do with it.
âYou came.â her voice wasnât loud, but it crossed the room anyway.
âI said I would, didnât I?â you closed the door behind you.
Her eyes grazed over your suit, âYou wore it.â
âYou picked it for me.â you walked closer, taking each step with intent of not breaking in front of her.
âI didnât think you would listen.â
âI donât, usually.â
A faint smile touched her lips but it didnât stay long.
The silence that followed wasnât empty. It pressed in from all sides, filled with everything you hadnât said in your apartment, everything she had said too late.
Mayu stood.
She moved carefully, gathering a small part of her dress as she stepped toward you, the fabric sweeping softly against the floor.
âI came here to watch you get married,â you said then added right after, âAnd to apologize.â
Mayuâs lips opened, as if she was about to object but you spoke again.
âI meant what I said back then but I didnât mean to raise my voice at you, I didnât mean to scare you away.â
Mayu stared at you as if the apology had arrived in the wrong language.
For a moment, she only blinked then she shook her head once, small and immediate.
âNo.â The word came out soft, but certain. âYou shouldnât apologize for that.â
âI want to.âÂ
âYou should just be angry at me because you have every right to be.â Her voice trembled on the last word.
You looked away first, toward the table cluttered with brushes, pins, a lipstick left uncapped.Â
âI still shouldnât have spoken to you like that.â
Mayu stepped closer, the hem of her dress whispered over the floor.
âYou think you scared me?â she asked quietly.
âYou walked out.â You met her eyes again.
âI walked out because you were right.â She drew in a breath, thinking of her words.
âI left because for the first time, I heard what I had done from your side. Not the version I told myself. Not the softer one where I was confused, or overwhelmed, or unlucky.â Her fingers tightened around the folds of her skirt. âThe real version.â
You said nothing.
Because there was nothing to defend.
Because truth had already done its work.
âI went home,â she continued, âand I sat on the floor in my apartment and cried for the next hour.â
Despite everything, the image of her nearly loosened you.
âI kept hearing you say I took years from you.â her eyes filled again, though her tone stayed the same. âAnd I hated that it was true.â
âI didnât come here to make you cry before your wedding.â You swallowed.
âToo late now.â a weak laugh escaped her.
You looked at her properly then, at the careful makeup that hid the bags under her eyes, at the pearls at her throat, at the veil waiting behind her like a door she was ready to go through.
âYou look beautiful,â you said, the words slipped out before pride could stop it.
âWâwhat?â Mayuâs breath caught.
âI remember you asking how you looked with the dress,â you smiled, despite the moment. âI just figured out what to say now.âÂ
A sound left her that was almost a laugh and almost a sob.
âYouâre unbelievable,â she said, covering her mouth for a moment as tears gathered anyway. âYou wait until now?â
âIâve never been known for timing.â
âThat much is true.â
She dabbed carefully beneath one eye, trying not to disturb the work someone had spent an hour creating.
You watched her do it and thought, absurdly, that heartbreak required a surprising amount of maintenance.
When she lowered her hand, she was smiling through it. Not long after, you watched you step closer and closer until she stood in front of you.
Her arms then placed themselves around you, pulling you deeper.
For one stunned second, you did not move.
Your body forgot every instruction it had rehearsed on the way here. Keep distance. Be polite. Survive this. Leave intact.
Then instinct took over dignity.
Your arms came around her slowly, then fully.
The dress was softer than you expected, layered fabric and delicate structure beneath your hands. Beneath that, her body trembled with the effort of holding itself together.
You closed your eyes.
This was bad for you in every possible sense.
The scent of her hair, the warmth of her against you, the familiarity so immediate it passed thought entirely. Your hands remembered her before your mind could object.
Outside the room, someone laughed in the hallway.
Inside it, the world had narrowed to breath and heartbeat.
âI hate you,â she whispered into your shoulder.
You let out a soft, broken laugh.
âI doubt it.â
When Mayu pulled back, there were faint marks of her makeup on the fabric of your suit. She reached up slowly, thumb brushing them away slowly as she looked up at you.
âThank you.â she said. âFor having stuck with me for so long, for always being so reliable, for being there when you didnât want to and for choosing me even when you were scared. And I hope someone else does the same for you, someone thatâs braver.â
A smile grew on your lips then, one that was bittersweet to the taste.
A knock sounded at the door suddenly.
âMayu? Five minutes,â a woman called cheerfully, unaware of what was happening inside.
âI should go.â you told her, still with the same smile.
Mayuâs hand caught lightly at your sleeve before you could step back.
âWait.â The word came out small, but urgent.
You looked at her.
Her fingers loosened immediately, as if even touching you now required permission she no longer believed she had. She let her hand fall between you.
âI mean...â She swallowed. âNot yet.â
Another knock sounded, gentler this time.
âFive minutes, Mayu.â
âFine,â she called, though her eyes never left yours.
You nodded your head at her before you turned and your steps led you to the door.
Until you turned on your heel.
She had already turned around too, half way back to the front of the mirror when she heard you from behind.
âKoma Mayu!â
You shouted, not caring for the people on the other side of the door.
She turned around, brow raised at the sudden volume of your voice in the quiet room. Seeing you smile brightly across the room despite the tears welling in your eyes, she didnât just see the man that stood there, she saw the boy who took the fall for her in elementary, the teenager that always walked her home and the young man that had loved her for years.
âI hope you live a happy life!â
You continued, arm finding itself raised from your side with your fist balled.
Mayu almost laughed at that but she held her expression down.
Then as her eyes gleamed and shimmered against the afternoon light to look back, you shouted again,
âI love you!â
You didnât cry as you spoke the truth that had been hidden for so long. Instead, a laugh broke through your smile and one that she shared with you.
You waved at her now, one that meant goodbye for now but also meant I'll always be here.
That was when you reached for the door again and after one last look at her, you walked out.
The ceremony started not long after.
You chose to seat with a couple of old and recognizable classmates from way back then, some still certain that it should had been you waiting at the end of the altar but you didnât say anything to object instead you just accepted their words and said,
âI guess I wasnât really good with timing.â
That earned you a few small, knowing laughs that didnât quite reach anyoneâs eyes.
The hall was too bright for something like honesty to hide in it. Light spilled over everything in soft gold, floral arches, polished seats, the careful arrangement of a day that had been rehearsed into perfection. Even the air felt arranged, like it had been ironed flat.
Someone beside you leaned in slightly. âStillâŚweird, right?â
You didnât ask what they meant since you already knew.
So you just gave a small shrug, the kind that doesnât invite more afterwards, and kept your eyes forward.
The music began, gentle enough to make everything feel slower than it was.
And then she appeared.
Mayu.
For a second, your mind did that infuriating thing where it tried to protect you by pretending she didnât know you yet, the illusion broke almost immediately, because there was no version of her that could ever be ordinary again once seen like this.
She stood at the entrance of the aisle, framed by light and white flowers that looked almost unreal against her, silk moved like water around her steps. The veil softened her outline behind the cloth, made her look slightly distant, like she had already begun crossing into somewhere you couldnât follow.
Her hands were folded carefully in front of her.
You noticed that immediately.
She walked forward, each step was measured, but not effortless. There was something contained in it, something held tightly behind her ribs that no one else in the room seemed to notice.
Except maybe you.
Maybe only you.
Her eyes didnât immediately search the crowd.
That was the first strange thing.
Instead, she kept them forward, fixed on the end of the aisle where Rin waited.
Rin stood there in a suit that fit him like certainty. He looked steady in a way that made the entire room feel more grounded just by comparison.
When she reached him, he smiled.
He looked like someone ready to take the next step forward and then he extended his hand.
Mayu didnât hesitate before placing hers in it.
The ceremony began.
Words were spoken.
Promises were made.
The officiantâs voice rose and fell in practiced rhythm, turning something deeply irreversible into something that sounded almost gentle.
You didnât hear most of it. Well, not really.
When it came time for vows, Rin spoke first.
His voice was steady, warm, unshaken in the way people sound when they believe in what theyâre saying without needing to survive it first. He spoke about time, about choosing someone every day, about something like certainty shaped into language.
Mayu spoke next, voice steady like his and sure of the words she was reading off of. When she joked in between them, you laughed with the crowd and didnât feel that pang that twisted inside of your chest.
Rin smiled at her when she finished speaking. Not the relieved kind. The kind that believed he had just heard something true.
The officiant spoke again, voice lifting toward the part everyone had been waiting for.
Then the question was asked.
It was simple.
It had always been.
And yet the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Rin spoke first.
âI do.âÂ
Applause flickered through the hall like a reflex before silence returned, gentler now, expectant.
All eyes turned to her.
Mayu stood there for a second longer than necessary, not enough for anyone else to notice, enough for you to feel it anyway.
Her fingers tightened faintly at her side as she spoke.
âI do.â
The room exhaled all at once, as if permission had finally been granted for everything to continue.
Someone beside you smiled. âSee? Told you it was meant to be.â
You didnât respond.
Because there wasnât anything left in that moment that felt worth shaping into words.
The officiant continued speaking, voice smooth again, carrying the ceremony forward. Around you, the hall reacted exactly as it was supposed to. Applause softened into smiles then softened into relief that finally softened into celebration.
Rin and Mayu turned slightly toward each other as instructed, bodies aligning in practiced choreography. There was a brief pause before the next instruction, that small suspended gap where the world waits for something intimate to be made public.
Mayuâs hands remained steady.
That detail stayed with you longer than anything else.
The officiant lifted his hand slightly.
âYou may now kiss the bride.â
Rin leaned in first.
The moment was gentle, deliberate, and carefully contained, like something placed down rather than taken.
The kiss was brief, not to show too much to the crowd.
The room responded instantly, applause rising like it had been waiting behind everyoneâs teeth the entire time.
You clapped with them.
Beside you, someone let out a quiet laugh of satisfaction, same as the other people in the room.
Mayu pulled back after the kiss, her expression composed in the way people learn to be.
She smiled, the kind of smile that was practiced for the occasion.
Rin was smiling too.
The officiant spoke again, voice brightening as he announced them.
The hall rose gradually, chairs shifting, fabric moving, bodies preparing to transition from witnessing to participating.
You stayed seated a moment longer than most as applause continued.
Music began again, softer now, celebratory in a way that required no interpretation.
Rin and Mayu turned toward the crowd.
Hand in hand.
The beginning of something officially acknowledged.
Mayuâs gaze moved across the room again, slowly this time, as if acknowledging each section of the day she had agreed to belong to.
It passed over relatives.
Over friends.
Over rows of carefully arranged approval.
And then, for the briefest fraction of a second, it reached where you were standing.
It didnât stop.
It didnât linger.
But it did recognize you before moving on.
The applause did not change.
The music did not falter.
And the ceremony continued exactly as it was supposed to.
When the reception began winding down and each table was called one by one to take photographs with the newly married couple. You nearly forced yourself to leave before it was your turn.
You watched guests rise in groups, smoothing jackets, fixing hair, laughing as they made their way toward the stage where Mayu and Rin sat beneath flowers that had already begun to curl at the edges.
Every few minutes another burst of applause followed the camera shutter.
You checked your watch though you already knew the time. You reached for your coat though you had no real reason to. You considered slipping out through the side doors while everyoneâs attention was elsewhere.
It would have been easy as quiet exits always are.
But each time you thought to stand, another table was called, and you remained where you were, caught between the urge to disappear and the strange obligation to stay long enough for her to see you.
Then someone over the mic called for your table.
You stood last, letting your old friends move ahead of you so their figures could become a temporary shield. They joked among themselves as they walked, unaware or kind enough to pretend they were unaware. You followed a step behind, hands in your pockets, eyes fixed somewhere near the floor.
The path to the stage felt longer than it should have.
By the time you reached it, everyone had already arranged themselves with the easy instinct of people who still belonged in one anotherâs lives. You took the remaining space at the edge of the group.
Mayu and Rin continued to smile as the other people huddled behind their seats.
âSir, could you move a bit more to the center?â The photographer said, looking at your direction.
You hesitantly raised your hand and they nodded.
A few people shuffled aside to make room, someone patted your shoulder as if that made any of this simpler. You stepped forward, careful not to brush against anyone more than necessary, until you found yourself nearer the center than you had wanted.
Nearer to her than you had planned.
Mayu turned slightly when you approached. Up close, her makeup was still spotless, as if she hadnât shed any tears during the ceremony and even before. She still looked beautiful in your eyes.
For a moment, her smile changed.
It did not disappear, but it loosened around the edges into something less public and more familiar. Something that remembered smaller rooms, ordinary afternoons, versions of both of you that no one else here had known.
âThanks for staying,â she said softly enough that only you could hear.
You nodded once.
âCongratulations.â
The word came out clean, you were grateful for that much.
The photographer lifted his camera.
âEveryone closer, please.â
The group compressed inward. You felt Mayuâs arm brush lightly against yours as everyone adjusted for the frame.
âOne more smile!â
The shutter clicked.
Then again.
And again.
When it was done, people relaxed instantly, already laughing, already stepping away, already moving toward the next part of the evening.
Mayu looked at you one last time.
There were a thousand things neither of you said, and perhaps that was enough.
âTake care,â she said.
âYou too.â
Then someone called her name. Rin leaned in to answer another guest. A cousin tugged at her sleeve for another picture. The current of celebration reclaimed her without resistance.
You stepped down from the stage.
By the time the next table was being called, you were already walking toward the exit. Before you walked out, you excused yourself with reasons everyone pretended to believe, though the truth was simpler than any of them would have admitted. You had already seen everything you came there to see.Â
The air outside felt different, much colder than the air inside.Â
You stood at the curb for a moment longer than necessary, as though waiting for your body to catch up with the decision your mind had made minutes ago. Then you raised a hand.
A taxi slowed to the curb. You stepped inside.
The driver asked nothing at first, only a brief glance through the mirror.
You gave him your address, your voice spilling out steady enough to pass for ordinary.
As the car pulled away, the wedding hall receded behind traffic and distance, back into the city.
Streetlights passed in predictable turns across the window, people crossed intersections with groceries, umbrellas, conversations, all the small things of life that were still in motion. No one paused for what had ended inside you an hour earlier.
And the world continued whether you liked it or not.
-
Months passed after that.
You lived in a smaller, quieter version of life. One that asked little of you and, in return, offered to be as predictable as it could be.
Days returned to normalcy, though dimmer at some points, as if something that used to be there had been removed from the room. Work filled the hours in tidy portions. Meals happened when they were meant to happen and nights arrived without much struggle and left the same way.
Mayu remained absent from all of it.
Sometimes your phone would light up and your hand would pause for half a second, an old reflex refusing to change.
But it was never her name.
Eventually even that instinct learned to move on.
You told yourself this was what it was supposed to look like.
It wasnât supposed to feel like triumph and you werenât supposed to be healed overnight. Moving on was just the slow return of ordinary things.
And you start to regain the years you had lost, with newer experiences and newer memories that took space in your mind with other people.
-
One afternoon, you found yourself entering the same bakery she brought you along to but without her memories lingering in the air. Warmth wrapped around you immediately, carrying sugar, butter, and something faintly floral from the baked goods cooling behind glass.Â
The same display case. The same handwritten labels. The same neat rows of pastries were arranged like they had always been waiting for someone to choose carefully.
You approached the counter.
âHow may I help you?â The attendant looked up with a practiced smile.
âUm, I was actually looking for a slice that I saw months ago. Iâm not sure if itâs still available.â
âWhat was it?â They asked.
âThe Gateau Debord? I think that was how you say it.â you chuckled, embarrassed by your own interpretation.
âAh, Iâm sorry. Iâm afraid we just ran out.â The attendant replied.
You nodded in understanding when you heard rustling coming from the back then someone else walked out.
The same girl that had told you about the cake months ago.
She stepped out from the back with a small tray in her hands, pausing mid-step the moment her eyes landed on you.
For a fraction of a second, her expression didnât change before recognition settled into a place where surprise had taken over.
âItâs you againââ she began, then stopped, as if deciding whether memory had the right to speak first.
You blinked once.
âHey,â you said, because your brain defaulted to politeness before anything else could form.
âCan I help you with anything?â she asked, setting the tray down on the counter and looked over the display glass.
The other attendant then explained it to her before you could continue.
âAh, I think I could help with that.â she smiled shyly looking at the two other people in the bakery.
Moments later, you were seated by the window. Outside, the street kept moving in its unbothered rhythm. Cars slid past in muted colors. A cyclist weaved through a gap like it had been there for him alone. Somewhere down the road, a bus sighed to a stop, then carried on without hesitation.
Inside, the bakery held its warmth around you.
A small plate was placed in front of you a few minutes later.
âHere you go, our last slice of Gateau Debord.â The attendant stood in front of your table, her tray folded neatly against her chest as she bowed her head.
âI thought you guys ran out.âÂ
âWe didâŚuntil I remembered I kept a slice hidden.â The attendantâs voice softened, eyes glancing over to yours then over to the empty seat in front of you.
You looked at her then leaned to the side to see the older attendant still at the counter.
âDoes your boss know about this?â
She froze for half a second then she smiled, a little too quickly.
âItâs not exactlyâŚagainst the rules,â she said, though her tone made it clear she wasnât fully convinced by her own defense. âIt was reserved. Just not officially labeled for today.â
Your eyes glossed over her nametag.
Kawai Ruka.
âWell, Iâm really the type to take anything from someone else. I think you should have this.â You pushed the plate back. âIâll take anything else.â
âRâreally?â she said immediately before retracting, âI mean, you could have it.â
Her words came out too fast, like they were trying to outrun her hesitation.
You glanced at the slice on the plate again. It sat there neatly, almost too carefully presented for something that was apparently ânot officially labeled for today.â
âI could,â you said, voice calm, âbut it feels like something youâre supposed to regret later if you give it away that easily.â
Silence settled between you again, that wasn't uncomfortable letting the bakeryâs soft hum fill it instead.
Ruka finally shifted her hands, fingers curling lightly around the edge of her apron.
âIt was reserved,â she said again, softer this time, as if repeating it made it more legitimate. âSomeone ordered it earlier and never picked it up. So technically⌠it wouldâve been thrown away.â
You looked at her properly then.
âThen why don't we share it?âÂ
Ruka blinked.
The suggestion seemed to reach her a second later than it should have, as if it had to pass through several layers of caution before arriving somewhere she could react from.
âShare it?â she repeated.
You gave a small shrug. âThat way nobody steals from anyone, nobody breaks policy, and the cake gets shared between two people who apparently want it.â
Her fingers tightened around the tray she was still holding. For a moment, you thought she might refuse out of habit alone. Some people were so practiced at declining kindness that they mistook it for discipline.
Instead, she drew in a breath and glanced toward the counter where the older attendant was busy wrapping bread for another customer.
âI can take my break now,â she said after a pause.
She disappeared for a minute and returned without the apron, her nametag removed, her hair tied back more loosely than before.
She sat across from you by the window, careful in the way people sit when they are not yet sure they are meant to stay.
You moved the plate to the center of the table.
Ruka reached for a second fork she had brought and placed it beside yours. The metal touched porcelain with a small, clear sound before she took a small piece for herself.
You held in a laugh.
âIs it good?â you asked.
Ruka paused with the fork halfway back to the plate, as if the question required more care than it should have.
She finished chewing before answering.
âIt is,â she said quietly. âThough Iâm not sure if thatâs because itâs actually good or because Iâve wanted to try it for weeks.â
A faint smile touched her mouth, brief and sudden.
You took a bite of your own.
The cake was rich without being too much, layered with dark sponge and cream that carried a bitterness just sharp enough to keep the sweetness level. It was better than you expected, that felt fitting somehow.
âItâs good,â you admitted.
âI told you.â
She seemed to realize what sheâd said only after it had left her, and her eyes lowered immediately to the plate between you.
Outside, rain began without warning.
It started as dots against the glass, then steadied into the start of a shower. People quickened their pace. A man across the street unfolded an umbrella too late for him to stay dry.
The bakery lights grew brighter.
âThe next time you go here, I'll make sure to have a fresh batch waiting.â she said after a moment.Â
You looked up at her.
âThe next time?â
Ruka seemed to hear herself only then.
A faint flush rose to her face, subtle but noticeable. Her fingers adjusted needlessly around the fork in her hand.
âI mean,â she said carefully, eyes lowering to the plate, âif you come back here again.â
There was something earnest in the correction, and something smaller beneath it that did not want to be corrected at all.
âI guess Iâll come visit more often,â you said, a smile growing.
For a moment, she only stared at you, as if deciding whether that answer was serious or simply polite. Then she gave a small nod, the kind people offer when they do not trust themselves to say more.
Neither of you had noticed how long you had been speaking without names.
You set your fork down.
âI should probably introduce myself before I start promising repeat visits.â
Her eyes lifted again.
âYou probably already saw mine,â she said softly, glancing toward where her nametag had been earlier.
âKawai Ruka,â you said. âI saw it when you were deciding whether you wanted the slice for yourself.â
She let out a quiet laugh before trying to hide it behind her hand.
The laughter stayed in her eyes even after her mouth dropped down.Â
âAnd you?â she asked.
You told her your name.
She repeated it once under her breath, then once again more clearly.
âIt's nice to meet you.â she said before seeming surprised at herself again.
You reached your hand out then.
âLikewise.â
Ruka slowly raised hers, shaking your hand gently.
Her palm was warm from the bakery, from plates and ovens and the steady labor of the afternoon. The touch was light, careful, as though she was uncertain how much of herself she was allowed to show.
That was when you felt it.
It wasnât recognition exactly, nor was it memory. It was something older than both. The quiet shift inside your chest when life, without warning, gives you another chance at something you once thought had closed for good.
A breath left you before you could stop it.
Rukaâs eyes lifted to yours. They were clear in a way that made them difficult to hide from, carrying the kind of sincerity that asked for nothing yet still offered something.
Outside, rain pressed softly against the glass. Inside, warmth gathered around the table, around the unfinished cake, around two people who had not expected this afternoon to go into the way that it unfolded.
You held her gaze for one second longer than strangers usually do.
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You stared at your phone screen, patiently watching the three dots appear repeatedly.
You sat inside of your kitchen, shoulders tense, elbows on your knees, watching those three dots like they were an oracle with poor communication skills.
When the call was picked up, you immediately pressed the phone against your ear.
âHello?â Her voice came through.
âHey, I know it's a bit sudden but are you free today?â
She laughed on the other side, light and airy like how you've heard countless times before.
âThatâs weird, I was gonna call and ask the same thing too.âÂ
For a second, you forgot every sentence you had prepared.
All the careful openings, the casual tone youâd rehearsed, the possibility of sounding normal, all of it scattered like papers in wind.
âYou were?â you asked, because brilliance often arrives disguised as repetition.
âYes,â Mayu said. You could hear movement on her end, drawers opening, something set down on a table. âI needed help with something.â
âOf course you do.â
âThere he is,â she replied dryly. âI was worried I accidentally called someone pleasant.â
You let out a breath that almost passed for a laugh.
âWhat do you need help with?â
âOne of the bridesmaids asked if I could pick up their dress at one of the shops in the mall, I was wondering if you could come with me. Maybe we could even pick something out for you afterwards.â
You chuckled despite trying to hold it in.
âI find it amusing that they're asking the bride herself to pick it up.â
âHey, I wouldn't want them to miss it so I'm doing everything I can.
âVery noble of you,â you said. âIâm sure statues will be built.â
âShut it,â she replied. âAre you coming or not?â
You leaned back in your chair, phone pressed to your ear, staring at the kitchen counter like it might convince you to stay on track.
This was not how you imagined the morning.
You had planned something dramatic in the privacy of your own head, not cinematic exactly, but close enough. Maybe over coffee, with a steady voice. Maybe asking to meet. Maybe finally saying the thing that had lived in your throat for years.
Instead, you were being invited to help retrieve another piece of clothing.
âWhat time?â you asked.
With unmistakable satisfaction in her voice, âSo thatâs a yes.â
âIâm just asking.â
âAsking because you're going.â
âYouâre exhausting.â
âAnd yet you're coming with me,â she said.
You pinched the bridge of your nose and looked at the ceiling like it had failed you personally.
This was the oldest trap in your life.
Mayu never pushed hard. She simply spoke as if the outcome had already been decided, then waited for the world to catch up.
âWhat time?â you repeated.
âMeet me at the entrance of the mall by two.âÂ
You glanced over at the time flashing on the microwave.
10:44.
âAt least you were considerate enough to give me time for lunch.â
âDonât sound so grateful,â she said.
You rose from the chair and wandered toward the sink, phone tucked to your ear, as if movement might disguise the fact that your pulse had not calmed once since she answered.
âYou know,â you said, âmost people get something back when doing other people favors.â
âSure, what are you thinking?â then after a second, âI'll hear you out.âÂ
Mayu had said it lightly, probably expecting sarcasm, probably imagining youâd ask for lunch or coffee or the right to complain uninterrupted for twenty minutes.
Instead, your mind supplied one answer with violent clarity.
You.
You swallowed.
âCareful,â you said, forcing your voice steady. âYouâre making open-ended offers now.â
âI said Iâd hear you out,â she replied. âNot agree.â
âSmart thinking.â
âI know how you work, more than you know.â
You leaned one hand against the counter and closed your eyes.
Ask now.
Say it plainly.
Come with me today, and in return give me one honest conversation.
Tell me if there was ever anything here.
Tell me if I missed my chance or invented it entirely.
Tell me to stop loving you so I can begin the paperwork.
Instead, fear arrived dressed as humor.
âHow about we head there earlier? I want lunch,â you said.
âThatâs what you want?â Mayu laughed softly.
âFor now.â
âYou sounded like you were about to ask for something serious.â
âI am asking for something serious.â
You leaned against the counter, eyes closing for a moment.
âFine, lunch first,â she said. âThen we can go after.â
She said something ordinary, something the two of you had done countless times before. Yet now every simple thing felt altered by the fact that there were only days left before nothing between you could remain simple again.
âWhat time?â you asked quietly.
âWe could meet in front of the mall by noon.âÂ
You checked the microwave clock again.
10:46.
Two hours and fourteen minutes.
Thatâs enough time to shower, get dressed, rehearse in front of the mirror, abandon it before rehearsing again.
âBy noon,â you repeated.
âYes.â There was a pause on her end, the kind made when someone was deciding whether to add something. âAnd donât be late.â
âI'll be there before you know it.â
You looked at the counter, at the chipped edge near the sink, at anything that was not the thought that was subtly rising again.
Say it now.
Just say it while she was a voice in your hand and not a person you could watch yourself lose.
âMayu.â
âMhm?â
Your throat tightened.
There it was again, another opportunity.
âI...â You stopped.
On the other end, she didnât rush to fill the silence.
âYou what?â she asked softly.
You stared at the microwave clock as if time itself might rescue you.
10:47.
âI was going to say donât make me wait outside if youâre late.â
There was a quiet exhale from her end, a toss up between amusement and contentment.
âI wonât,â she said.
You closed your eyes.
The lie had been thin enough to see through. She knew it. You knew she knew it but still, both of you said nothing.
âGood,â you answered.
Another moment of silence settled between you.
You could hear the faint rustle of movement in her apartment, a drawer sliding shut, footsteps across a floor you had never seen but could imagine too easily. Ordinary sounds. The kind people make while continuing with their lives.
âAre you alright?â she asked.
The question came so simply it nearly broke through you.
âYeah.â
âYou donât sound like it.â
âIâm just tired.â
âThatâs not what I meant.â
Your hand tightened around the phone.
Say it.
Tell her the truth for once. Tell her sleep had become impossible. Tell her every hour since the invitation had felt borrowed. Tell her you were terrified of noon because every minute with her now felt numbered.
Instead, you chose another small lie.
âIâm fine,â you said.
She was quiet long enough that you pictured her frowning.
âAlright,â she said at last, though it carried no belief.
You looked again at the clock.
10:48.
âI should get ready,â she continued.
âRight.â
âIâll see you later.â
âYeah.â
Neither of you hung up.
The silence stretched, through both ends of the call.
Then, softly, almost as if she regretted saying it the moment it left her mouth,
âYou can still tell me things, you know.â
Your breath caught but before you could answer, the line went dead.
You remained in the kitchen with the phone against your ear, listening to the absence she left behind.
Life moved on as you stood in the middle of the mallâs front entrance, eyes drifting around every once in a while in hopes of spotting her at a distance.
The doors sighed open and shut without rest. Cold air spilled out each time, mixing with the bodies moving in and out. Families passed carrying shopping bags that swung against their knees. Teenagers crossed in clusters, loud and careless. Someone argued quietly over the phone near a pillar. Somewhere above you, a speaker played music too bright for how you felt.
You adjusted your sleeves, then your watch, then the collar you had already fixed twice. Every reflective surface became an opportunity to confirm you still looked like yourself and not a man about to make a mess of his own life.
People arrived in pairs, in groups, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder.
You arrived alone.
Your gaze caught on every woman with familiar hair, every coat in the right shade, every stride that almost matched hers until it didnât. Each false sighting brought the same quick lift in your chest followed by the same small drop.
Ridiculous how hope could rehearse disappointment so efficiently.
You looked toward the street again.
Cars rolled by. The noon light sharpened against glass and metal. A child cried because a balloon had escaped their grasp. A vendor rearranged bottled drinks with enough care.
Then, through the moving crowd, you saw someone slow, turn, and start toward you.
Mayu.
Even at a distance, you knew the shape of her walk, the way her hair cascaded down both sides of her face and the relaxed smile she always wore that somehow made the people around blur into the background.
She crossed through the crowd with the easy certainty of someone who had never needed to search for where she belonged.
A long coat hung open over a simple top and dark trousers, nothing elaborate, nothing chosen to impress. She never needed much help from clothing. Her hair moved lightly with each step, loose around her shoulders, catching the noon light in brief strands. One hand held her bag close against her side. The other lifted once when she noticed you had already seen her.
You tried to look normal.
You failed in ways invisible to everyone except yourself.
By the time she reached you, your pulse had become embarrassingly committed to the occasion.
âShould we get something to eat?â
You nodded before the doors slipped open and you two walked through.
Eventually Mayu dragged you to a cheap fast food place on the second floor.
The kind with brightly colored plastic trays, and even brighter menu boards, and tables that had survived years of elbows, spilled drinks, and stories between people. Oil and salt lived permanently in the air. Children shouted near the corner booths. A fryer hissed somewhere behind the counter with mechanical confidence as the staff scrambled around the kitchen.
It was exactly the sort of place she liked choosing when she had other options.
âYouâre getting married in a week,â you said as she studied the overhead menu. âShouldnât you be eating anything but fast food?â
âI am but Iâm picking up a bridesmaid dress in a mall,â she replied. âLetâs not pretend my life is anywhere near glamorous.â
She ordered first, quick and certain.
You stepped up after her and asked for whatever required the least amount of thought.
When the tray arrived, she claimed a table by the railing overlooking the lower floors. People moved below in slow streams, carrying bags and children and versions of urgency that had nothing to do with you.
Mayu slid into her seat and unwrapped her burger.
âEat up,â she said. âYou got what you asked for.â
You unwrapped yours a second later, slower.
âI donât remember asking for this specifically,â you said.
âYou asked for lunch,â she corrected. âAnd this is lunch.â
You let out a quiet breath and picked up a fry, more to give your hands something to do than out of any real appetite.
For a while, the two of you ate in silence.
Bite after bite passed, and you finished first.
Mayu was only halfway through hers, eating at the same unhurried pace she seemed to apply to everything. You crumpled the wrapper in your hands and set it aside.
âYou inhaled that,â she said.
âI was hungry.â
âDoesnât seem like the whole truth.â She gave you a look that said she had known you too long for weak revisions.
You reached for your drink and took a sip.
Mayu took another bite, then another, watching you between them but deciding to keep quiet, as if she decided to not let push you further.
Usually she tugged at loose threads.
Today, she let them be.
You looked down at the table. Salt scattered near the tray. A folded napkin. Her phone beside her drink, screen dark. Ordinary objects arranged neatly around the fact that your chest felt anything but orderly.
You glanced back at her.
âThis is new,â you said. âFeels like I donât see you without Rin by your side.â
Mayu's lips curved up slightly, âYeah, heâs with his parents figuring out the final preparations.â
âRight.â you nodded once, like that explained everything.
She didnât elaborate. Just took another bite, slower this time, eyes dropping to her food instead of you.
The noise around you filled in where conversation didnât. A chair scraped. Someone laughed too loudly behind you. A tray clattered somewhere near the counter.
You picked at a fry you hadnât meant to leave behind.
âHeâs been busy,â she added after a moment. âThereâs a lot to sort out.â
âMakes sense.â
You watched her for a second longer than necessary. There was something different in the way she sat across from you now. It looked like she was more mindful of your presence than all the times before.
You leaned back slightly in your seat.
âAre you okay?â you asked.
She looked up, a small crease forming between her brows.
âThatâs a strange question.â
âYouâre getting married in a couple of days,â you said. âI figured all kinds of questions are allowed.â
âIâm fine.â Her gaze stayed on you, steady.
You held her eyes for a moment, then nodded again.
âOkay.â
âYou donât sound convinced.â she wiped her hands with a napkin, slower than before.
âI didnât say anything.â
âYou didnât have to.â
A faint exhale left her, not quite a sigh. âIâm just⌠tired,â she said. âThereâs a lot happening all at once.â
âThat part I believe.â
Her mouth curved faintly at that.
For a second, something familiar slipped back into place between you. It wasnât the past, not exactly, but the version of it that still knew how to sit comfortably in each otherâs presence.
Then it faded just as quickly.
She reached for her drink.
âWe should go,â she said. âBefore I lose motivation to do anything else today.â
You nodded and stood when she did.
The trays were cleared without discussion. The table left behind like nothing had been said there that mattered.
You walked beside her as she led the way out of the food court, back into the steady current of people and noise.
Escalators carried people up and down in patient loops. Storefronts flashed polished glass and seasonal sales. Perfume drifted from one entrance, coffee from another, sugar from somewhere farther ahead. Around you, everyone seemed to know exactly what they had come for.
Mayu walked half a step ahead, one hand resting on the strap of her bag, weaving through the crowd without hesitation. You followed right beside her, arm swinging slightly with every step. Every so often, you could feel your knuckle brush hers.
Each time it happened, slight and accidental, your attention snapped to it with humiliating speed.
Neither of you mentioned it.
She kept walking at the same pace, eyes forward, expression staying the same. If she noticed, she gave nothing away, that had always been one of her sharper talents.
The shop was on the third floor, tucked between a cosmetics store and a place selling polished furniture. Dresses stood in the window on headless mannequins, arranged in careful stillness.Â
Mayu stopped outside and checked the message on her phone.
âShe said it should already be packed,â she murmured.
You looked through the glass at racks of fabric in pale colors and soft light.
âThen this should be quick,â you said.
She didnât say anything else, instead she slipped her phone back into her bag and pushed the door open.
A bell chimed overhead.
Inside, the store was quieter than the mall outside, softened by carpet and low music. Mirrors lined the walls. Rows of dresses stood in garment bags, tagged and waiting for lives that had not happened yet. A woman at the counter looked up with a practiced smile.
You stood by the door, watching Mayu as she talked to the woman and accepting a paper bag over the counter.
Mayu checked the receipt once, folded it, and slipped it into her bag.
âThatâs done,â she said.
You nodded, pushing yourself off the wall. âJust as I thought.â
She turned toward the door, then paused, glancing back at you.
âWe still need to get you something to wear.â
âI own clothes.â
âNot ones suitable for a wedding.â
âIâve attended events before.â
She stepped out of the store without waiting for agreement.
You followed.
The mall noise rushed back in as soon as the door closed behind you. The brightness felt harsher now, like everything had been turned up slightly too high. Mayu moved with the same quiet certainty as before, but slower this time, like she was choosing where to go instead of already knowing.
âYou didnât plan this, did you?â you asked.
âThe suit?â she said.
âYes.â
âNo, I knew I wanted to get you something. But I just didnât expect the lack of stores.â
You glanced around at the row of storefronts ahead.
âThere are dozens of stores.â
âNot useful ones.â
âThat sounds convenient.â
âItâs true,â she said. âMenâs formalwear is usually overpriced, poorly made, or both.â
âYou say that like youâve studied it.â
âIâve gone shopping with enough people to know.â
She stopped at a mall directory and scanned the list of stores floor by floor.
You stood beside her, watching her finger move down the columns.
âThis seems thorough.â
âYouâll be in photographs,â she said. âYou should look presentable.â
âI was planning to stand in the back and blur into the background.â
âYouâre not disappearing at my wedding.â
The words were simple, said without emphasis. Yet, something in you tightened at hearing them spoken so plainly.
She looked up a second later, as if aware she had said more than intended.
âThere,â she said, pointing down the corridor. âFourth floor.â
You followed her to the escalator.
The crowd shifted around you in steady movement. A child leaned too far over the rail until his mother pulled him back. Someone carried flowers wrapped in paper. A couple argued in low voices near the landing.
Mayu stood one step above you.
You kept your eyes forward.
By the fourth floor, the noise had thinned. The stores were quieter here, brighter, arranged with the careful distance of places that expected people to hesitate before buying anything.
She stopped outside a formal wear shop where mannequins stood in ironed jackets and polished shoes.
Inside, jackets hung in even rows. Mirrors lined the walls. Everything smelled faintly of fabric and wood polish.
A salesman approached.
âLooking for formalwear?â
âFor him,â Mayu said.
You opened your mouth, then closed it.
Measurements followed before you could object. Shoulders, chest, sleeves, waist. Questions about size, fit, color, event date.
Mayu answered some of them before you did.
Several suits were brought out. Ones in navy, beige, and the dark hue of charcoal.
You reached for the plainest option.
âNot that one,â she said.
âWhy?â
âIt doesnât suit you.â
âThatâs vague.â
âIt makes you blend in.â
âBut that's what I want.â
âIf I look at the crowd during the reception, I want to make sure I can pick you out.â
You said nothing.
She handed you the navy jacket.
âTry this.â
You took it and went into the fitting room.
When you stepped out, adjusting the cuff, she was already watching.
The salesman commented on the fit. It flew over your head.
Mayu stepped closer and looked over the shoulders, sleeves, as if checking details no one else would notice.
Then she reached up and straightened the collar.
The touch lasted only a second.
âThis one,â she said.
âYouâve decided quickly.â
âI decided before you put it on.â
You turned toward the mirror.
The suit fit well, better than anything you would have chosen for yourself.
In the reflection, Mayu stood just behind you.
Close enough to be mistaken for something else.
The salesman asked about alterations and pickup dates.
Mayu answered before you could.
âBefore Sunday,â she said.
You knew why.
As you left the store, the both of you decided to split the cost, neither wanting the other to pay it in full.
The shopping bag swung lightly from your hand as you walked. Beside you, Mayu adjusted the strap on her shoulder and glanced ahead as if already searching for the next task waiting to be handled. She had always moved through days that way, collecting loose ends before they could unravel.
âYou didnât have to pay half,â you said after a while.
âYou didnât have to argue about it.â
âI wasnât arguing.â
âYou were using that tone.â
âWhat tone?â
âThe one that means you act like you're right even before you say anything.â
âThatâs rich coming from you.â You looked at her.
She smiled faintly, but it faded quickly.
The fourth floor was quieter than the rest of the mall. Footsteps sounded clearer here. Store windows reflected polished versions of strangers. Somewhere nearby, soft piano music drifted from a speaker hidden in a ceiling corner.
You and Mayu slowed near the railing overlooking the lower levels. Below, people moved in small currents, unaware of how often lives crossed above them without noticing.
She rested her hands lightly on the rail.
âYou looked good in it,â she said.
âThe suit?â
âYes.â
âI know, the salesman complimented me about five times.âÂ
âIâm serious.â
You turned your gaze downward.
âI know that too.â
For a moment neither of you spoke. The silence between you was old enough to be comfortable, but lately it had begun carrying thorns in its side.
Then she looked sideways at you.
âAre you going to tell me whatâs wrong?â
âNothingâs wrong.â Your grip tightened around the bag.
âThatâs not true.â
âYou seem confident.â
âIâve known you too long.â
The words settled between you like something placed carefully on a table.
You could tell her now.
The mall hummed around you. Elevators opened. Shoes crossed tile. Somewhere a child laughed, somewhere else someone apologized, somewhere else a store clerk recited prices no one wanted to hear.
Ordinary life continued, generous enough to offer cover.
You looked at Mayu beside you, at the woman who would be married in days, at the person who knew the shape of your silences better than anyone else.
Then you said the smallest thing again.
âIâm just tired.â
She studied your face long enough to make lying feel physical.
Then she nodded once.
âAlright.â she said but didnât sound convinced.
You turned to her fully then.
The shopping bag in your hand suddenly felt heavier, the thin handles pressing into your fingers.
Mayu kept her gaze forward for a moment, watching the floors below as if what she wanted to say might be easier aimed at strangers.
âActually,â she said again, quieter now, âIâve been meaning to tell you something. I just couldnât find the right timing.â
Your brows lifted before you could stop them.
A hundred impossible thoughts arrived at once, loud and immediate.
Donât marry him.
I made a mistake.
Did you ever love me too?
Why didnât you say anything sooner?
Stay.
You hated yourself for how quickly hope could resurrect itself.
âWhat is it?â you asked.
She exhaled through her nose, almost a laugh but not quite.
âLets justâŚtalk about it later. We can head to your place, been a while since I last visited.â
You blinked.
The words took a moment to settle, rearranging every expectation that had risen inside you only seconds earlier.
âThatâs it?â you asked before you could stop yourself.
A small smile touched her mouth. âDisappointed?â
You looked away toward the floors below.
âNo.â
It sounded unconvincing even to you.
Mayu let the answer pass without saying anything.Â
âI just donât want to say it here,â she said. âNot in the middle of people.â
You glanced around. A couple stood nearby comparing shopping bags. Two teenagers leaned over the railing taking photos of themselves. A janitor pushed a cart past with the patience of someone who had seen every version of public emotion and none of it impressed him.
âFair point.â
She turned from the railing and adjusted her bag on her shoulder.
âSo,â she said, as if suggesting something ordinary, âcan we go to your place?â
Your chest tightened at how casually she asked.
It had been years since sheâd last been there. Different apartment now, different neighborhood, different furniture bought out of necessity rather than taste. But the invitation reached backward through time anyway, touching old rooms, old afternoons, old versions of the two of you who once entered each otherâs spaces without ceremony.
âSure,â you said.
Her eyes moved to your face, reading something there.
âIf itâs inconvenient, we donât have to.â
âItâs not.â
That much was true.
Nothing about her was ever an inconvenience.
She nodded once, satisfied enough.
âThen letâs go.â
You started walking beside her toward the escalator. The shopping bag swung lightly from your hand. The suit inside was meant for her wedding.
You wondered what kind of man carried clothes for one future while hoping for another.
As the escalator carried you down through the bright open center of the mall, Mayu stood one step below you this time.
Close enough that if you reached forward, your hand would brush her shoulder.
You kept both hands to yourself.
The afternoon outside had softened by the time you left the mall.
The sharp brightness from earlier had dulled into a gentler light, the kind that turned glass buildings warm and made even crowded streets look briefly forgiving. Cars moved in steady lines. A cyclist slipped between lanes with reckless confidence. Somewhere down the block, someone was playing music from an open storefront.
You and Mayu chose to walk.
Neither of you said it aloud. At some point, you simply kept going past the taxi stand, past the bus stop, past the easy options, and the silence between you agreed.
The shopping bag knocked lightly against your leg with each step.
And again, you were walking beside her like the hundreds of times you have before. Like in elementary through high school, on afternoons where her uniform swayed with the wind, after festivals where she'd complain about walking in a yukata and now as adults where a ring now caught light around her finger.
The ring flashed now and then when her hand moved, a small, precise glint that seemed determined to catch your eye.
You looked away each time.
The sidewalks were busy but not rushed. Office workers moved in loose currents, couples shared umbrellas against a sky that threatened nothing, and delivery scooters stitched through traffic with casual disregard for mortality. Storefront glass reflected the two of you walking side by side, then lost you again as you passed.
âDo you remember,â Mayu said after a while, âwhen we used to take the long route home just to avoid the hill?â
âYou mean when you used to insist on taking the long way.â
âIt was tiring to climb all the way, thank you very much.â
âYou were just lazy.â
âI was carrying a school bag.â
âYou had three notebooks and a pencil case.â
âIt was still a burden to carry.â
You almost smiled.
The sound of it surprised you more than it should have. She noticed, though she pretended not to.
âThere was also that stray cat,â she continued. âThe orange one near the vending machines.â
âIt scratched everyone.â
âIt liked me at least.â
âIt tolerated you because you fed it your leftover lunch.â
âThat still counts as liking me.â
âIt bit you twice.â
âAffection takes different forms.â
You shook your head. For a moment, the years between then and now thinned into something transparent.
You remembered summer uniforms and damp collars. Rainy season walks under one umbrella neither of you admitted was too small. Her voice complaining about exams she would still ace. The way she always matched your pace without looking down.
âYou still walk too fast,â she said suddenly.
âI slowed down.â
âNo. I just got better at keeping up.â
The road narrowed as you turned into quieter streets lined with apartment buildings and convenience stores. The city noise softened behind you. Trees planted along the sidewalk shifted in a mild breeze, their leaves making a dry, papery sound overhead.
Mayu glanced at a small bakery on the corner.
âThat place used to be a DVD store.â
âYou cried when it closed.â
âI did not.â
âYou asked the owner if they could at least keep the romcom section.â
âI watched most of them, and I could do it again for the rest of time.â
âYou were twelve.âÂ
âA twelve year old that lived for romance and cringy one liners.â
This time you laughed properly, brief and low.
She looked ahead as her mouth curved, letting the familiar comfort of silence take over.
Neither of you spoke for the rest of the block.Â
You turned down the narrower lane leading to your building.
The neighborhood was mostly residential here, the storefronts giving way to stacked apartments with bicycles chained to rails and potted plants guarding entrances. A woman watered herbs on a balcony above. Somewhere nearby, a television laughed through an open window. The smell of garlic and soy drifted from someoneâs open window.
Mayu glanced around slowly.Â
âYour neighborhood looks so cozy, I wouldnât mind living here.â
Your building came into view at the end of the lane. It was just some building in plain colors, one that had narrow windows, the sort of place that blended in with the city and didnât have eyes on it in every corner.Â
âCome on up,â you said, leading her into the gate.
Both of you ascended the steps, each step audible until the higher floors as it broke through the atmosphere of the building. Eventually, you finally made it in your apartment.
You keyed open the door and held it for her. She stepped inside first, her shoulder brushing close enough to smell her perfume.Â
You followed after her and closed the door gently behind you.Â
What had felt like an ordinary home hours ago was now exposed. The coat left over the chair. The papers stacked unevenly on the table in front of the couch. A mug still in the sink. The lamp near the window with its crooked shade you had stopped noticing months ago.
You saw everything through the eyes of someone coming in.
Mayu slipped off her shoes near the entrance without asking where to place them, then straightened and looked around with quiet curiosity.
âNice place,â she said.
âYou donât have to be polite.â
âIâm not.â
She walked farther in, fingers brushing lightly along the back of the couch as she passed.Â
âIt feels lived in,â she added.
âThatâs a better way to say itâs messy.â
âIt isnât.â
She glanced toward the kitchen, then the shelves near the television, then the window where the late light was settling in long bars across the floor.
âIt feels like you.â
You set the shopping bag down beside the wall and placed your keys on the counter.
âIâm not sure whether thatâs flattering.â
âIt wasnât meant to be either way.â
Her voice had gone softer since stepping inside, as if the room itself asked for quieter language.
You moved toward the sink, taking cups from inside it and rinsing it more for something to do than from need.
âWater?â you asked.
âSure.â
Pulling the fridge open, you picked out a plastic water pitcher that was left inside all afternoon.
Mayu wandered slowly through the room behind you, as if she had every right to.
Her eyes grazed over books neatly tight together on a shelf that you hadnât read a single page of, dust gathering on their covers. Not long after, she crouched near the lower shelf where older things had been pushed without much order.Â
Her fingers paused on a small plastic case.
A DVD.
âNo way.â
She stood and held it up between two fingers, laughing under her breath.
The cover showed a the title in big letters above the characters. One of those sentimental films she used to defend with unreasonable passion.
You turned.
âYou kept this?â
âIt came from one of the boxes.â
âYou say that like it answers my question.â
âIt survived me moving out by accident.â
âSure it did.â she looked at the case, smiling to herself.
âWe watched this three times.â
âYou watched it three times. I was just there.â
âYou cried at the ending.â
âI was tired.â
âYou still cried.â
âI had allergies.â
âIn December?â
âYeah, and?â you leaned against the counter.
She laughed properly then, the sound filling the apartment too easily.
For a moment, the years thinned again.
You could almost see another version of this room layered over the present. Her sprawled across a couch complaining about fictional men. You pretending not to listen while memorizing every word.
Mayu set the DVD down carefully on the shelf.
Then her gaze moved to the framed photo tucked half turned on another shelf.
She picked it up.
You were in a wrinkled school uniform, looking annoyed at the camera yet still holding out a peace sign. Her beside you in a festival yukata with a stick of candied fruit in her hand.
Her thumb brushed the edge of the frame.
âYou kept this too?â
Your throat tightened.
âDidnât really have a reason to throw it out.âÂ
Mayu looked at the photo for a long moment.
The room had gone quiet enough that the hum of the refrigerator seemed suddenly important.
âYou always hated this picture,â she said.
âI hated that you pulled and made me pose for it.â
âYou hated smiling in public.â
âI still do.â
âThatâs not true.â
She lifted the frame slightly toward you, another laugh escaping her lips again. Her hands set the photo back where she found it, though straighter this time, no longer half-hidden. Then she turned and leaned lightly against the shelf, arms folding across herself.
âWhen did you move here?â she asked.
âAbout a year ago.â
âAnd you never told me.â
âYou were busy.â
The answer landed heavier than you meant it to.
Her gaze dropped for a second.
âI still wouldâve wanted to know.â
You poured water into two glasses and handed one to her. Your fingers brushed when she took it. Neither of you reacted quickly enough to pretend it hadnât happened.
âYou had a lot going on,â you said.
âThat doesnât mean you stop existing.â
âIt wasnât like that.â
âWasnât it?â
You looked away first.
She took a sip of water, then wandered toward the window. Outside, the last of the daylight was thinning across the neighboring buildings, blurring at the edges.
âSo,â you said after a sip of your own, âwhat did you want to talk about?â
Mayu turned to you and something in the look of her eyes shifted.
âItâs nothing much,â she shrugged but you knew better.
âIf itâs just gossip, I will be very disappointed.âÂ
âItâs not,â she said.Â
Mayu took in a breath, eyes lurking somewhere outside the window before drifting back to you.
âI just wanted to say sorry.âÂ
You frowned slightly.
âSorry?â
She nodded once, but even that small movement looked difficult.
âFor what?â
Mayu looked down at the glass in her hands, fingers turning it a fraction against the condensation.
âFor a lot of things.â
The answer unsettled you more than if she had named one.
She set the glass aside and crossed her arms loosely, as if the room had grown colder.
âFor disappearing when life got busy. For acting like years between us were normal. For only reaching out when I needed something.â Her voice stayed even, but carefully so. âFor today, maybe.â
âYou donât need to apologize for asking me to help.â
âThatâs not what I mean.â
You said nothing.
She glanced around your apartment again, at the bookshelves, the couch, the ordinary evidence of a life she had not been part of.
âI also want to say sorry for dragging you along to wedding preparations.â
You furrowed your brows, confused yet no words slipped out of you.
âEspecially when I knew you loved me.â
Everything in the room seemed to freeze at once. The hum of the refrigerator, the distant traffic outside, even the late light near the window felt suddenly suspended.
You stared at her.
Mayu did not look away this time.
âWhat?â The word came out low, stripped of shape.
âI knew.â She swallowed.
Your hand tightened around the glass until cold water pressed over your knuckles.
âHow long?â
Her eyes lowered for a moment.
âI donât know exactly. Maybe longer than I wanted to admit.â
A laugh escaped you, sharp and painful. By then, every line, every word you rehearsed had disappeared into thin air, leaving you helplessly scrambling to gather everything together in the moment
âIâm not trying to defend myself.â
âThen what are you doing?â
She drew in a breath that trembled before it settled.
âTelling the truth too late.â
You set the glass down before it slipped from your hand.
âAll this time,â you said, each word careful now, âyou knew.â
âYes.â she said with a small nod.
âAnd you still called.â
âYes.â
âYou still asked me for favors.â
Her silence answered first.Â
âYes, I did.â
Something piercing and bitter moved through your chest.
âYou let me stand beside you while you chose someone else.â you said after another breath of disbelief.
âThat isnât fair.â
You looked at her with disbelief so immediate it almost hurt.
âFair?â
âI didnât ask you to wait for me.â
âNo,â you said. âYou just made sure I did.â
Her face changed at that, pain crossing it fast and unguarded.
âI never wanted to hurt you.â
âThen why keep me close?â
âBecause I loved you too.â
The room froze.
You said nothing because there was nothing stable enough to say.
Tears had gathered in her eyes, but her voice held.
âI loved you in the worst possible way. Not bravely enough to choose you. Not decently enough to let you go.â
You stepped back as if distance might make sense in return.
âThatâs cruel.â
âI know.â
âYou donât get to say that like whatever you said makes it any less.â
You turned away, staring at the wall, the bookshelf, the ordinary furniture now made strange.
Memories moved through you with violent clarity. Every late call. Every invitation. Every time she reached for you when lonely, then drifted when life brightened elsewhere. Every hope you had called patience.
Behind you, she spoke again.
âI thought there would be time.â
You laughed once, exhausted.
âThere always is,â you said. âUntil there isnât.â
When you finally faced her again, your anger had gone quieter, which was worse.
âSo why tell me now?â
Her lips parted, then pressed together.
Because there were only days left. Because she was standing in the apartment of the man she did not choose. Because guilt had finally outweighed convenience.
When she answered, it was softer than all of that.
âBecause I couldnât bear becoming someoneâs wife while still being a coward to you.â
You held her gaze for a long moment, then looked away before it could break something in you.
The apartment suddenly felt too small for what had been said. Too full of objects that had quietly witnessed years of your devotion without ever warning you where it would end.
âYou shouldâve left me alone,â you said, voice softening ever so slightly.
Mayuâs face tightened.
âI know that too.â
âNo, I donât think you do.â You shook your head slowly. âYou say you loved me like thatâs supposed to explain why you put me through all of that, all of this!â
âIt doesnât explain it,â she said, voice shaking. âI know it doesnât.â
âThen what does it do?â you snapped. âWhat exactly am I supposed to do with that now?â
She opened her mouth, but nothing came.
You laughed once, sharp and hollow.
âCongratulations, Mayu. You loved me. Secretly. Uselessly. While getting engaged to someone else.â
You hated yourself for saying the words that left your lips, but not enough to take them back.
Her eyes filled completely with tears.
âI deserved that.â
âThatâs the problem,â you said. âYou think this is about deserving pain. It isnât. Itâs about what you took.â
She looked stunned.
âYou took years from me.â
Your voice had gone low again, steadier, which made it harsher.
âYou took every chance I had to stop hoping. Every time I almost moved on, you came back just enough to remind me why I couldnât. You made me watch you pick flowers that will surround your wedding, you dragged me along to pick your wedding cake, and you pulled me in to see you in the dress that offered the rest of your life with someone else.â
Your breath caught, anger tightening every word until it felt sharpened by years.
âAnd the worst part?â you said. âI let you.â
Mayu flinched like the sentence had struck somewhere physical.
âI answered every call. I showed up whenever you asked. I told myself it meant something because I needed it to mean something.â You shook your head, a bitter smile appearing and dying just as fast. âI made excuses for you so often I started calling it loyalty.â
Tears slipped down her face now, silent and steady.
âI know,â she whispered.
âNo.â You stepped back again. âYou know now. Knowing now is easy. Knowing while it was happening would have required you to do something.â
She covered her mouth for a moment, trying to hold herself together. When she spoke again, her voice came through unevenly.
âI was scared.â
âOf what?â
âOf losing you.â
The answer made something hot and furious rise in your chest.
âYou lost me anyway.â
The room went still after that.
Outside, somewhere below the building, a siren passed and faded. A neighborâs door shut. Life continued with the casual cruelty of things that do not care.
Mayu lowered her hand slowly.
âI loved you,â she said again, weaker this time, as if the confession itself had begun collapsing. âI still do.â
You laughed, but there was no humor left in it.
âThen say it, why isnât it me?â
The words tore out before pride could stop them.
Her face crumpled.
âWhy wasnât it me standing beside you at fittings. Why wasnât it me arguing with you over flowers. Me pretending not to hate seating charts. Me waiting for you at the altar while you complained your shoes hurt.â Your voice broke, then hardened around the fracture. âWhy wasnât it me?â
She cried openly now, shoulders trembling.
âI know,â she said.
âNo, stop saying that.â You pointed toward the door, then let your hand fall. âStop acting like understanding is the same thing as changing anything.â
âI donât know how to fix this.â
âYou canât.â
That landed between you with brutal finality.
She looked around the apartment then, at the shelves, the couch, the photograph she had straightened minutes ago. All the quiet evidence of a life that had once left space for her.
âI never wanted to be the person who hurt you most,â she said.
âYou didnât plan it,â you replied. âYou just kept choosing it.â
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, there was something emptied out in her expression. Not relief. Not peace. Just recognition.
âI should go.â
You wanted to say stay.
You wanted to say donât marry him.
You wanted to say start over, start here, start now.
Instead, you said nothing.
Mayu moved to the entrance and slipped her shoes back on with trembling hands. At the door, she paused without turning.
âFor what itâs worth,â she said quietly, âif I had been braver...â
You stared at the floor.
âIf you had been braver,â you said, âwe wouldnât be discussing what-ifs.â
She nodded once then she was gone.
The door closed gently behind her, almost politely.
You stood in the middle of the apartment, listening to the silence she left behind.
Near the wall, the shopping bag waited where you had dropped it.
Inside was the suit you were meant to wear to watch someone else live the life you wanted.
From living in the same neighborhood to going to the same school in the same classes each year like two people who were joined at the hip.
Some people became friends through grand moments.
Then there was you and Mayu who became friends through repetition.
Through the same routine.
Through the thousand small accidents that eventually harden into fate.
Walking to elementary school because both your mothers trusted neither of you alone near traffic, sharing umbrellas every rainy season because she never remembered hers and always acted surprised by weather, as if clouds always knew the best time to start pouring. Trading lunches because she hated cafeteria food and she just so happened to love your motherâs cooking. Competing over test scores, then pretending not to care. Arguing over nonsense so frequently that teachers began separating you by instinct before attendance was even finished.
When you were seven, she shoved you off a swing because you said her drawing of a rabbit looked like an deformed potato with lopsided ears.
When you were eight, you took the blame when she broke a classroom window with a dodgeball because she cried too convincingly to make the teacher believe otherwise.
When you were ten, she announced to three horrified classmates that she would probably marry you someday since it was the âeasiestâ choice.
When you were eleven, she denied ever saying it with such violence you nearly believed her.
That was Mayu.
Loud where you were quiet, impulsive where you were being cautious.
By middle school, people assumed you were siblings.
By high school, people assumed you were dating.
By college, people assumed one of you would confess eventually.
Neither of you did.
Or rather, you didnât.
Mayu treated affection like confetti, easy to throw yet hard to keep track of.
She linked arms with you crossing streets, fell asleep on your shoulder during train rides, stole food from your plate without any moral regard. Called you first when she got accepted into university, when she failed a driving test, when she cried after a bad breakup, when she locked herself out of her apartment wearing slippers and her pyjamas.
You were the person she ran to.
You made the fatal mistake of thinking that meant something romantic.
Maybe it did once, maybe it never did.
Feelings didnât arrive for you in a singular strike of epiphany.
They arrived like moss, quietly, gradually, spreading over everything before you realized it was actually there.
Somewhere between helping her study for exams and watching her laugh so hard she hiccuped milk tea through her nose, you fell in love with her.
Then stayed there for years.
You told yourself there was time.
There was always another season.
Another graduation.
Another summer festival.
Another almost-confession interrupted by phone calls, friends arriving, bad timing, your own cowardice dressed up as patience.
And Mayu, oblivious or merciful, continued being herself.
You seemingly lost track of time as it passed, lost track of the days where you couldâve said something or just anything in that manner.
Now, time decided to hit you square in the face.
She got a boyfriend.
Right, it stung at first but you thought of the other exes she had and maybe it wouldâve ended the same but time hit you with another punch straight to your gut.
She was getting married soon.
And here you were having brunch with her and her fiance.
The cafe was one of those polished places, white walls, hanging plants, wooden tables so smooth they reflected your mistakes back at you. Soft jazz drifted through the room like it paid rent there.Â
Across from you, Mayu was slicing through her stack of pancakes as she leaned in to the man beside her while he said something you didnât quite catch.
âYouâre staring again,â she said around a bite.
âSorry, spaced out a little.â
âSure,â Mayu said, unconvinced.
She pointed her fork at you without looking away from her pancakes.
âThatâs what you call it when your soul leaves your body?â
âI call it being hungry.â
Beside her, her fiancĂŠ laughed softly.
Takase Rin had the kind of laugh that sounded expensive, low, easy, annoyingly sound.
You distrusted it immediately.
Rin sat with the relaxed posture of a man who belonged wherever he happened to be. Sleeves rolled neatly to the forearms, watch subtle but probably expensive, hair behaving in a way that matched him perfectly.
He looked like the final draft of a person, the perfect and ideal man.
You, by comparison, felt like you still had notes to keep track of.
âIâm glad you came with us today, Mayu has told me a lot about you.â
You smiled politely.
He had the kind of calm that made you suspicious. Nobody should be that at ease before noon.
âIâve heard you two have known each other forever,â he said.
âUnfortunately,â you replied.
âSince we were kids,â Mayu corrected, chewing happily. âHe cried when he lost a race to me in third grade.â
âI did not cry.â
âYou looked close enough.â
âIt was windy.â
âWe were indoors.â
You looked at Rin. âThis is what your future will be. She lies casually and with confidence too.â
âI just remember things differently.â Mayu said.
Rin laughed softly, but not in a way that felt performative. He seemed genuinely amused by the two of you, as if watching a language he did not fully understand but wanted to learn.
Across the table, Mayu looked lighter than you remembered. She wasnât louder nor brighter in the obvious sense, but more at ease. There was something in the way she leaned toward Rin when he spoke, the way she touched his sleeve absentmindedly while reaching for syrup, the way she smiled before he had even finished a sentence. They were small gestures, nearly invisible unless you knew her well.
And you did, a bit too much which was the problem.Â
âWhen I broke the classroom window in second grade, he took the blame for me,â Mayu said.
Rin turned to you. âReally?â
You shrugged. âShe cried too much.â
âI was being persuasive,â Mayu said.
âYou were terrifying.â
âShe still can be,â Rin said gently.
Mayu looked offended for half a second, then pleased.
You looked down at your coffee before anyone could notice the expression on your face.
There had been years when you were the person who knew every version of her. The dramatic one, the angry one, the tired one, the one who called at midnight because she had locked herself out. Now someone else was learning those versions one by one, and she was letting him.
It should have been natural but It still felt like being replaced in slow motion.
âOh right,â Mayu said suddenly. âWeâre going to be choosing flowers for the venue, Iâm gonna need your honest opinion about everything.â
You looked up at her.
âMy honest opinion about flowers?â
âAbout everything,â Mayu repeated. âFlowers, table settings, invitations, the venue layout, whether the cake tastes off. I need someone who wonât just tell me everything looks nice.â
She tilted her head toward Rin.
âHe keeps being reasonable.â
Rin did not seem offended. He simply took a sip of coffee and said, âI thought being supportive was the only thing I should be doing.â
âIt is,â Mayu said. âBut supportive people are useless when I need criticism.â she looked over back across the table.
âSo youâll come with us?â she continued as she nudged your shin under the table.
You looked between them and understood, with a clarity that felt almost cruel, how differently each of them saw you.
Rin watched with the patience of someone waiting for an answer he believed mattered. There was courtesy in it, and a certain confidence too, as though he assumed you would come because reasonable people usually did when asked.
Mayu looked at you the way she always had, with the casual certainty of someone who never had to question whether you would want to be there.
âIâI guess I could, not much to do today anyways.â You finally said.
âGreat! Hopefully you wouldnât mind tagging along for a couple more days, I could use another voice apart from his.â Mayu chuckled lightly, hand smacking Rinâs shoulder before she leaned in again and wrapped her arm around his.
An unwelcome thought crossed your mind.
Would anything have changed if you had said something years ago?
If you had chosen one of the thousand ordinary afternoons you shared and broken it open with honesty. If you had spoken during the walk home after graduation, or on that summer night when fireworks burst over the river and she had leaned against your shoulder without thinking. If you had said it after she cried over another man who did not know how to keep what he was given.
If you had been brave once instead of patient forever.
Would you be the one seated beside her now, close enough for her hand to find your sleeve without thought? Would her laughter be turned toward you instead of across the table? Would this same cafe be softened by happiness instead of sharpened by regret?
Or would you have ruined the one thing you had managed to keep?
That possibility has always frightened you more.
Losing the chance of romance was always dispensable, losing her wasnât.
You chose to wait so many times it became your personality, a part of you.
Across the table, Mayu was saying something about peonies with complete seriousness, while Rin listened as though flowers might decide their fate in the future.
You watched her laugh at her own point before either of you answered.
Some things about her had not changed at all.
She still moved through the world expecting affection and somehow receiving it.
Perhaps that was why people loved her.
Perhaps that was why you did.
Rin said something low enough that only she heard. She smiled before he finished speaking and tightened her arm around his.
It would be easy to resent Rin if he were arrogant, careless, dismissive. It would have been easier if he had taken her from you like something stolen.
Instead, he was kind, attentive, patient enough to let her interrupt him, amused enough to enjoy it.
He had not taken anything, instead he had simply arrived while you were still hesitating.
âEat up, your food is going cold.â Mayu asked.
You were brought out of your own thoughts, finding yourself again in the atmosphere of the cafe.
âRight,â You answered, eyes drifting down to your own set of pancakes that were still untouched.
A sigh left your lips then, a silent prayer, wishing to gather the strength to finally say something soon.
By the time the three of you reached the florist, a part of you was already regretting tagging along with them.
The shop sat on a corner street with tall windows fogged by cool air and humidity, rows of flowers visible through the glass like a carefully arranged art piece. Buckets of roses, lilies, tulips, hydrangeas, eucalyptus, peonies, and flowers you could not identify crowded every surface. The entire place smelled fresh and sweet.
Mayu walked in first as if she had personally commissioned spring.
âHello,â she called brightly to no one in particular. âWeâre here to choose the wedding flowers,
A woman behind the counter looked up, unsurprised in the way service workers often were when confronted.
âAppointment for Koma and Takase?â
âSoon to be Mrs. Takase,â Mayu answered. âBut yes.â
They heard a loud sigh behind them then.
Mayu turned first, âAre you okay?â
âYeah, just taking in the smell of. . .everything.â You answered, looking at the colors around the shop.
That seemed to be a sufficient answer.
The florist gestured toward a consultation table set with sample bouquets, fabric swatches, candles, and catalogues.
âPlease, have a seat.â
Mayu sat first without hesitation, already leaning forward to inspect everything laid out on the table. Rin took the chair beside her. You sat across from them a moment later, feeling less like a guest and more like someone who had wandered into the wrong meeting.
The florist opened a binder and smiled professionally.
âDo you already have a theme in mind?â
âNot really,â Mayu said. âI know what I donât want more than what I do want.â
âThat helps too,â the florist replied.
âI donât want anything stiff or cold colors,â Mayu continued.
âThat helps too,â the florist replied.
âOh, how about this one. You like lilies, donât you? I heard theyâre in season too.â Rin leaned in, pointing to another side of the binder.
Mayuâs eyes shifted toward the page Rin had pointed to, but before she could say anything, you leaned forward and turned the binder slightly.
âWhat? You should take a look at the roses. Those are your favourites, I know that.â
The florist wisely pretended to reorganize ribbon samples.
Mayu looked at you first, then at the binder, then back again.
âYouâre right but I also like lilies,â she said.
You sat back. âI know. I was just saying roses suit you more.â
Rinâs hand withdrew from the page without saying anything. He didnât look offended, which somehow made it worse.
Mayu studied you for another second before turning back to the binder.
âCan I see both?â she asked the florist.
âOf course.â
Two sample arrangements were brought over, one built around white lilies and pale greenery. The other fuller, layered with blush roses and cream accents.
Mayu compared them carefully.
âThese are nice,â she said, touching one of the rose petals. âBut maybe too cliche.â
You opened your mouth.
âShe hasnât finished,â Rin said mildly.
You looked at him.
He had spoken without edge, without challenge, in the same tone someone might use to remind another person not to interrupt a weather report.
Mayu continued as if she had not noticed.
âAnd these are elegant,â she said, nodding at the lilies, âbut maybe a little formal.â
The florist nodded. âWe can combine elements of both.â
âThat sounds good,â Rin said.
âThat sounds expensive,â you said.
âThat also sounds possible to do,â the florist replied smoothly.
Mayu laughed once, but her attention had changed. There was a slight tightness around her eyes now, something only visible if you knew her well.
The florist laid out more options, centerpieces with cascading greenery, minimalist arrangements, candles in varying heights, linen samples that all seemed determined to be different shades of white while pretending otherwise.
Mayu picked up two samples.
âWhich one looks better?â
You reached for the left one.
âThe other,â Rin said at the same time.
âWhy?â She glanced between you both.
You answered first. âThis one is cleaner.â
Rin nodded toward the other. âThat one feels warmer.â
âI hate when you both make sense.â Mayu looked down at them, then set both aside.Â
âThat seems unlikely,â you muttered.
She ignored that.
A few minutes later, the florist suggested they take a look around the shop in case anything else caught their attention.
Mayu and Rin moved into the aisles together, walking shoulder to shoulder between rows of flowers and shelves lined with candles, vases, and ribbon spools arranged by color.
You drifted in the opposite direction without announcing it.
There was no need when no one had asked where you were going.
You paused beside a display of dried arrangements you suspected existed for people who wanted to give their shelf some design. Across the room, Mayu laughed at something Rin said. You did not hear the joke, only the sound of her laughter arriving clearly enough to be unhelpful.
She was looking at table lanterns now, one hand looped lightly around his arm while he held two sample candles for comparison. Even from a distance, they moved easily together, no hesitation over space, no uncertainty over touch. The kind of comfort people built when they had chosen each other plainly.
You looked away first.
Meanwhile, Mayu reached for a small arrangement of chrysanthemums and set it back down.
âWhat about these?â Rin asked.
âMaybe for the guest tables.â
He nodded, thoughtful as ever.
She shouldâve been focused on the choices in front of her, but instead she found herself glancing toward the back of the shop where you had wandered off.
She frowned faintly.
There had been something strange about you all morning, more than strange, actually. Sharp around the edges. Every suggestion Rin made seemed to pull some reflex out of you before you could stop it.
Normally, if you were irritated, you said so.
Normally, if something bothered you, you made a dry comment and moved on.
Today you kept smiling first.
That felt worse.
Rin had accidentally picked a flower from one of the displays and offered it to her. Mayu brushed back some strands of her hair that fell from the side of her head. He idly leaned in, about to place it over her ear.
âOh, that would make a good bundle for the bouquet toss.â Your voice came in then, interrupting them.
Rinâs hand paused halfway to her face.
Mayu turned first.
You stood at the end of the aisle holding a small basket of ribbon samples you clearly had no reason to be carrying.
âWhat?â
You nodded toward the flower in Rinâs hand.
âI said that would make a good bundle for the bouquet toss.â you repeated.
There was a brief silence.
The florist, somewhere nearby, made the wise decision to disappear behind a shelf of glass vases.
Rin lowered his hand slowly and looked at the flower. âIt was just one stem,â he said.
âI know,â you replied, stepping closer. âI was just suggesting.â
âWith what?â Mayu asked.
âA use for it.â
Rin glanced at the flower, then at you, trying to follow a conversation that had clearly taken a turn only two longtime friends understood.
Mayu took the stem from his hand and tucked it behind her own ear. âThere,â she said. âNow it has a use.â
âItâs crooked.â you said, looking at her for a moment.Â
âItâs just a flower,â her expression flattened.
âYes butâhere, let me,â you reached out and carefully adjusted the flower.
Your fingers brushed near her temple as you straightened the stem.
The gesture was small, familiar, thoughtless in the way old habits often were.
Mayu went still.
You had done things like this before across years. Brushed rainwater from her sleeve. Fixed a twisted scarf. Pulled a leaf from her hair during autumn walks. The kind of tiny intimacies that belonged to no category because neither of you had ever forced them into one.
Only now Rin was standing beside her.
âThere,â you said quietly, letting your hand fall away. âBetter.â
Mayu blinked once, then stepped back half a pace.
âI could have fixed it myself.â
âBut I did it for you, deal with it.âÂ
Rin, to his credit, said nothing immediately. He only watched the two of you with an expression that suggested he had entered a room halfway through a conversation years in progress.
Mayu touched the flower where you had adjusted it, as if checking whether it had really changed.
âWhat is wrong with you today?â
âNothing.â
âIt doesnât seem like nothing,â
âTrust me. If something was bothering me, youâd be the first one to know.â you replied before glancing over to Rin. âNo offense.â
Rin gave a small nod. âNone taken.â
He said it easily, but the air had already changed.
Mayuâs eyes narrowed.
âYou say that like it means something.â
âIt means exactly what it sounds like.â
âThatâs rarely true when it comes from you.â
You let out a short breath that almost passed for a laugh.
âIâm fine, really. You two can keep looking around. Iâll come back if I find something useful.â
You dipped your head slightly, more habit than politeness, then turned and walked toward the far side of the shop before either of them could answer.
Mayu watched you go.
She told herself it was nothing. You could be strange sometimes. Difficult for reasons even you did not understand. There had been days in school when you refused to speak until lunch because someone beat you at a game you claimed not to care about. There had been weeks where stress made you sarcastic more than sane.
This could be one of those moods.
Still, something about today felt less careless and more deliberate.
Rin picked up a ribbon sample and glanced at her. âShould I be worried?â
âNo,â Mayu said immediately.
Then, after a pause, âProbably not.â
He smiled faintly. âComforting.â
âHeâs just being weird.â
âYou say that with a lot of confidence for someone frowning.â
She straightened at once. âIâm not frowning.â
âYou are.â
âIâm thinking.â
âThat expression usually means trouble for someone else.â
Despite herself, she smiled. It faded quickly when she looked back toward the rear of the store.
You were pretending to study centerpiece arrangements, hard enough to make it seem you actually knew where they belonged to. Every few seconds, your eyes moved without meaning to and returned in their direction before darting away again.
Mayu knew your habits the way people knew the route home in the dark.
When you were annoyed, your jaw tightened.
When you were embarrassed, you became overly helpful.
When something mattered too much, you acted as if it didnât matter at all.
She folded her arms.
âWhat?â Rin asked.
âNothing,â she said.
But it wasnât nothing, it was far from it.
Days later, you found yourself with them again.
This time it was a bakery known for elaborate pastries and custom wedding cakes, the sort of place that did not mind adding an extra tier if someone was willing to pay for it. Rows of glossy fruit tarts, delicate layered slices, and miniature desserts sat behind glass like museum pieces under refrigeration, each tagged with names you could barely pronounce.
What exactly was a Gateau Debord, and why did it cost more than your lunch?
Mayu and Rin were already at the display counter, speaking with an attendant in a clean, crisp apron while you lingered a step behind, pretending to study a tray of macarons you had no intention of buying.
When the consultant noticed you, she smiled politely.
âRight this way.â
She led the three of you toward a private tasting area at the back of the store. A round table had been prepared with small plated samples, forks, glasses of water, and neatly labeled cards identifying each flavor.
Vanilla. Black Forest. Red velvet. Strawberry Shortcake. Dark Chocolate and Milk Chocolate. Vanilla Raspberry. Mocha.
You stopped beside the table.
âDo you really want to try out this much?â
âItâs seven slices,â Mayu said.
âThat is too many slices.â
âThere is no such thing,â she replied, taking the seat nearest the tray.
Rin sat beside her and loosened his sleeves slightly, as if preparing for serious work.
âYouâre both taking this too seriously.â
âItâs our wedding cake,â Mayu said, pointing a fork at you. âSit down.â
You obeyed, which annoyed you more than it should have.
The consultant gave a brief explanation about flavor pairings, fillings, frostings, and customization options before stepping away.
A moment later, she returned carrying a tray of sample cake toppers.
They were small figurines arranged in different poses, standing hand in hand, dancing, embracing, one with the groom carrying the bride, another with both laughing as though porcelain could improvise joy.
Only one detail remained constant through all of them.
A man in a suit and a woman in white.
A sigh slipped out before you could stop it, not loud enough to draw attention, not dramatic enough to be questioned. You could have said anything, instead you just exhaled again and looked away.
Mayu noticed anyway.
Her eyes flicked toward you for half a second, âPick one,â she said.
The consultant, sensing the shift in tone, took a very careful step backward. Rin stayed where he was, hands loosely folded, watching without interrupting.
You looked at the tray of toppers again.
All of them were the same idea repeated in slightly different costumes. The same ending, rearranged into poses that pretended variation meant choice.
âWhaâWhy me?â you asked, the words stumbling out of your lips.
Mayu frowned slightly, as if the answer should have been obvious.
âYour opinion matters,â she said. âThatâs why we brought you along.â
The room went strangely quiet after that, even the low music drifting in from the front of the bakery seemed to recede.
You stared at her.
She said it casually, almost impatiently, the way she said things she considered self-evident. As if she had merely explained why sugar was sweet or why rain was wet.
Your opinion matters.
If she had said it years ago, on some ordinary afternoon when the stakes were smaller, it might have felt warm. But here, with wedding cake samples between you and her fiance seated at her side, it felt like being handed something delicate after it had already broken.
You reached forward then and picked up the simplest one. The couple standing side by side, almost identical height, no dramatic lean, no grand gesture, only standing together in a way that looked more relaxed than tense.
âThis one.â
Mayu leaned forward to inspect it.
âThat one looks boring,â she said immediately.
âItâs calm,â you replied.
âIt looks like theyâre waiting at a bus stop.â
Rin took the figurine gently from your hand and turned it once between his fingers, considering it with more seriousness than porcelain deserved.
âI like it,â he said. âIt feels simple.â
Mayu looked between the two of you, then narrowed her eyes.
âThatâs two votes,â you said.
âThat is not how this works.â
âIt should be,â Rin answered lightly.
She huffed, then reached for another topper. This one had the groom dipping the bride backward in a dramatic pose youâd only see in movies that suggested either romance or a lower back injury.
âHere, this oneâs eye-catching.âÂ
Rin laughed quietly and took the second topper from her hand, setting it beside the simpler one for comparison. He studied both with the same measured attention he gave everything, as if no choice was too small to deserve thought.
âThe first one feels more natural,â he said. âThis one feels staged.â
âItâs a cake topper,â Mayu replied. âIts entire purpose is to be staged for everyone to see.â
âThat may be true,â he said, smiling faintly, âbut staged things often feel forced.â
Mayu opened her mouth, then paused. She glanced at the two figurines again.
You watched her expression change in small increments, annoyance giving way to consideration. She always did that when she was close to agreeing with someone and hated it.
âI still think the dramatic one is prettier,â she said at last.
âWhatever,â you chuckled, showing emotion for what felt like the first time since you got here. âIâll go back out front and look at other cakes. Just tell me if you made a decision.â
You pushed your chair back before either of them could answer.
âRunning away already?â Mayu asked.
âJust giving you the freedom to choose things for your wedding, Iâll say what I think when you two are done.â you said, hand raising up to wave at them dismissively as you walked out.
You once again stood in the middle of the baker where the different pastries and sweets were behind glass like museum displays.
The same cake that caught your eye earlier, still stayed where you saw it earlier and still with the name you could barely pronounce correctly even if you tried. You leaned closer to the glass, looking at the chocolate that covered the top the rolls that gave it a rather unique shape and then your eyes glanced over at the two pieces of white chocolate picked and shaped to look like two swans meeting at the center of a river.
âAre you interested in anything, sir?âÂ
Another attendantâs voice came from your side, startling you into place. You turned to look and saw them in the clean apron the other employee wore, they were a younger woman, maybe just an apprentice.
âNo,â you said. âI was just reading the price and feeling insulted.â
The young attendant blinked, then smiled politely in the way employees did when unsure whether a customer was joking.
âItâs one of our more popular items,â they said. âThe Gateau Debord.â
âIâve never heard of it.â
âIt is French, and not a lot of shops sell it.â
âMakes sense why Iâve only heard of it today.â
They let out a small laugh before catching themselves and explaining what it was made of, from the layers, fillings, and other names of ingredients that flew over your head.
âMaybe itâs more expensive than I thought.â
Their laughter came out easier this time.Â
From the doorway that led to the back of the store, Mayu could see glimpses of you and the attendant. For what felt like the first time sheâd invited you to go with them, she saw you smiling as if there was no actual weight on your shoulders at all, as if there wasnât a hint of annoyance in your voice whenever you answered.
Her heart grew lighter.
Yet, she couldnât help but remember all of the other times sheâd seen you smile, it mightâve been in the millions at this point and she could still remember most of them, all from different points in time, when you two walked home from school, when you talked about the one teacher you hated the guts of and even then in a more simpler time inside of a different bakery where you bought her a slice when she was sulking over a bad grade.
âItâs one test,â you had said then, setting your bag down across from her.
âI feel humiliated,â Mayu replied, arms folded on the cafĂŠ table. âI missed one question because I changed the answer at the last second. I hate myself.â
âYou got an eighty-seven.â
âI could have had a ninety.â
âYou need to worry about other things or none at all.â
She ignored that with dignity.
Minutes later, you came back carrying a slice of strawberry shortcake and set it in front of her.
âIâm not hungry,â she said.
âYou are dramatic.â
âIâm devastated.â
âYou can be devastated while eating.â
She stared at the cake as if considering whether grief allowed dessert before she took a bite.
The change in her expression had been immediate and a complete opposite of what she had.
You had laughed so hard you nearly spilled your drink.
Something about the moment back then was engraved within her. The sight of your eyes curling up and the lines on your face appearing as you failed to contain your laughter shifted itself inside of her mind as a memory and the sound of your laughter landing somewhere in her heart.
âWould you like to choose from the samples?â
The voice of the attendee brought her out of her thoughts and back into the back end of the store by Rinâs side.
âOhâsorry, I spaced out.â
âThinking about something?â Rin asked quietly.
Mayu looked at him for a second, then down at the two cake toppers still sitting between them.
âNothing important,â she said automatically.
Rin did not challenge it. He only gave the small, patient nod of someone who knew people often needed room before honesty. Then he picked up a fork and cut a piece from the vanilla raspberry sample.
âYou should try this one again,â he said. âYou liked it first.â
âNo, Iââ she started, shaking her head, âI think Iâll take this one.âÂ
Her hand nudged one of the plates closer to the attendant.
The attendant glanced down at the label, then back up with a polite smile.
âThe strawberry shortcake?â
âYes,â she said after a beat. âThat one.â
The attendant made a note on her clipboard and stepped aside.
Rin looked at the plate, then at Mayu.
âI thought you said that was too ordinary.â
âI changed my mind.â
âYou disliked it ten minutes ago.â
âI can dislike things and then stop disliking them,â she replied.
âThat sounds like you donât trust your judgement.â he nudged her side with his elbow.
âNo, maybe I donât trust yours.â she joked.
Rin smiled faintly, but his eyes lingered on her a moment longer than required
Mayu picked up her fork and cut a neat piece from the slice. When she tasted it, something in her shoulders eased before she could stop it.
It was lighter than the others, too sweet, or maybe too familiar.
She swallowed and set the fork down.
âWell?â Rin asked.
âItâs good.â
âThat's it, really?â
âItâs cake, Rin, not some grand art piece.â
He laughed quietly.
Across the room, you were still near the display case. The young attendant had shown you something on a menu card, and you leaned in with exaggerated seriousness as if negotiating a treaty over pastries.
Mayu watched you smile again.
There it was, that same crooked smile that always appeared a second before laughter. The one she had seen after school, on train platforms, in convenience stores at midnight, across library tables, under umbrellas, over cups of cheap coffee and shared desserts.
The one that had become so common in her life she had mistaken seeing it every day.
The attendant returned. âWould you like us to prepare more samples of the strawberry shortcake for comparison with fillings?â
Mayu opened her mouth, but Rin answered first.
âYes, please.â he then looked at her.
âYou donât have to choose the one that looks the best,â he said mildly. âYou can choose the one you actually want.â
The sentence was simple enough, it should have only stayed about cake.
Instead, it landed somewhere deeper and far less convenient.
Mayu looked down at the slice again.
Then, without meaning to, toward the front of the bakery where you stood laughing with someone else as if the world had briefly become lighter.
For reasons she could not name, she suddenly wanted to know what had made you laugh.
Mayu walked out of the back after a short while Rin trailed slowly behind her. She held a small paper bag that had a slice of strawberry cheesecake inside of a container.
You were still at the display counter, speaking with the young attendant from earlier while studying another pastry with exaggerated seriousness.
âAnd this one is matcha flavored, down to its filling.â
âHere I thought it only belonged to coffee.â you replied, brows raising up slightly.
âBelieve me, it's more of our popular flavors. You can find it on most sweets today,âÂ
Mayu stopped a few feet away and watched.
You looked easier here than you had beside her all afternoon. Your shoulders were loose. Your mouth kept threatening a smile and succeeding. There was none of that sharpened tone you had worn around wedding samples and floral arrangements like badly fitted clothing.
Something prickled under her ribs.
âYou seem busy,â she said.
You turned, startled enough to be honest for half a second before your expression reset.
âJust learning more about cake flavors,â you said. âApparently matcha is more than just a hint of grass.â
The young attendant lowered her eyes, smiling to herself.
Mayu stepped closer, the paper bag swinging lightly from her hand.
âHave you been bothering the staff this whole time?â
âHey, they approached me first.â you replied, eyes glancing down to the paper bag. âSee, that you finally made up your mind.âÂ
The young attendant took a careful half-step back and began rearranging napkins that did not need rearranging.
You nodded toward the bag. âWhat did you pick?â
Mayu held it a little closer to herself instead of answering immediately.
âShe picked strawberry cheesecake,â Rin answered before she could answer herself.
Your expression changed in a way so slight most people would have missed it. Mayu did not.
Instead of saying anything about it, she offered the bag to you.
You looked at it, then at her hand, then back at her face.
âWhat?â
âTake it,â Mayu said.
A small crease formed between your brows. âWhy?â
âBecause you walked out of the room before you could taste anything,â she answered, âand as thanks for coming with us.â the words followed softly after.
You kept looking at the bag as if it might contain a second, more suspicious explanation.
Mayu extended her hand farther. âTake it before I reconsider.â
You accepted the bag at last, fingers brushing the paper handles rather than her hand with almost comical care.
âThanks, I guess.â You peeked inside, then looked back up.
âThatâs all we have to do here and we have one more place to go,â Mayu said after the silence that settled momentarily.
âIâll go get the car started,â Rin continued.
He gave the three of you a small nod, then headed toward the entrance with the same steady composure he seemed to carry everywhere.
The young attendant, sensing the private gravity that had replaced the earlier banter, excused herself with admirable instincts and disappeared toward the kitchen.
That left only you and Mayu standing by the display case, pastries gleaming uselessly between you.
You held the paper bag by its handles, still looking faintly suspicious of it.
âOne more place?â you asked.
Mayu nodded. âMy wedding dress.â
You stared at her, the paper bag in your hand seemed to gain weight by the second.
âYour what?â
âMy wedding dress,â Mayu repeated, as if clarifying store hours. âFor the final fitting, see if there should be any minor changes. Nothing dramatic.â
âAre you sure you want me there?â you asked, the words leaving your lips faster than you could stop it.Mayu frowned at your hesitation, not offended yet, only puzzled by it.
âWhy wouldnât I?â
Because I donât want to see you in the dress where youâll offer your future to another man.
Because I donât want to see you in the dress youâll walk toward him in while I stand somewhere polite and irrelevant.
Because there are some kinds of beauty that feel too much like loss when they were never yours to begin with.
None of that made it past your teeth.
You looked down at the paper bag in your hand as though the strawberry cheesecake might provide legal counsel.
âI just mean,â you said carefully, âisnât that usually something you bring people who are helpful? Family, bridesmaids, even your ownââ
The words cut cleanly across your excuse.
âI want you there too.â
For a moment, even the bakery seemed to pause. The soft hum of refrigeration units, the clink of trays from the kitchen, the low music drifting from hidden speakers all receded into something distant and unimportant.
You looked at her.
Mayu stood exactly as she always did when saying something she considered obvious, chin slightly lifted, eyes steady, impatience hiding whatever softness had slipped out by accident.
âI just want you to see it too.â
You forgot, briefly, how to arrange your expression.
Mayu seemed unaware of what she had done, or perhaps she was aware and pretending not to be, which had always been one of her more advanced talents. She stood there with that same stubborn steadiness, paper-thin impatience covering something warmer underneath.
âEverbody has seen it already,â she continued. âYou donât have to say anything else.â
Something struck you then.
It arrived so suddenly it almost felt physical, a sharp knock somewhere beneath the ribs.
From all the years you had known Mayu, from classrooms and train rides and convenience store dinners and arguments that somehow became routine, you would never have believed she could be this cruel.
Mayu was not vicious. She was not careless in the obvious ways. She did not enjoy hurting people.
No, this was the older, stranger kind.
The cruelty of sincerity.
The cruelty of asking honestly for something she had no idea would cost you.
She wanted you there and she meant it, thinking that meaning was enough.
And maybe to her, it was.
You stared at her while she waited for your answer, still composed, still certain she was being too generous by including you.
She had no idea she was holding the knife by the handle and offering you the blade.
The bell above the bakeryâs door rang again.
âThe carâs all cool and ready, should we go?â Rin stood by the open door, one hand resting on the handle, sunlight spilling around him from the street outside.
There were moments in life when honesty strutted to the front of everything else, dramatic and ready to show itself, ready to confess everything. This was not one of them. Once again, honesty took one look at the circumstances and hid itself somewhere behind your heart.
âDo I even have a choice?â You tightened your grip on the paper bag.
Mayuâs mouth twitched. âIf it were up to me, no.â
Yours betrayed you with a faint twitch of its own.
âThen this hardly feels voluntary.â
âIt isnât.â
She said it with such plain certainty that a short laugh escaped you before you could stop it. The sound seemed to surprise both of you.
From the doorway, Rin watched the exchange with quiet amusement.
âIf we are, we should get going before traffic gets worse.âÂ
He held the door wider.
You looked once at the street beyond him, bright and open in the late afternoon sun. It would have been easy to walk the other direction, easy to invent an excuse, easy to protect yourself with distance, with errands, with cowardice dressed as usefulness elsewhere.
Instead, you looked back at Mayu.
She waited without softening, no pleading, no apology for asking. It was that stubborn certainty that had bulldozed through your life for years and somehow always expected you to remain standing afterward.
âFine.â You sighed.
âGood,â she said immediately, as if the matter had already been settled ten minutes ago.
Rin stepped aside so the two of you could pass.
Mayu moved first. You followed, still carrying the cheesecake and as you passed Rin, he leaned slightly closer.
âYou know,â he said quietly, âyou can still run.â
You glanced at Mayu ahead of you, already walking toward the car without checking whether you were behind her because she assumed you would be.
âNo,â you said. âI really canât.â
Rinâs smile turned gentler, as if he understood more than he intended to.
The tailoring shop was exactly how you had imagined it and somehow worse.
Gowns lined the walls in soft rows of white and ivory, some draped in protective covers, others displayed openly on mannequins, satin caught the light in colorful hues, lace climbed sleeves and collars in delicate patterns that looked too smooth to trust to human hands, and beads and pearls flashed whenever someone moved nearby. Every direction contained some new version of elegance and formality.
The air carried the scent of pressed fabric, clean cotton, steamed silk, and something faintly floral that seemed designed to come with the other designs.
You were left outside of the changing room with Rin, still holding the paper bag, while the two of you drifted through opposite sides of the shop as Mayu changed.
Rin paused beside a display of tailored suits, fingers brushing the cuff of one coat. He looked as though he belonged in places like this, calm among expensive things, unthreatened by what could cling onto him.
You, meanwhile, stood near a mannequin wearing a simple suit with nothing special and nothing fancy but it stood on the fine line between being formal and being an accountant.
âThanks for going with us,â Rinâs voice came from your side so suddenly that you froze in place.
âIâyeah, itâs no problem.â
âItâs probably hard but still, thanks. Iâm sure Mayu appreciates it a lot.â
âHard?â
âGiven someone like yourself, you seem to be very busy.â
You stared at him for a moment.
âBusy,â you repeated. âRight.â
Rinâs expression shifted almost imperceptibly, as though he sensed something in your tone.
âI only meant that you must have your own life,â he said. âWork, responsibilities, other plans. Yet you keep making time whenever she asks.â
You let out a breath through your nose and looked back at the mannequin beside you.
âIâve known her for as long as I could remember, itâs pretty hard to say no to someone like that.â
Rin chuckled softly in his exhale.
âI could see that. I mean, itâs pretty evident in the way she talks about you.â
You turned to look at him fully.
âThe way she talks about me?â
Rin nodded once, as if he had said something mild and not casually dropped a lit match into dry grass.
âMight just be her badmouthing me.â
âIt is usually fond,â he said. âThough sometimes disguised as criticism.â
âWasnât expecting anything less.â
âWhen she mentions other people, itâs usually short. Functional. Names, schedules, inconveniences. When she mentions you, there are stories.â He smiled faintly.
Rin continued with the same annoyingly calm tone he had.
âShe tells me about arguments you had years ago as if they happened last week. She remembers things you said that you probably forgot before dinner. She complains about habits of yours no one else would notice unless they had been watching for a very long time.â
âDidnât think sheâd remember useless details,â you said with a weak breath.
âThey werenât useless to her, at least thatâs what I think.â
You went still.
The tailoring shop continued around you as though nothing had changed. A consultant crossed the room carrying a veil over both arms like ceremonial fog. Somewhere in the back, pins rattled in a tin. Soft music drifted from hidden speakers with expensive confidence.
They werenât useless to her.
You looked down at the paper bag in your hand.
âYouâre making her sound more generous than she is,â you said at last, and meant it jokingly.
Rin shrugged lightly. âMaybe.â
âYou say maybe the way people do when trying to seem polite.â You let out a short laugh and leaned against the display platform beside the mannequin.
âI forget things she says all the time,â you muttered.
âI doubt that.â
âYouâd be surprised.â
âNo,â Rin said gently. âI donât think I would.â
You glanced at him.
He wasnât smug. That would have been easier to dismiss. He only looked thoughtful, as if he was slowly figuring you out.
âYou really enjoy making strangers uncomfortable.â
âWeâre not strangers.â
âWe barely know each other.â
âBarely is still progress.â
Your mouth twitched almost into a smile before your gaze drifted toward the closed curtain.
âShe talks about me that much?â
Rin followed your eyes.
âAbout you directly and about you indirectly,â he corrected. âThere is a difference.â
You frowned. âThat sounds worse.â
He shook his head.
âIf she is annoyed at work, somehow it becomes a story about how you once handled something badly in school. If she sees a restaurant she likes, she mentions whether you would hate their best seller. If something breaks, she remembers how you used to insist you could fix things and somehow make it worse.â
âIt must be annoying hearing my name all the time.â you replied.
âIt isn't,â he shook his head again. âIt gives me an idea of the kind of life she had before we met and who she grew up with.â
You looked at him carefully then, searching for the hidden edge.
âYouâre very relaxed about all this,â you said.
âAbou what?â
âThe fact your soon-to-be wife narrates half her life through stories always involving another man.â
Rin considered that with real thought, one hand slipping into his pocket.
âI suppose I never really saw you as âanother man.ââ he laughed quietly.
âI mean youâre a part of her at this point,â he clarified. âLike a hometown street, or a person she hated, or a song she knows each and every lyric to. Youâre built into many of her memories. Being jealous of that would be like resenting her entirely.â
You couldâve brushed it off with sarcasm, with what youâve been using to keep you afloat up to this point, but you couldnât.
Before you could come up with anything, the curtain rustled.
Both of you turned instinctively.
A consultant stepped out first, smiling in professional anticipation.
Then Mayu followed.
She wore ivory silk that caught the light that hung above. The dress was elegant without trying to be grand, fitted through the waist before falling cleanly to the floor. Lace traced her shoulders in fine patterns, and her hair had been pinned loosely back for the fitting, exposing the line of her neck.
You had known her in school uniforms, raincoats, sweatpants, oversized hoodies, wrinkled office clothes, pajamas during late-night emergencies, and one unforgettable period where she insisted a bucket hat suited her.
None of those prepared you for this.
Mayu, suddenly self-conscious under the silence, frowned.
âWell?â she asked. âWhy are both of you staring like witnesses?â
Rin smiled first.
âYou look beautiful.â
She rolled her eyes instantly, which meant the compliment was acknowledged.
Then her gaze moved to you.
You opened your mouth and nothing came out.
The consultant looked delighted. Rin looked knowingly. Mayu looked annoyed in the precise way she did when she wanted out from you.
âWell?â she repeated, asking you directly.
You tightened your grip on the paper bag, still hanging absurdly from your hand.
âAre you sure you wanna go with that?â you said jokingly, âThere are still a couple of dresses you could try out.â
âRelax,â you spoke again with a smile growing across your lips, âYou look. . .nice.â
Mayu stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable passing behind her eyes.
âNice?â she repeated quietly.
Rin shifted his gaze away, giving the room more space than it seemed to have a moment ago. The consultant, sensing tension she had no training manual for, lowered her clipboard and waited.
âI meant you look good.â you cleared your throat.Â
âThatâs it? âNiceâ is all you have to say?â Her voice was calm, but there was something sharper beneath it, something closer to disappointment.
You looked at the paper bag in your hand, then back at her.
âYou know Iâm not good at this.â
âAt what?â Mayu asked.
âWords,â You looked away briefly before drifting back to her.
âThen just say whatever comes to mind first,âÂ
You swallowed a breath.
Iâve loved you ever since.
Iâm sorry for being a coward.
The room seemed to narrow around those two unsaid sentences.
You looked at Mayu standing there in ivory silk, waiting with that familiar impatience she used whenever she cared too much to appear vulnerable.
Then you did what you had always done, you reached for something safer.
âYou look like yourself,â you said quietly.
Her brows knit together at once. âThat doesnât even mean anything.â
âIt does.â Your voice came steadier now, though it cost you. âEveryone else is going to say beautiful. Elegant. Perfect. Theyâll say the dress suits you.â You said as you kept your eyes on her.
âBut when you walked out,â you said, âit didnât feel like I was looking at a dress.â
Silence settled across the shop.
âIt just felt like you.â
Mayuâs expression changed so slightly most people would have missed it. The tension in her mouth loosened. Something uncertain flickered behind her eyes.
Rin looked down at the floor, giving privacy the only way strangers can.
âThat,â Mayu said after a moment, voice quieter now, âwas still the strangest thing you couldâve said.â
âIt was the best I had.â
âYou usually have worse.â
A breath of shared laughter moved through the room, thin and fragile, but enough.
The consultant recovered first. âWould you like to step onto the platform so we can check the hem?â
Mayu didnât move immediately, she was still looking at you.
âYou really think it looks alright?â she asked.
There were dozens of answers available, safer ones, lighter ones, cowardly ones.
You chose a small part of the truth because saying its entirety still felt like thorns lodged in between your lips.
âI think,â you said, âwhoever waits for you at the end of the aisle is going to forget how to breathe for a second.â
Rin went still for a second.
Mayu finally looked over, âI think he just did.â
He let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh, not quite anything that could settle the moment.
You stayed where you were, the paper bag still hanging from your hand, your grip tighter than it needed to be like it had been for a while.
The consultant stepped in again, gently reclaiming the moment with professional precision. âIf you could step up, weâll just check the length and the fit along the waist.â
Mayu nodded and moved, the fabric shifting softly with her, catching light in soft waves. She stepped onto the platform, lifting the hem slightly as instructed.
Rin approached a little closer then, attentive in the way he always was. He said something low to the consultant, something practical, minor adjustments to the details that belonged to the future he was building with her.
From the platform, Mayu glanced at you again.
âCould you take a photo of us? My mom wants to see the dress with everything fixed.â
For a second, you thought you had misheard her.
âMe?â you asked, because dignity sometimes survives only as stalling.
Mayu gave you a look that suggested the room contained no one else capable of operating a phone.
âYes, you.â
She reached for the small clutch set on a nearby chair and handed you her phone. Your fingers brushed hers for the briefest moment before she pulled back.
Rin stepped beside her on the platform without hesitation, one hand settling lightly at the small of her back before she wrapped her arm around his.
You hated how quick that was.
The consultant beamed. âLovely. Just a little closer, please.â
Rin obliged.
Mayu remained still for half a beat before allowing herself to lean the slightest fraction toward him.
You lifted the phone.
The screen framed them neatly.
âReady?â you asked, voice sounding how it usually was which was a miracle in its own.
Mayu looked into the camera first, then at the last second her eyes flicked to you instead of the lens.
Rin smiled properly, warm and composed.
You pressed the shutter.
Once and then twice and for a third time because your hand needed something to do.
âThere,â you said, lowering the phone.
The consultant asked to see them immediately and began praising angles no one cared about.
âLet me see.â Mayu stepped down from the platform and came toward you, dress gathered carefully in one hand.
You handed the phone back.
She stood close enough for you to smell the clean scent of steamed fabric and whatever perfume had survived the fitting room.
Her thumb moved across the screen, breath gasping heavier at each one.
âShould we also take a picture of you three?â The voice of the attendant slipped through.
âNo,â you said too quickly. âI mean, itâs fine. Itâs not really necessary.âÂ
Mayu and Rin looked at each other before he shrugged, âI donât mind.â
You opened your mouth to object again, but Mayu had already turned to the consultant.
âCould you?â
âAbsolutely, not a problem.â the woman said, delighted by a complication she mistook for charm.
Before you could retreat, Mayu took your wrist along with Rinâs with her other hand and pulled the both of you onto the platform on both of her sides.
Then she released your wrist as if nothing had happened.
The three of you arranged yourselves with the graceless uncertainty of people who did not belong in the same photograph.
You hovered half a step away, trying to create distance that looked accidental.
Mayu noticed immediately.
âCloser,â she said.
âIâm fine over here.â you replied without hesitation.
You turned to the camera, not noticing the sigh that left her lips.
She once again wrapped her arm around Rinâs as if she had already done it a million times before grabbing onto yours to pull both of you in.
One sharp tug and suddenly you were close enough to feel the cool brush of satin against your sleeve, close enough to smell the faint perfume at her wrist, close enough for the entire situation to become structurally unsound. Â
You did not trust yourself enough to turn your head so you looked straight at the phone in the consultantâs hands and held still.
And without much further objection, the moment was captured into memory.
The consultant lowered the phone with a satisfied smile.
âLovely,â she said. âOne more, just in case.â
Before you could protest, she raised it again.
You kept your gaze forward, jaw set, every muscle committed to hide any piece of emotion from showing. Rin stood steady on her other side, composed as ever. Mayu remained between the two of you with the widest smile on her face.
The phone clicked once more, then it was over.
Mayu let go of your arm first.
She stepped down from the platform carefully, gathering the skirt in one hand, while Rin offered his arm to steady her over the small step. She accepted it without thought.
You looked away before that simple gesture could become something else in your mind.
The consultant returned the phone. âYou three look wonderful.â
She took it and began scrolling through the photos in silence.Â
Rin approached the attendant, probably to discuss other things while Mayu walked back to you.
For a moment, you let the silence run its course.
Then Mayu turned the phone slightly toward you.
âYou blinked in this one.â
âI hope it ruins the entire set.â
âIt doesnât.â She swiped again. âYou just look irritated.â
âI was irritated.â
âI know.â
She moved to the next photo.
In that one, Rin stood straight and composed, Mayu smiling between you both, and you looked as though you were trying to keep a breath in.
She stared at it longer than the others.
âYou could have smiled,â she said.
âYou could have warned me.â
âI did. I said closer.â
âThat wasnât a warning.â
A faint breath escaped her, almost a laugh, though it never fully became one.
She swiped again, this time she stopped.
Your eyes dropped to the screen before you could stop yourself.
The three of you stood framed in clean white light. Rin standing calm and Mayu bright and centered. You were rigid at her side, but your head turned a fraction toward her, so slight it might have happened by accident.
âDelete that,â you quickly said.Â
âNo.â She stepped back before your hand could reach it, lifting the phone just out of range.Â
âMayu, it looks bad.â
âSo what? I like it.â The answer came too quickly, as if she had already decided it before you spoke.
You lowered your hand.
Mayu looked down at the screen again.
In the photo, Rin stood straight beside her. You stood on her other side, shoulders stiff, mouth set, trying to appear detached, but your eyes had betrayed you. They rested on her with a quiet intensity that no posture could hide.
âFine, if you say so.â You sighed, voice softening. âJust don't post it anywhere.âÂ
Her thumb hovered over the screen, tracing nothing, eyes still fixed on the photo as though it contained more than the three figures standing inside it.
âI wasnât planning to,â she said at last.
You glanced toward Rin across the room. He was speaking with the consultant now, nodding politely at measurements and dates and adjustments that belonged to a future already organized for him. He looked comfortable there, part of the scene in a way you never could be.
âGood,â you said.
Mayu kept looking at the picture.
âIt doesnât look bad,â she said quietly.
âIt does.â
âIt doesnât.â
âYou look happy,â you replied. âHe looks like he belongs in a magazine. I look like Iâm struggling to keep still.â
That earned a small sound from her, almost amused.
âYou always think you look worse than you do.â
âI look exactly as bad as I think.â
She shook her head once, then locked the phone and lowered it to her side.
âThatâs not what I meant.â
You knew better than to ask what she had meant. Questions with Mayu often opened doors you had no business entering.
The consultant called her name from across the room.
âOne minute,â she answered, but her eyes stayed on you.
There was a pause then, thin and quiet.
âYou know,â she said, âyou didnât have to come today.â
You gave a short laugh. âYou asked.â
âThat isnât the same thing.â
âIt usually is with you.â
Her expression shifted, something unreadable moving through it.
âI mean it,â she said. âYou couldâve said no.â
You looked past her toward the rows of dresses, toward the mirrors catching strangers at flattering angles.
âI know.â
âThen why didnât you?â
Because you always ask.
Because some part of me is still stupid enough to show up whenever you reach out.
Because I'm still hopelessly in love with you.
You settled, as always, for something smaller.
âYou needed another opinion,â you said.
She stared at you for a long moment, then nodded once in the slow way people do when they know theyâve been lied to but donât intend to argue.
âRight,â she said.
Rin approached then, gentle and composed, carrying the ease of someone who had never needed to brace himself before entering a room.
âTheyâre going to pin the hem once more,â he said to her. Then to you, âSorry to keep taking your afternoon.â
You answered with a nod, a dismissive expression crossing your face for a moment.
The attendant beckoned again.
âBe right back.â Mayu said before picking up her skirt and walking away.
Rin nodded at you once before following her, leaving you in the middle of the platform.
You remained where you were for a moment longer, as if movement required permission.
Around you, the shop resumed its careful rhythm. Pins clicked into trays. Hangers hung onto metal rails. Somewhere near the front, another attendant laughed softly at something no one else needed to hear.Â
You stepped down from the platform at last.
The paper bag was still in your hand, its handles twisted from how tightly you had been holding them. You loosened your grip and found faint creases pressed into your palm.
Across the room, Mayu stood before a mirror while the consultant knelt at the hem, gathering silk in practiced fingers. Rin stood beside them, listening, occasionally answering, occasionally smiling.
Without much further thought, you slipped away to the front of the store. You sat on a lone seat, eyes still briefly at them for moments at a time.
Mayu was still facing the mirror, chin lifted slightly while the consultant adjusted the dress. Rin stood beside her, saying something that made her shake her head in quiet amusement.
Once again, you had found yourself watching her from a respectable distance that you put yourself in like plenty of times before.
Far enough that no one could accuse you of wanting too much.
Far enough that if she turned, you could pretend you had only been looking past her.
Far enough to make yourself believe you still have some semblance of dignity left when there was seemingly none.
With a painful swallow, you waited until they were finished.
You walked out into the cold breeze as you stepped from the store.
Traffic rolled past in steady lines, headlights beginning to wake against the dimming afternoon. People moved around you with practiced purpose, coats drawn close, phones in hand, conversations already halfway finished. Across the street, someone lifted an arm and called for a taxi.
You stood on the sidewalk for a moment, the shop warm and bright behind you, the city cool and indifferent ahead.
Behind you, Rin and Mayu followed.
Rin moved past you without another word and headed for the car. You watched him for a moment as he opened the driver's seat and started it.
Mayu cleared her throat behind you.
You turned slightly.
Mayu stood a few steps away, coat buttoned, hair loosened from the fitting, looking more like herself now than she had in the white dress under showroom lights. In one hand she held a cream envelope.
âI can just ride the bus home,â you said, the words slipping out with a tired breath. âNo need to give me a ride.â
âActually,â she said, lifting the envelope slightly, âI wanted to give you something.â
For a second, you only looked at it.Â
A heavy paper with clean edges, your name written across the front in handwriting you recognized immediately.Â
Your stomach sank before your mind caught up.
Mayu stepped closer and held it out.
âWe started sending them out in the morning,â she said. âBut then I thought itâd be strange to mail it.â
You didnât take it right away, âYou brought it with you?â you asked.Â
âI knew you were going with us so why not give it to you personally?â
There was nothing sharp in how she said it. That made it worse.Â
Slowly, you reached out and accepted the envelope.Â
Your name stared back at you, then so did the place and then finally, the date.
It was a week from now.
âThe banquet hall is really pretty,â she added, a little softer this time. âThereâs this big chandelier in the middle that shines brighter than everything else inside.â
You let out a small, humorless breath.
âYeah,â you said. âSounds like your kind of place.â
She studied your face, searching for something you werenât planning to give her.
âYou donât have to come ifââ
âIâll be there.â
The answer landed quicker than either of you expected.
You shifted your gaze away from her, toward the road, toward anything that didnât have her expression attached to it.
âI mean,â you added, voice flattening out, âyou went through the trouble of inviting me. Be a waste if I didnât show up.â
âThatâs not why Iââ
âI know,â you cut in, just lightly enough to pass as casual, just sharp enough to end the thought. âItâs your wedding. Iâm supposed to be there, right? Childhood friend obligation or whatever.â
âItâs not an obligation.âMayuâs grip tightened slightly around the strap of her bag.
You glanced back at her then, something faint and crooked pulling at the corner of your mouth.
âSure,â you said. âItâs not like youâve been dragging me along to your preparations.â
âThatâs notââ
âIâm kidding,â you said, though nothing in your tone bothered pretending to match the word.Â
For a moment, neither of you spoke then you tapped the envelope lightly against your palm.
âIâll be there,â you repeated, quieter now. âWouldnât want to miss it.â
Mayu held your gaze for a second longer, like she was trying to decide if that meant anything more than what you said.
ââŚOkay,â she answered.
Behind her, Rin leaned slightly out of the driverâs seat, one hand resting on the wheel.
âMayu,â he called gently.
She turned halfway, then back to you again.
âAre you sure you donât want a ride?â
âIâll take the bus.â You shook your head once.
Another pause, another moment where something almost formed and didnât.
âAlright.â she nodded.
She stepped back, turning toward the car, the distance between you closing and then widening again in the same motion.
You stayed where you were.
Your eyes watched the passenger door open then close before the car turned into motion. And just like that, they were part of the traffic.
You stood there a while longer, the envelope still in your hand, your name written neatly across something that didnât belong to you anymore.
Around you, the city kept moving.
Because whether you like it or not,
It always did.
That night, you had trouble sleeping.
Your apartment was quiet in the irritating way only late nights could be, where every small sound became louder than it should have been. The refrigerator hummed like it had its own voice, the pipes clicked somewhere in the walls and a car passed outside and faded into distance as if even strangers didn't know how to leave properly.
You lay on your back with one arm over your eyes, then on your side, then on the other side, then back again, performing the same ritual of pretending movement counted as progress.
A breath left you then.
An image flashed itself in your mind, without regard for whatever you were feeling.Â
Mayu in that silky ivory dress.
Clear as if you were still standing in the shop. The line of her shoulders under lace. The way the fabric caught light when she moved.
Her hair pinned back, exposing the shape of her neck you had spent years pretending not to notice. The faint uncertainty in her face when she first stepped out and asked how she looked as though your answer mattered more than it should have.
You pressed the heel of your palm harder against your eyes.
âUnbelievable,â you muttered to the dark.
She was getting married in a week and you were wallowing in bed.
The girl who you had spent your whole life with was getting married and you couldn't do anything.
The girl you'd love for half of your life was getting married and somehow, someway you still hadn't told her how you felt.
Because you were a coward.
That word had followed you for years.Â
It had stood beside you in high school when she cried outside the gym after some boy made her feel small, and you only offered her your jacket instead of saying Iâd never do that to you.
It sat with you in college when she called late at night just to hear a familiar voice, and you spoke to her for three hours about nothing except the one thing that mattered.
It moved into every apartment youâd ever rented. Rode in every cab after every confession that ended in a maybe. Waited through birthdays, breakups, promotions, holidays, all the seasons where something could have been said and wasnât.
Coward.
The pressed itself onto you, not dramatic enough to lose her in one grand tragedy, but just enough to lose her slowly.
You turned onto your side and stared at the wall.
Maybe if you had said it years ago, everything would be different.
Maybe she would have laughed.
Maybe she would have kissed you.
Maybe she would have said she knew already and wondered what took so long.
Maybe none of it would have worked.
But who knows what would've happened?
You sure didn't.
Pushing yourself up from the bed, you turned to your nightstand where the invitation sat mocking you.
You picked it up and stared at your name written across the front in her handwriting.
That was the cruel touch, really.She had written your name herself.
Carefully, too, in balanced strokes, familiar curves. The same handwriting that once left notes in your textbooks, shopping lists on your fridge, passive-aggressive reminders on birthday cards.
Now it invites you to watch her marry someone else.
You opened it again though you already knew every word inside.
Date, venue, ceremony, and the reception to follow.
As if there had ever been doubt the suffering would include refreshments.
Your thumb rubbed over the embossed edge until it bent slightly.
You stopped immediately and smoothed it flat again.
Even now, apparently, you were careful with things that hurt you.
You laughed once, low and tired, then sat on the edge of the bed with the card in your hands and the room around you like eyes watching from the dark.
What exactly had you been waiting for all these years?
Perfect timing?
A sign?
Her to turn to you one day and say, By the way, if you've secretly loved me since highschool, now would be ideal.
Ridiculous.
You leaned back, invitation resting against your knee.
A week from now you could wear a suit, smile politely, shake Rinâs hand, and clap while everyone celebrated efficient outcomes.
Or you could not go.
Disappear gracefully, develop a sudden illness then fake your death with moderate effort.
Neither option felt noble.
Neither felt survivable.
You looked once more at your name on the envelope.
Then said quietly into the empty room,
âIf I tell you now, I become selfish.â
The silence stayed in its place.
âAnd if I donât,â you added, âI stay a coward.â
The idea stayed in your mind right before you eventually fell asleep, and it was still there when sunlight slipped through your blinds the next morning.
You thought it through again while still half-awake, staring at the ceiling now made ordinary by daylight. Whether to attend. Whether to speak. Whether to drag years of carefully hidden feeling into the open and lay it at her feet like something broken but honest.
Part of you wanted it to remain where it had always lived.
Hidden inside long looks you disguised as nothing.
Inside every joke that meant more than it said.
Inside every time you showed up when she asked and pretended it was convenience.
Inside all the words you never chose.
There was a strange dignity in silence. A museum quality to it. Preserved regret under clean glass.
But you couldnât convince yourself anymore.
Maybe because a wedding invitation was the first real deadline your heart had ever received.
Maybe because losing quietly had started to feel more pathetic than losing loudly.
Maybe because if she married him and never knew, some part of you would spend the rest of your life rewriting conversations in empty rooms.
You sat up slowly, rubbed both hands over your face, and let out a breath that felt older than you were.
You were going to tell her.
Whether it was today, tomorrow, or thirty minutes before the wedding started.
Which idol would you put as your main emergency contact and why?
Good luck and have a good day! (Also Blonde Yooyeon lethally massacred my heart because how can she glow like that?!)
Hello!
I feel like the best answer would be someone who is fluent in English so the safest bet here would be Yunjin or Gawon from meovv. Plus, they might know a thing or two on what to do with whatever situation I find myself in.
But!
If language barriers weren't a thing, I feel like Lynn or Kotone would be great choices.
If it was Kaede, i'd probably just faint on the spot when she shows up or bark on the phone but that's another story.
Did I just choose from my biases? Maybe. :P
Ps. Blonde Yooyeon has done miracles on me
Just wanted to ask on if you have an idea on when next chapter of Off the record will be coming out/or if it will. I appreciate your work and enjoy reading it very much. No rush or anything, just curious and am looking forward to read many more stories!
Thanks for asking!
To be completely honest, I find oneshots/mini books/stories way easier and convenient to make with regards of the time I have juggling everything I have going on, so it might take a while!
Anyways, have a blonde Yooyeon!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
The first of april arrived dressed like a prank, light on its feet, harmless in the way it made everything sound like it didnât matter. It gave people permission to say things they would never dare to otherwise, to stretch the truth until it snapped and call it humor.
And you learned how to live in that space between truth and laughter.
âI like you, Kim Sooin.â
It was the same line, on the same day every year.
And the exact same escape plan right after.
âApril Fools!â
She would always let you have that exit.
That was the thing about Sooin.
She never pushed, never cornered, never made you sit in something uncomfortable longer than you could handle.
Sheâd laugh, sometimes shake her head, sometimes nudge your shoulder like youâd just said something mildly annoying instead of something that couldâve changed everything.
âDo you rehearse that every year?â she teased once.
You grinned. âOnly for you.â
âLiar.â
then sheâd laugh again.
It was easy to throw words like that into the air, maybe a bit too easy since she was your best friend. Which meant you already had everything you werenât supposed to risk.
You knew what she ordered even before entering a place.
You knew which songs she skipped and which ones she replayed three times without noticing.
You knew the exact tone of her voice when she was pretending she was fine and when she wasnât.
And she knew you.
In ways no one else did.
So you built your routine carefully.
One day a year, you let the truth out for just a second or two.
The other 364, you kept it buried under jokes and familiarity and everything that made your friendship feel safe.
âI like you, Kim Sooin.â
You never shortened her name, never softened the words.
If you were going to say it, even as a joke, you wanted it to sound believable enough.
The first time you did it, she blinked in surprise, asked if it was real before you laughed it off.
The second, she caught on faster.
By the third, she was already smiling before you finished.
By the fourth, she started something from you.
âJust spit it out,â she said once, glancing at her phone before looking back at you, brows slightly raised.
You blinked. âWhat?â
âYour yearly performance,â she replied, leaning back like she had all the time in the world. âItâs already past noon, letâs just get it over with.â
You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. âI was waiting until we were walking home, yâknow for suspense.â
âMhm,â she hummed, unconvinced. âSure you were.â
You watched her for a second.
The way she looked at you like this was normal, like knew whatever you were going to say, like it didnât matter.
âI like you, Kim Sooin.â
She didnât even blink this time.
Just tilted her head slightly, the corner of her lips lifting like she was waiting for the rest.
âApril Foolâs. . ." you added, a beat too late.
âWow,â she said flatly. âSo convincing.â
You wouldâve gone ahead with life if there wasnât a small problem,
She was smiling.
It never broke anything.
No matter how many times you said it, no matter how real it felt when it left your mouth, it always folded neatly back into something harmless.
Something she could laugh at.
Something you could hide behind.
And maybe thatâs why you kept doing it.
Because as long as it stayed a joke, you never had to find out what would happen if it wasnât.
So you kept it there, carefully as time passed.
But something does change. It doesnât happen all at once but in small moments that you caught onto.
Sooin starts sitting closer, close enough that your shoulders brush without either of you moving away, close enough that you start noticing how easily she fits into your space. She lingers more, after your classes, in and around your conversations, after everything that shouldâve ended a few seconds earlier but doesnât as if she was waiting for something.
Sometimes, you catch her looking at you, which wasn't the usual, easy, familiar look youâve known for years. It was something quieter, something that makes you wonder if sheâs thinking about that one specific day of the year.
You donât ask because asking would mean stepping out of the safety you built.
And youâve spent too long perfecting it.
So instead, you wait.
Days blur into weeks, weeks stretch thin into months. The calendar keeps moving forward like it doesnât care what youâre holding onto.
And somehow, everything stays the same.
She still calls you when she canât sleep.
Still complains about the smallest things like they matter.
Still walks beside you like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
But then there were moments where her hand brushed yours and didnât pull away immediately, moments where her voice softens when she says your name, moments where she almost says something then doesnât.
And every time, hope stretches a little further.
It couldâve led you into believing in something, a gut feeling.
You think about asking again, not as a joke, not on the first of April and without an escape plan behind it.
But every time you see her, every time she smiles at you the same way she always has, you hesitate.
Because what if it changes things?
What if it breaks the one thing youâve never been willing to risk?
So you tell yourself, maybe deluded yourself with your own words.
just wait a little longer.
Thereâs time.
Thereâs always been time.
Until there wasnât anymore.
Graduation day arrived in a blur of movement and noise. People gathered in clusters, calling out names, pulling each other into photos, holding onto moments like they could stretch them just a little longer. The air felt full, crowded with everything left unsaid.
You found her the way you always did, without trying.
She was standing a few steps away, surrounded by people, her expression brighter than usual, lighter in a way that caught your attention immediately. For a moment, something in your chest eased. It felt like everything had led to this, like maybe this was where things finally settled into place.
You took a step toward her.
Then another before you saw it.
It wasnât obvious. It wasnât something anyone else would have pointed out. It was just the way someone moved into her space, close enough that there was no hesitation, no uncertainty about where they belonged. It was the way she turned toward them without thinking, the way her expression shifted, softened into something steady and certain.
It was the kind of understanding that didnât need to be explained.
You stopped, not because you wanted to, but because there was nothing left to move towards.
There was no sharp pain, no sudden break. Just something quiet settling into place, like a truth that had always been there finally deciding to make itself known. The waiting, the hoping, the way you had built something out of her silence, it all unraveled in that one small moment.
She looked up then, her eyes finding yours almost immediately.
Of course they did.
For a second, something flickered across her face. It might have been recognition, or guilt, or something softer that you didnât stay long enough to understand.
Because you didnât need to.
You gave her a small smile, something simple and familiar, the same one you had always given her. Not forced, not hiding anything, just enough to acknowledge everything you had been without asking for anything more.
Because before anything else, you had been her best friend.
And maybe that had always been where you were meant to stay.
You stayed still a moment longer, the bouquet heavy in your hand, the letter folded that had the words you had spent years shaping, the confessions rehearsed for every April first, now felt unnecessary, pointless even.
She had someone else. The thought had lodged itself quietly in your mind before, but now it made itself fully known.
You swallowed, the weight of unsent words pressing against your chest. You wanted to move closer, to let her see everything you had kept buried behind jokes and routines, but it felt selfish. Graduation was supposed to be a celebration, not a moment where you ruined everything you had cherished for fear of what might have been.
So you smiled, just a little, quietly, with all the warmth you could muster, and tucked the bouquet behind your back. You let your eyes linger on her just a beat longer, memorizing the light in her hair, the shape of her smile, the way her laugh sounded without you in it.
Then you turned. You walked away, letting the noise and movement of the crowd swallow the ache. Your hand kept the flowers hidden, your heart kept the confession safe. You would not ruin this moment.
You would let her be happy, even if it wasnât with you.
As you reached the edge of the crowd, you allowed yourself a single glance back. She was laughing now, leaning close to him, her happiness unguarded. And though it tore at you quietly, you understood something essential, love doesnât always mean being close to someone, sometimes it happened from afar with eyes that remembered someoneâs whole entirety.
You exhaled. And in that breath, you let go. Not of her memory, not of the words you had always wanted to say, but of the idea that your happiness depended on her choice.
