☘︎⋆19

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Sungho closed his laptop carefully, folding it shut with trembling hands . He placed it on the bedside table next to his water cup and the stack of medications he'd stopped keeping track of weeks ago.

The hospital room was nicer than most. It's private, quiet, with a massive floor-to-ceiling window that took up the entire wall across from his bed. It was the kind of window that made you feel less trapped for something inevitable. Outside, he could see the city inhabited by people living each of their own lives.

He had the nasal cannula in now, the thin tubes feeding oxygen into his nose. His hair was messy, unkempt for longer than he cared to admit. He was pale, he'd seen himself in the bathroom mirror this morning and barely recognized the remnants looking back.

Sungho blinked slowly, watching the world outside without really seeing it. Just then, a knock on the door broke through his daze.

"Please tell me you're decent," came a familiar voice, "because I'm coming in either way." Riwoo pushed through the door before Sungho could answer, carrying a plastic bag in one hand and a book in the other.

They'd met at a book fair last year, Sungho signing copies of his novel, Riwoo asking questions that actually showed he'd read it carefully. Somehow they'd stayed in touch, and Riwoo had become one of the few people Sungho could stand having around during all of this.

"Damn, you look terrible," Riwoo said cheerfully, dragging a chair from the corner over to Sungho's bedside.

Sungho let out a weak chuckle that was more breath than sound, but genuine. "Thanks. You always know just what to say."

"It's a gift." Riwoo settled into the chair and pulled items from the bag. "I brought you some light food. Soup, some of those crackers you can actually keep down, and this." He held up the book. "New release from that author you like. Figured you could use something to read that isn't medical charts."

"Appreciate it." Sungho took the book, running his fingers over the cover without really looking at it.

"So how are you feeling today? And I want a real answer, not the polite one you give the nurses."

Sungho was quiet for a moment, still staring out the window. "I don't know why I'm still here," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Riwoo's expression softened. He leaned back in his chair, studying his friend's profile. "How's... how are things with Hana?"

Sungho subtly stopped blinking at the mention of your name.

"I haven't contacted her," Sungho finally breathes. "Not since we met last year."

Riwoo nodded slowly. "Yeah, that makes sense. She's engaged and all."

"She's moved forward." Sungho's fingers tightened slightly on the book in his lap. "That's good. That's what she should do."

"Have you?."

It was a question, but didn't feel like one. Sungho smiled faintly, sadly. "No. I haven't." He said simply. "She's getting married in two weeks."

Riwoo went very still, carefully choosing his words. "Two weeks?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going? She invited you."

Silence filled the room, broken only by the beep of monitors and the hum of oxygen. Sungho just stared out the window, and that was answer enough.

"Sungho," Riwoo said gently, leaning forward. "You know I'll support whatever you decide. But..." He struggled for the right words. "If you want to be there, if you think it'll bring you peace or closure or whatever, I would drive you there. Life's too short to spend it wondering what if."

Sungho turned to look at his friend then let out a smile. "Life is definitely too short," he agreed with an ironic tone.

Riwoo was quiet for a moment, then reached over and squeezed Sungho's shoulder carefully. "Just, whatever happens, whatever you decide, I'm here. Alright? You're not doing this alone."

Sungho nodded, throat tight with emotion he was too tired to let out. "I know. Thank you."

They sat in silence after that, Riwoo scrolling through his phone while Sungho returned to watching the world outside his window. Two weeks felt like both forever and no time at all.

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The last box was finally empty.

You set it aside with a satisfied sigh, looking around the living room that was slowly starting to feel like home. Cardboard boxes were flattened and stacked by the door, books were organized on the shelves, picture frames were hung the walls. The house was just a few blocks from your old apartment, but it felt like a completely different life.

"I think that's the last of them," you said, brushing dust off your hands as your fiance emerged from the kitchen with two glasses of water.

"Finally." He handed you a glass and collapsed onto the sofa beside you. "I never want to see another moving box again."

You laughed and settled next to him, both of you letting out sighs from exhaustion. The late afternoon light streamed through the windows, warming the hardwood floors you'd spent all morning polishing.

"This is nice," you said softly, looking around at the space you'd created together. "Having a house. Getting married in two weeks. Just growing our lives together, you know?"

"It is nice," Sungchan agreed, reaching over to take your hand. "Sometimes I can't believe this is real."

You squeezed his hand. "Me neither. I feel really lucky."

"We both are." He stood up, stretching his back with a groan. "Okay, I'm going to start dinner. You've been working all day, so just relax. Maybe take a bath or something."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. I'm thinking pasta." He leaned down and kissed the top of your head. "Just rest."

You watched him head back to the kitchen, heard the sounds of cabinet doors opening and the water running in the sink. The house felt alive, and it made you smile.

After a minute of just sitting there, letting the tiredness fade away, your eyes drifted across the living room to the bookshelf you organized earlier. All your favorites were there, arranged by author and genre, spines picturing a colorful mosaic against the shelf.

And there, on the third shelf, you saw Sungho's book that is noticeably thinner than the rest.

You got up and walked over, reaching for it. You stared at the cover, painted illustration of your college university's park, cherry blossom trees rendered in pinks and whites, a single bench beneath their branches. The title in simple lettering. Spring of '15

You ran your fingers over the cover, remembering the first time you'd opened, the awe of recognition as you'd read about the lonely boy and the girl who'd approached him. It felt like so long ago now, even though it had only been last year.

A small smile curved at your lips as you stared at the painting. Somewhere out there, Sungho was probably living his life, you thought. Writing his stories, finding his happiness in whatever form that took. The book had said he'd found peace and solitude, and you hoped that was true. Hoped he'd found someone who made him laugh, someone who understood the way he saw the world.

He deserved that. Deserved all the happiness he'd once given you, reflected back by someone who could stay.

You thought about that afternoon at the café, how easy it had been to sit with him and remember who you'd both been. How he'd smiled when he saw your engagement ring, genuine and warm and free of any lingering hurt.

He was probably doing great now, wherever he was. Probably working on his next book, living the quiet life he'd always seemed suited for. The thought made you happy in a way of happiness you feel when someone you once cared about finds their place in the world.

"Hana?" Sungchan called from the kitchen. "Red or white wine with dinner?"

"White," you called back, carefully placing the book back on its shelf.

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Then, two weeks. Just two weeks ago you were unpacking boxes and sitting on a sofa with flour-dusted hands eating Sungchan's pasta while he complained about bubble wrap, and now you were standing in a white dress.

It happened like that sometimes. Life moved in long slow stretches that felt like waiting, and then suddenly it lurched forward all at once and left you breathless, standing in a moment you'd been moving toward without realizing how quickly you were arriving at it.

Your mom was fussing with your veil, her hands trembling slightly in the way they always did when she was trying not to cry. Your dad sat in the corner chair looking at you with quiet, speechless pride that made your chest ache with tenderness.

"Stop moving," your mom said softly, smoothing the fabric at your shoulders. "You're making it harder."

"I'm not moving."

"You're breathing too much."

One of your college friend burst out laughing from the couch where she and the others were doing their own makeup. "That's literally not possible."

"Leave my mom alone," you said, laughing too despite yourself.

The getting-ready room was warm and full, everyone talking over each other the way they always had. Keeho was telling a story about his commute there that had gotten somehow more dramatic with every retelling in the past hour. Your other friends are bickering over crackers and hairstyles. Your mom alternated between fussing over your veil and wiping her eyes when she thought no one was looking. It felt like being held by every important thing in your life at once.

But at some point in the comfortable noise of it all, your eyes drifted to the window. The sky outside was clean, pale and bright, the kind of white sky that feels soft rather than overcast, like the whole world had put on its best clothes for the occasion. Trees lined the venue's garden below, still holding onto theie autumn leaves in colors that looked almost unreal, gold and rust and amber catching in the morning light.

It was beautiful.

Your eyes lingered longer on the garden, the benches, the way the light fell soft and generous over everything, and something small moved through your chest.

"It would have been nice if Sungho was here." Your mind spoke.

Not in a complicated way. Just the simple wish you have when life is at its most beautiful and you want the people who shaped you to see it too. The people who were part of the story that brought you here, even if they weren't in its final chapters.

You wondered briefly how he was. Whether he was writing something new, whether the quiet solitude he'd found still held good things for him. Whether the same kind of pale October sky was outside whatever window he was near today.

You hoped so.

You nodded to yourself imperceptibly, and let the thought settle and release. It felt right to have him cross your mind today of all days, and to carry it lightly without grief or guilt, just a small acknowledgment that some people leave fingerprints on your life that never fully disappear, and that's okay. That's a beautiful thing, not a sad one.

"Hana." Your mom stepped back, hands clasped, eyes shining. "You look stunning."

You turned away from the window.

"Okay, Mom. can we please stop making her cry before the ceremony even starts?" Keeho announced, standing up dramatically. "I did not spend forty minutes on this look just to have it ruined by emotion." The room erupted into laughter again, and you felt it wash over you like warmth.

Your whole life was waiting.

You took a breath, feeling the dress settle around you, feeling your mother's hand briefly squeeze yours, feeling the realness of this moment that you'd somehow arrived at through all the ordinary days and hard seasons and small joys.

"Okay," you said softly, mostly to yourself.

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Sungho was sitting up when Riwoo got back.

Not in bed, but in the chair by the window, the one the nurses had rolled over weeks ago when they noticed he spent most of his time staring at the city outside anyway. He was still in his hospital gown, the thin blue fabric hanging loosely off shoulders that had gotten smaller over the months, the nasal cannula still in place, the IV standing beside him.

But he looked visibly different today. Better, somehow, in a way that had nothing to do with his charts or his vitals. His eyes were clear. There was color in his face that hadn't been there for months.

Riwoo stopped in the doorway for a moment, just looking at him.

"You look different today," he said carefully, coming inside and sitting down on the edge of the hospital bed. "Good different."

Sungho glanced over at him. "Really?"

"Really. Did you sleep?"

"A little." He looked back at the window. "The sky is nice today."

Riwoo followed his gaze to the pale morning stretched out beyond the glass, and he already understood without having to ask. He'd known about Hana's wedding for weeks. Had known what day it was the moment he woke upthis morning.

"I talked to Dr. Kim," Riwoo said after a moment.

Sungho turned to look at him.

"If we kept it short, if I drove, if you stayed in the car..." Riwoo shrugged, choosing his words carefully. "He said it's not completely out of the question. Just driving by. You wouldn't even have to get out."

The room was quiet for a long moment. Outside, the city moved at its usual Saturday pace, unhurried and ordinary. A completely normal day for most people.

Sungho turned back to the window and sighed, long and slow. He didn't say yes. He didn't say no either. He just sat there looking at the sky, and Riwoo let him.

2026, October 23rd

The sky is white and clean today. The good kind of white, the kind that looks like the world itself also wore a veil along with you.

I keep looking at it and wondering if you're looking at it too. From wherever you're getting ready, whether your window faces east or west, whether the light in your room is soft enough to cast heaven on your face, or too bright to make you squint your eye that turns into a bright shade of amber. I keep thinking that somewhere under this same sky, you're putting on a white dress and your mother is probably already crying and your friends are probably making noise because that's what your people have always done.

And just knowing that, just knowing we're breathing the same air, looking at the same sky, makes something in my chest go very still. Like the aching that's lived there for years finally found a way to rest.

Riwoo asked me if I want to drive by the church. Just drive by. See the outside of the building, maybe the garden, maybe the cars lining the road. He wouldn't even have to slow down.

I've been sitting with that question for an hour now.

The logical answer is no. I know how I look. I know what it would cost me physically, the sheer effort of getting into a car and staying upright for that long. I know that if I saw you, even through glass, even from a distance, something in me might break that I don't have the energy to put back together.

But I think, this is the last time. This is the last beautiful thing that will happen in my life.

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The doors were heavy old wood that had been here long ago to have witnessed a hundred other beginnings. When they opened, they opened slowly with a comforting creak rather than the ear shattering ones.

Light poured in first, flooding through the gap and pooling on the wooden floor. And then you stepped into it, your mother on one side, your father on the other, your hands resting in theirs like you were a toddler again in your first steps.

Every face in the room turned toward you, and you barely registered any of them, because Sungchan was at the end of the aisle.

He was looking at you with the expression of a man who has been hit by something he saw coming and still wasn't prepared for. His hands were clasped in front of him, and as the light from the open doors fell across his face, his eyes filled. He didn't blink, like he was afraid you might disappear if he did. His jaw worked silently for a second, and then he just smiled, wide and helpless.

That was when your own eyes stung.

You walked slowly, matching the music's pace even though every instinct was telling you to run to him. Your father's hand tightened around yours as you moved, and you heard your mother exhale shakily beside you.

The aisle felt long and short at the same time. Long enough for you to notice the candles along the pews, the autumn flowers woven into every arrangement, the way the ceiling arched above you like cupped hands. Short enough that before you felt ready, Sungchan was right there. Real and present and looking at you like you'd hung every star in the sky.

Your father lifted your hand to Sungchan's, and the transfer of that small weight felt enormous.

Your dad kissed your cheek. Your mom pressed her hand briefly over yours. And then they stepped away, and it was just you and Sungchan standing together in all that light.

He mouthed something too quiet for anyone else to hear.

"You're beautiful."

You laughed despite yourself, blinking hard against the tears that were absolutely going to win this battle.

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Time went by both so quick and slow. The officiant had spoken before you knew it, and Sungchan turned to you fully, unfolding a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket with shaky hands.

"I practiced this a hundred times," he started, voice low and already rough around the edges. "And I'm still not sure I have the right words. But I think that's the point, isn't it? That you're the kind of person words have trouble keeping up with."

He paused, clearing his throat.

"I fell in love with you on an ordinary Tuesday. I don't even remember what we were doing; something completely unremarkable, probably arguing about what to have for dinner. But I looked at you in that completely ordinary moment and thought, I want every ordinary Tuesday for the rest of my life to look exactly like this."

Someone in the pews laughed softly through their tears.

"I promise to choose you on the easy days and the hard ones. On the days when you rearrange all the furniture at 2 AM for reasons I still don't fully understand." A ripple of laughter. "On the days when you're too tired to be kind but you try anyway, and on the days when you succeed. I promise to pay attention. To notice the things you don't say as much as the things you do."

His voice thickened.

"I promise to build a life with you that's bigger than either of us could build alone. And I promise to remember, every single day, that I'm the luckiest person in this room."

He folded the paper carefully and put it back in his pocket. His eyes were bright.

"I love you, Hana. I think I always will."

The officiant turned to you before you could even think about crying, and you unfolded your own paper with fingers that trembled as well.

"Sungchan," you started, and just saying his name in this room, in this moment, made you have to stop for a second.

"I used to think love was supposed to feel complicated. Like it was only real if it came with a little fear, a little turbulence, something to push against. And then I met you, and you were just you."

You looked up from the paper, because the words felt more important when you looked at him.

"I don't have grand promises. I just have this, I will show up for you the same way you have always shown up for me. I will choose you when it's easy and when it's hard and all the ordinary days in between. I will love you for exactly who you are, every version of you still to come."

Your voice broke on the last line, but only slightly.

"Thank you for being my calm. My home. My person."

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The doors burst open and the world came rushing back in.

Sunlight, noise, laughter, petals. White and gold and autumn colors raining down as you and Sungchan stepped out the church, hands intertwined, faces already aching from smiling. The crowd surged forward, family and friends pressing in from every side, flower petals catching in your hair and settling on your shoulders like confetti made of love.

"My baby," your mom said, pulling you into her arms before anyone else could reach you, and you held her tight, laughing into her shoulder. Your dad wrapped his arms around both of you, and for a moment the three of you were just there, the same as you'd always been, even as everything changed.

"Mrs. Jung," Keeho said dramatically when you finally pulled apart, pressing both hands to his cheeks. "I'm not crying. I'm not crying."

"You are absolutely crying," one of your friends said.

"I said what I said."

You laughed, reaching for him, and the whole group folded into an overlapping embrace, everyone talking at once, someone's flower petals going directly into your mouth, your friend saying something about your dress that got lost in all the noise. Sungchan caught your eye across the small crowd and gave you that happy smile that made you fall in love with him all over again.

You were still smiling when your gaze drifted without meaning to, further across the noise and the petals and the gathered crowd.

There was a white car parked further down the street. Far enough back to be unobtrusive, close enough that you could see the window rolled all the way down.

And there was Sungho.

He was sitting in the passenger seat, turned slightly toward the church. He was wearing a brown sweater, and his hair was dark and neat, more carefully kept than the last time you'd seen it, which struck you as significant somehow.

He looked different from a year ago. Smaller, maybe. Softer at the edges. But his eyes, even from this distance, were the same.

He saw you the moment you saw him.

You smiled at him warmly, the way you'd always smiled at him. You lifted your hand in a small wave from amid the crowd, just enough for him to see.

Something moved across his face. He smiled back, slow and gentle, and raised his hand in a weak wave that didn't travel very far. Like it cost him something to lift it, but he did it anyway. His eyes glistened in the afternoon light, and even from across the street you could see the way he pressed his lips together briefly, holding something in.

Then he mouthed the words clearly.

"Congratulations."

He nodded once, something final and full in the gesture, and turned to look forward again, and that was when you saw it.

The thin tubes resting below his nose. An IV stand visible through the window, standing beside him in the car like it had followed him out of the hospital. And suddenly the brown sweater made sense, and the careful hair made sense, and the way he'd lifted that weak arm to wave made a different kind of sense entirely.

Something shifted in your chest that made you perk up slightly, but the window began to roll up.

You watched it rise, the glass catching the afternoon light as it sealed shut. The car pulled away from the curb with no rush. You watched it until it turned at the far end of the street and disappeared, taking him with it.

Around you, the noise continued. Sungchan's cousins were taking photos. Your mom was dabbing her eyes again. Keeho was making someone else laugh. The petals were still falling.

You turned back to it all, but there was a small ache sitting right underneath. Like the feeling of watching the last light leave the sky before night comes in. You couldn't explain why this goodbye felt heavier than the last one.

Sungchan was looking at you with soft eyes, a question in them.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

You looked at him presently as your chest settled down.

"Yeah," you said, taking his hand. "I am."

And it was the truth. You leaned into Sungchan's shoulder as your life went on.

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2027, one year had passed.

The field was green and thriving, the kind of open space that made you feel like the busy city existed in another dimension. You walked slowly through the grass, the hem of your jacket brushing the tops of wildflowers that had come up with the season, the sky above you so clear and blue it almost looked painted.

You stopped at the cherry blossom tree at the far edge of the field. It was full now, heavy with soft pink clusters that drifted down in the breeze and settled on the grass below, really something out of a dream. You'd been here once before, in the winter, when the ground had been hard and the branches bare. It looked better now.

You knelt down in front of the headstone nestled at the base of the tree. You reached out and brushed the engraving with your fingers, clearing away the thin layer of petals that had gathered in the carved letters. Park Sungho, 1995-2026

You smiled. A bittersweet smile that had become the only kind you had for this place.

"Hi," you said gently. The wind moved through the branches above you. Petals fell like a response from him.

"I brought freesias," you said, placing them carefully against the base of the stone. "I remembered you mentioned them once in college." You straightened them unnecessarily, just to have something to do with your hands. "I wasn't sure if you were the type for flowers but it felt wrong to come empty-handed."

You sat down beside the tree, drawing your knees in, letting the silence settle around you.

"I'm sorry," you said after a moment. Your voice was steady, but just barely. "I'm still sorry I didn't know sooner. I keep thinking about that afternoon at the café, how you smiled when you said you were doing well, and I just believed you. Because you seemed okay. Because you seemed at peace." You exhaled. "You were always so good at that. Making things look manageable."

A petal drifted down again and landed on your knee.

"Sungchan and I is getting the house a minor work. We need the room now." You smiled to yourself, touching the small swell of your stomach without thinking about it. "I think you'd like him, if you'd ever really gotten to meet him. He's patient in all the ways you and I never quite managed to be with each other. He cried at our wedding, did I tell you that? The moment the doors opened, just completely undone." You laughed softly. "It was the best thing I've ever seen."

You rested your head back against the tree trunk and looked up through the branches at the sky coming through in pieces.

"Thank you," you said quietly. "For teaching me what I was worth. For loving me first, when I was still figuring out how to be loved. I don't think I would have known what to look for in Sungchan if I hadn't known you first."

You stayed like that for a while, just sitting, letting the air move around you. Then the grass rustled beside you.

You looked over to find a man approaching, about your age, carrying a small bundle of white flowers and a worn notebook tucked under his arm. Something about the careful way he held the notebook told you it wasn't his. He slowed when he saw you, then seemed to recognize you.

"Le-" He stopped, "Jung Hana?" he said.

You stood, brushing grass from your jacket. "Yes."

"I'm Riwoo. I believe we've met during the funeral." He stopped a few feet away. "Sungho mentioned you. A lot, actually." He looked down at the headstone with a gloomy expression. "I'm glad you came today."

You bowed your head in greeting. "Oh, yes. I believe we've met."

Riwoo bent forward and laid his flowers beside yours, taking a quiet moment that you didn't interrupt. Then he straightened and looked at you, and held out the notebook.

"This was his," he said simply. "The last one. He asked me once, not directly but- you know how he was." He smiled tenderly at the thought of Sungho.

"He asked me once if I thought you'd want to read it someday." He pressed it gently into your hands. "I've been carrying it around ever since he passed. Not knowing when the right time was. But I think today is probably it."

You looked down at the notebook. The cover was dark brown, soft with wear, the string closure tied in a loose knot of someone who opened it often.

"Thank you," you managed. "Really, Thank you for being his friend when no one was."

Riwoo smiled, and there was grief in it and also warmth. "He was easy to be friends with, once you got past the quiet. I'm sure you know." He glanced at the grave once more. "Take care of yourself, Hana."

"I do know." you smiled. "You too."

You watched him walk back across the field until he was just a shape moving through the green, then grew small, then was gone.

You sat back down against the tree, the notebook in your lap. For a moment you just held it, feeling the worn cover under your palms, then slowly, you pulled the string loose, skimming through the paper as you land on a page.

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2026, October 23rd

Riwoo drove me to the park after as I said.

It's quiet here now, the afternoon crowd has gone home for dinner and the lights are just starting to come on along the pathway. The bench is empty. The swings are moving on their own a little, just from the breeze, and I'm watching them from the car window because I don't have the strength to walk out there today.

That's okay. I can see everything I need to see from here.

I want to write down what I remember before the day gets any further from me. Before sleep takes it.

You were wearing white, but it wasn't the cold, sterile white that my eyes were used to see. It was warm. It catches light and holds it. When those doors opened and you walked through them, I think the whole street got brighter. Not metaphorically, I mean that actual light seemed to follow you out of that building, the way it always seemed to follow you, the way it had since that first March morning when you crossed a garden to talk to a boy who'd given up on being noticed.

You were smiling so brightly the whole way down the steps. It was as real and alive as it was the first time I saw it. And then you looked up, and you found me. In that white dress, holding all those flowers, surrounded by everyone who loves you. You waved at me so naturally.

I managed to wave back. I don't know if it looked like much from where you were standing. My arm isn't what it used to be. But I raised it. I made sure I raised it. You smiled at me one last time.

I asked Riwoo to roll up the window then. Not because I wanted to stop looking, but because I'd already given what I came for, and the rest of the day belonged to you.

-

The park looks the same as it always did too.

I keep looking at the swings. I keep thinking about the first time we sat on them, how you pumped your legs and went so high while I barely moved, how you said the sun looked nice that day and meant something more by it. I remember thinking I had never been given such a simple, extraordinary gift; to be wanted just because a day was beautiful.

I have no regrets. I loved you better by letting you go. I have to believe that.

And I don't regret the love itself too. Not one morning of it. Not one fight, not one misunderstanding, not one missed call or ruined plan. All of it was mine, and all of it mattered, and all of it made me into someone capable of writing things worth reading. You are in every sentence I have ever been proud of. You are the reason I learned to pay attention to the world.

This is my last piece. I am not afraid. My life has been completely lived.

I saw you happy today. I saw you radiant and laughing and loved. I saw the way your husband looked at you like he already knew he'd spend the rest of his life grateful. I saw your friends throwing petals in your hair and your mother holding her own hands to keep from reaching for you. I saw a whole life gather around you, celebrate you, love you.

My body and soul has been waiting to rest, but it needed to know you were alright first. Needed to see it with its own eyes before it could let go. And now I have seen it. Now I know.

So rest, then.

Hana — wherever you are when you read this, if you ever read this, I hope spring is coming in through your windows. I hope you laugh a lot. I hope you are incredibly full and unhurried and exactly where you are supposed to be.

I loved. It was the greatest thing a man can ever do.

Goodnight.

The elementary school buzzes with its usual mess. Tiny voices echo down hallways in cheerful yellows and blues. Your classroom smells like crayons, old papers, sunlight, and that specific nostalgic scent of childhood classrooms.

"Miss Hana, can you help me with this?" one boy tugs at your sleeve, holding up a math worksheet with numbers scribbled in uneven lines.

You crouch beside his desk, pencil in hand. "What's troubling you?"

"I don't get why we need to borrow from the tens place."

His brow furrows in concentration as you guide him through the problem, your voice patient and soft. Around you, twenty-three other seven-year-olds work at their desks, some chewing their erasers, others throwing pencils around.

The afternoon slips by in a rush of papers and scraped knees, art projects that somehow end up more on hands than paper, and the eternal mystery of where all the glue stick caps disappear to. When the final bell rings, you wave goodbye to the last parent pickup and sink into your desk chair.

The classroom feels different in silence. Sunlight slants through the windows, highlighting motes floating in the air. Your lesson plans for tomorrow sit in a neat stack, red ink marking corrections and encouraging notes you'll hand back in the morning.

You lock up and walk to your car, but instead of heading straight home, you find yourself turning toward downtown. The local library down the street, its red brick facade warm in the late afternoon sun. You haven't been here in months, maybe longer.

The heavy wooden doors open with a soft creak. Inside, it's warm, and smells like old paper and coffee from a couple of people by the seats. Your footsteps are muffled by worn carpet as you wander between the shelves, fingers trailing along book spines. You're not looking for anything particular, just something to read before your fiancé comes home from his business dinner. Romance, maybe. Or something short.

But then your eyes catch on a slim volume tucked between a cookbook and a travel guide. The cover is simple, watercolor blues and greens that look almost like a painting of somewhere you know. The title reads "Spring of '15" in simple font. 2015. Your chest tightens with something you can't describe. College, that spring when everything felt possible and terrifying all at once, when you were twenty and thought you had forever to figure things out.

You pull the book free and turn it over. The back cover shows a small photograph, a park bench under cherry blossoms, a path winding between old trees. The corner of your lips curved into a small smile of recognition. It looks exactly like the park down by your old university. The place where you used to study on afternoons, or hangout with your friends, where couples would spread blankets for picnics and watch the water flow past.

The author's pen name is printed small at the bottom, but you don't recognize it. Inside the front cover, the copyright date confirms that it's published just last year. Something about the details of the book pulls at you. You check the book out without really deciding to.

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You took the book home. Your apartment welcomes you home with the vanilla candle from last night. You set your keys in the little dish by the door and kick off your work shoes, leaving them beside your fiancé's running sneakers.

In your small home office, you settle into the chair at your desk. The room is tidy. Your laptop closed and plugged in, a stack of graded papers ready for tomorrow, a framed photo of you and your fiancé from last summer's vacation smiling back at you.

You open "Spring of '15" to the first page. The paper feels smooth beneath your fingertips, still crisp and new.

The spring I turned twenty-one, I thought I knew what loneliness was.

The words draw you in immediately. Outside your window, evening light fades to purple, but you barely notice. You're already somewhere else, following a story that feels like stepping into a half-remembered memory.

I spent most days in the library or walking the paths by the river, watching other people live their lives while I tried to figure out how to live mine.

You tilt your head as your interest is piqued. There's something about the narrator's way of writing, something achingly familiar that you can't place. You turn the page and keep reading, drawn deeper into a story that feels less like fiction and more like looking through someone else's eyes into a world you once knew.

════════ 2015

The March air was sharp and cold. Sungho pulled his coat closer, watching other students walk in groups toward the university gates. Everyone seemed to know where they were going. Friends linking arms, couples sharing earphones, people who had already figured out how to belong here. He walked alone, hands deep in his pockets.

The orientation hall was too warm and too loud. Sungho sat near the back, half-listening to the dean talk about campus traditions and academic excellence. Around him, students whispered to each other, trading phone numbers, making lunch plans. He looked down at the campus map in his hands with nothing but the thought of just getting through the day.

When they were finally told to explore the campus, everyone split off into groups. Sungho waited until most people had left, then stood up with nowhere particular to go. He wandered until he found the university garden. It was quiet there, away from all the noise. Pink cherry blossoms fell like snow, covering the grass and benches. He found a spot under a big tree and pulled out his iPod, then his journal. The one he'd been writing in since high school.

The music helped. He wrote about his first day, about feeling lost, about the way the petals kept falling even when no wind was blowing. But something made him look up. Across the garden, five people were sitting together on the grass. They were laughing about something. But it wasn't their happiness that caught his attention.

It was you.

Your hair moved with the breeze as you threw your head back, laughing at whatever story someone was telling. Even from far away, he could see how your whole face lit up when you smiled. You moved your hands while you talked, and everyone else leaned in to listen. Like you were the center of everything.

Just a random crush, he told himself, looking back at his journal. It'll go away. But his pen had stopped moving.

"Excuse me?"

He looked up. You were standing right there, having walked over while he wasn't paying attention. Up close, your smile was even brighter than the surroundings.

"Sorry to bother you, but are you here by yourself?" You pointed back at your friends. "We're going to walk around campus if you want to come with us."

Sungho stared for a second, earphones still in his ears. Then he quickly pulled them out and stood up, almost dropping his journal.

"I'm Hana," you said. "What's your name?"

"Sungho," he managed to say. "Park Sungho. And yeah, if you don't mind..."

"Of course not!" Your smile got even bigger. "Come on."

I used to think being alone was something we choose. Like people who ended up lonely just didn't try hard enough. But sitting there that first day, watching the petals fall like the minutes i waste, I realized loneliness could hit you like a season you never saw coming. Then you appeared. Not with anything dramatic and grande like the dramas in tv, just a simple "Are you here by yourself?" I didn't know then that some questions change everything. That sometimes the thing that saves you looks like just another ordinary Tuesday, just another stranger with a kind smile. Your name sounded like a song I'd been waiting my whole life to hear.

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Your friends welcomed Sungho easily, the way good people do. Introductions exchanged from your newly made friends were quick too, but their names blurred together in his mind. He was too busy trying not to stare at you.

"So where should we go first?" you asked, pulling out the campus map and spreading it between your hands. "Library? Student center? Oh, we should definitely check out the cafeteria."

"Food first," Keeho said immediately. "I'm starving."

"You're always starving," Your other friend laughed, nudging him with her elbow.

Sungho walked a little behind the group, hands in his pockets, listening to the way you all talked to each other. Like you'd known each other for years instead of hours. He wondered how some people made friendship look so simple.

"What do you think, Sungho?"

He looked up to find you turned around, walking backward while the others continued forward.

"About what?" he blinked.

"Cafeteria or library first?" You tilted your head, waiting for his answer like it actually mattered.

"Cafeteria's fine," he said quietly.

You grinned. "See? He gets it. Food is important."

As the group started moving toward the main building, you fell into step beside him. Not saying anything at first, just matching his pace. Sungho glanced at you sideways, wondering why you weren't up front with the others where all the conversation was happening.

"You're really quiet," you said eventually. Not like an accusation, just more of an observation.

"Yeah." He didn't know what else to say.

"That's okay. I talk enough for like three people anyway." You laughed at yourself, and the sound made warmth bloom in his chest. "My friends always tell me I need to learn when to shut up."

"I don't think you should," Sungho said, surprising himself.

You looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"You have a nice voice," he said, then immediately felt his face heat up. "I mean-"

"Thank you." Your smile was softer now, different from the bright ones you'd been giving everyone else. "That's really sweet."

The group moved through campus like a small parade. You pointed out buildings, read signs out loud, made jokes about the statue of the university founder. Everything seemed to fascinate you, the way the afternoon light hit the library windows, a dog someone was walking near the quad, the smell of coffee floating from the student center.

Sungho found himself watching you more than the actual tour. The way you gestured with your whole body when you talked. How you listened to everyone else like they were saying the most interesting things in the world. The way you stopped to pet every dog you saw.

Time felt strange. The other students on campus seemed to move faster, their voices blending into background noise. But you were clear and bright and constant, like everything else had gone slightly out of focus except for you. Sungho caught himself smiling and didn't even try to stop it.

"This is nice," you said as the group paused near a fountain in the center of campus. The water caught the light, sending little rainbows across your face.

"What is?" Keeho asked.

"This, all of us. The first day." You looked around at everyone, and your eyes lingered on Sungho for just a second longer. "I was kind of nervous about starting college, but y'all are amazing."

You were the sun in human form that day. Not the kind that burns, but the kind that makes everything grow. I watched you discover our campus like it was a whole new world, and somehow that made me see it differently too. I'd spent so many years walking through life like I was watching a movie of someone else's story. But when you smiled at me that afternoon, everything shifted into focus. Like I'd been living in black and white and suddenly remembered what color looked like. That was the day I learned that loneliness isn't the opposite of being with people. It's the opposite of being seen. And you saw me, even when I was trying to disappear.

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Two months passed like pages flipping through the wind. Sungho had found his place in your group, even if it was on the quieter part. He still didn't talk as much as everyone else, but he laughed now. Real laughs, not the polite ones he used to give for weeks. And sometimes, when the conversation turned to books or movies, he'd surprise everyone by talking for minutes at a time.

You'd learned things about him. That he always ordered the same coffee. That he wrote in his journal every day, usually at the same bench in the garden where you'd first met him. That he had a way of listening that made people want to tell him their secrets.

Today was one of those good days. The six of you were at the student center, sprawled across couches that had seen better years. Keeho was telling a story about his roommate's latest disaster, complete with dramatic gestures that made you laugh until your sides hurt.

Sungho was sitting next to you, close enough that you could smell his cologne, something clean and fresh that you'd started to associate with comfort. He wasn't saying much, but he was smiling. The one that made his eyes crinkle. But then, his phone rang.

The sound cut through Keeho's story, and everyone looked over. Sungho glanced at the screen and his expression changed. His smile from seconds before just faded.

"I need to take this," he said, standing up. "I'll be right back."

He walked toward the windows on the far side of the room, phone pressed to his ear. You tried not to watch, but something about the way his shoulders tensed made you worried.

"Mom, I told you I can't-" His voice is stronger than he probably meant it to. "No, I know it's important, but I have plans this saturday."

You looked away, focusing on your other friend who was showing everyone pictures on her phone. But you could still hear him.

"It's not like that. I'm not being irresponsible." His voice was getting sharper. "I just... for once, can't it wait until next week?" There was a long pause before he speaks again. "Fine, whatever. I'll think about it."

The call ended with a beep. You got up without really thinking about it, telling the others you needed some air. Sungho was still standing by the windows, staring out at the campus like he was trying to solve something.

"Hey," you said carefully.

He turned around, and for just a second, you saw something raw in his face. Frustration, maybe. Or fear. But then he saw you, and it was like watching clouds clear from the sun.

"Hey." His voice was gentler now.

"Everything okay?" You ask.

Sungho looked at you for a long moment. You were wearing that yellow sweater he'd complimented once. Your eyes were worried but not prying. And the heaviness in his chest, the weight of doctor's appointments and worried mothers and things he couldn't control, it didn't disappear completely. But it got smaller, more manageable.

"Yeah," he said, and meant it for the first time in years. "It's nothing important."

You observed his face, clearly not buying it completely. But you didn't push. That was the thing about you, you knew when to dig deeper and when to just stand beside someone.

"You sure?" You ask.

"I'm sure." He smiled, and it wasn't forced. "Come on, let's go back. I think Keeho was getting to the good part of his story."

Two months in, and you'd already changed everything without even trying. I was still the same person, still quiet, still carrying weight I couldn't figure out. But with you, the silence felt different. Comfortable than threatening. That day when my mother called, I felt the old familiar pull. The voice that said responsibilty comes first, that wanting things for yourself was selfish. But then I turned around and saw you waiting, and I understood what people meant when they talked about having something worth fighting for. I didn't know yet that I was falling in love with you. I just knew that you made life feel less like something I had to endure and more like something I wanted to live.

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The cafe was tucked away on a quiet street where the city noise felt softer. Sungho had arrived early, like he always did, and claimed a table by the window. He'd changed his shirt three times that morning before settling on something simple, a white button-up and jeans. Nothing too formal, nothing that would give away how much this day meant to him. He was reading when you walked in, and something about seeing you in the morning light made his chest feel so light. You were wearing a sundress he'd never seen before, something yellow, and flowy that moved when you walked.

"Hi," you said, sliding into the seat across from him.

"Hi." He closed his book and looked around. "Where's everyone else?"

You blinked innocently, like you had no idea what he was talking about. "Everyone else?"

"Didn't you invite the others?" But even as he asked, Sungho was smiling. He knew that look on your face.

"I never said anything about inviting anyone else." You grinned, completely shameless. "Why? Is that a problem?"

"No. Not a problem." He cheesed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Good. Because I already ordered for us." You pointed to the counter where the barista was preparing two iced coffees. "Hope you don't mind mocha latte."

"You really know how I like my coffee." Sungho smiled.

Twenty minutes later you were walking through the park, iced coffee in hand. You'd both chosen mocha latte without discussing it. "Can I ask?" Sungho said as you found the swing set tucked away in a quieter corner of the park.

"Sure." You settled onto one of the swings, testing the chains.

"Why did you ask me to hang out today?"

You started swinging, pushing off with your toes to get higher. Your hair flew behind you with each arc. "Because the sun looked nice today."

Sungho sat on the swing next to yours, moving just enough to keep from being completely still. He watched you pump your legs, going higher and higher. "That's it?" he asked.

"That's it." You leaned back at the top of your swing, looking up at the sky. "Sometimes you don't need a big reason to want to spend time with someone. Sometimes the sun just looks nice and you think, 'this would be better if Sungho was here.'"

He stopped swinging completely. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. That his presence could make a good day better, not just fill an empty space.

"Plus," you added, slowing down until your swings were moving at the same lazy pace, "you've been different lately. Happier, but also... I don't know. Like you're carrying a burden."

Sungho looked down at the condensation of the cup from his hand. "Everyone carries heavy things."

"Yeah, but not everyone has to carry them alone."

Both of you sat in silence for a while, watching kids run around the playground while their parents called after them. A little girl with pigtails kept trying to go down the big slide, and every time she got scared at the top and climbed back down.

"She's going to do it eventually," you said, following his gaze.

Sungho turned to you, blinking. "How do you know?"

"She keeps trying. That's the difference between people who do things and people who don't. The ones who do it keep trying, even when they're scared."

"Is that your philosophy on life?" He huffed, smiling.

You turned to look at him, slowing your swing with your feet. "Kind of. I mean, most good things happen when you're a little scared, right? First day of college, trying new food, talking to cute guys at coffee shops."

Sungho's swing came to a complete stop. "Cute guys?"

"Very cute guys," you said seriously, trying not to cheese but your eyes were sparkling. "Ones who write in journals and know all the good quotes from movies and make the best facial expressions when they're trying not to laugh."

"I don't make facial expressions."

"You're making one right now." You leaned over to poke his cheek, and he jerked back, laughing despite himself. "See? There it is."

The little girl had finally made it down the slide. She was running back to the ladder, ready to do it again.

"Told you," you smirked.

Sungho looked at you. The way the afternoon light caught in your hair, how you'd gotten a tiny bit of condensation on your chin, the fact that you were here with him on a Saturday just because the sun looked nice.

"Hana?" He voiced out.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for today. For..." He gestured vaguely, not sure how to finish. "For asking you out because the weather was good?" You cut in.

"For making everything feel less heavy." He nodded, as your swing had stopped moving now too. You were close enough that if he reached out, he could touch your hand.

"Sungho?"

"Hm?" He turns to you with curious eyes.

"Next time it rains, I'm going to ask you out too. Just so you know."

He chuckled, a real laugh that started in his chest and bubbled up before he could stop it. "Why?"

"Because rainy days are good for different things. Hot chocolate instead of iced coffee. Museums instead of parks. But still..." You shrugged, smiling at him. "Still better with you there."

You asked me out because the sun looked nice. Not because you needed something, not because you were bored, not because anyone else was busy. Just because the day was beautiful and you wanted to share it with me. I'd spent so many years believing I had to earn people's time, that I needed to be useful or entertaining or different than I was. But you chose my company for the simplest reason of all, because it made your good day better. Sitting on those swings, watching you laugh at nothing and everything, I realized I was learning a new language. The language of being wanted, not needed. Of mattering without needing to have a proof. That was the day I started falling in love with Saturdays. With iced mocha lattes. With the sound of swing sets creaking in the sunny afternoon. With you.

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Sungho went home that day with happiness filling his chest. He couldn't stop smiling as he sat at his desk, journal open in front of him. The pen felt light in his hand as he wrote about earlier. Before he could talk himself out of it, he picked up his phone.

"Thanks for today. Really. Can I take you out again next Saturday?" He messaged.

The message reached you, grinning. Your reply also came faster than he expected. "I was hoping you'd ask. Yes!"

He stared at the message until his cheeks hurt from smiling. Saturdays became your thing after that. Each one different but somehow similar, bookstores and coffee shops, walks along the river, that tiny movie theater that only showed old films. Light, comfortable days that made the rest of the week feel like waiting.

But by the fifth Friday, Sungho realized he was tired of waiting. Tired of wondering if you knew how he felt, tired of these almost-dates that could be explained away as friendship. His hands were shaking as he typed the message.

"Can you come down for a minute? I'm outside your dorm building. Want to tell you something."

He paced in front of the building, wiping his palms on his jeans every few seconds. This was insane. He should have planned this better, should have brought flowers or picked a more romantic location. But the thought of spending another week pretending tomorrow was just another casual hangout made him stubborn.

You appeared in the doorway wearing a simple sweater and looking curious.

"Hey," you said, walking over slowly. "What's up? You sounded all mysterious in your text."

Sungho opened his mouth, then closed it back. His hands were tapping against his legs, a nervous fidgeting he couldn't control. You stood there waiting, and he could see you noticing how fidgety he was.

"Are you okay? You look..."

"I'm fine." He took a breath. "I just... tomorrow. Our Saturday thing."

"Yeah?" You tilted your head. "What about it?"

He looked down at his shoes, then back up at you. "I want it to be different. I mean, I want you to know that it's..." Why was this so hard? He'd practiced this in his dorm room mirror. Even had the whole thing planned out.

"Know what?" you squinted.

"That I want to take you on a proper date." You blinked, nodding as you smirk at his words. The silence that followed between you was palpable. Sungho's heart was beating so loud he was sure you could hear it.

"And I like you," he said quickly, before he could lose his nerve. "A lot. Like, really lot."

You didn't say anything right away, just looked at him with those eyes that always made him forget what he was trying to say.

"I've liked you since that first day in the garden," he continued, the words coming smooth nowthan earlier. "And I know we've been hanging out, but I didn't know if you knew that I... that this was-"

He gestured helplessly between you two before you leaned forward playfully with a smirk, cutting him off. "Sungho," You spoke.

He completely stopped talking and looked at you. You were smiling. Not the surprised smile or the polite smile, but that warm one you'd always have. You reached out and pushed his shoulder lightly.

"You're so silly," you said, and there was laughter in your voice. "Of course I know you like me."

"You do?" Sungho grimaced, feeling embarrassed.

"Did you really think I ask out every guy just because the sun looks nice?" You were grinning now. "I've been waiting for you to say something for weeks."

"Really?" He replied, still dumbfounded.

"Really." You stepped a little closer. "And yes, I'd love to go on a proper date with you tomorrow. I like you too, in case that wasn't obvious."

Sungho felt like his brain did a complete 360. All that panic, all those sweaty palms and rehearsed speeches, and you'd been waiting for him to figure it out.

"So tomorrow..." he started.

"Tomorrow's a date," you confirmed, grinning at him. "Our first official one."

Both of you stood there for a moment, neither sure what to do next. The evening air was cool, and somewhere in the distance you could hear other students laughing as they walked back from dinner.

"I should probably go back up," you said finally. "Early class tomorrow."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course."

You took a step toward the building, then turned back. "Sungho?"

"Hm?" He quickly looked up.

"For the record? Even if you hadn't said anything, I would have figured out a way to let you know. You're not as mysterious as you think you are."

He watched you disappear into the building, then stood there for another minute just smiling at the closed door. His hands had stopped shaking. His heart was still racing, but in a good way now.

I'd never been brave before I met you. Caution was my default setting. But standing outside your dorm that night, with sweaty palms and racing heart, I learned that courage isn't the absence of fear. Courage is having so much passion for something that not expressing it becomes scarier than proudly expressing it. You made even my most terrifying moments feel safe. Not because you took the fear away, but because you made it worth feeling. Made me worth risking. The best conversations happen when you're too nervous to think about what you're supposed to say. When all you can do is tell the truth and hope it's enough. It was. You were. Everything was.

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Tomorrow arrived with your first official date. He'd stood in front of his mirror for twenty minutes that morning, changing shirts twice before settling on a soft gray hoodie. Not too formal, not too casual. He sprayed on cologne, something light and clean because you'd mentioned once that strong smells gave you headaches. Small things like that had stuck with him over the months. His overgrown black hair took another ten minutes to get right.

The flower shop owner smiled when he walked in, probably recognizing the look of a nervous boy on his first real date. He picked a single sunflower, bright and simple, like you.

You appeared in the dormitory entrance looking like you'd put in effort too. Your hair was down instead of in its usual ponytail, and you were wearing a light blue dress that made you look like you were carrying your own sky. When you saw him waiting there with the flower, you broke into the biggest smile.

"Hi," you said, walking over.

"Hi." He held out the sunflower, suddenly shy. "This is for you."

"It's beautiful." You took it and held it up to your nose. "Thank you."

You both stood there for a moment, grinning at each other like complete dorks. "So," you said eventually. "Where to?"

"I have no idea," Sungho admitted. "I was kind of hoping we could just walk around? See where we end up?"

"Of course."

The late spring air was perfect too, warm enough to be comfortable, with a breeze that smelled like flowers and fresh grass. You walked side by side, not really having a destination, just enjoying being together. Your hand brushed his a few times, and by the fourth time he was pretty sure it was on purpose.

"Oh, wait," you said when you passed a convenience store. "We should get something."

Ten minutes later you were walking out with way too many snacks and drinks, arguing about whether chocolate or vanilla ice cream was superior.

You ended up in the university garden where you'd first met, spreading out on the grass near the same bench where he used to sit alone. The cherry blossom trees were different now, full green leaves instead of pink petals.

"This is nice," you said, lying back on the grass and looking up at the sky through the branches.

"Yeah." Sungho sat cross-legged beside you, opening a bag of chips. "It's perfect."

"You know," you said after a while, "I should probably tell you something."

"What?" Sungho perked up.

You sat up and turned to face him, smiling as you held your own hand. "I liked you from the start too. That first day, when I saw you sitting alone with your journal. You looked so... I don't know. Mysterious? But also kind of sad."

Sungho stopped chewing. "Sad?"

"Not in a bad way. Just... like you were thinking about something so deep. I wanted to know what you were thinking about." You smiled, a little embarrassed. "It was one of those silly first-day crushes, you know? Like when you see someone across a crowded room and think they look interesting."

"But?"

"But then I actually got to know you. And it wasn't just a crush anymore." You picked at the grass beside you. "You're... you're really easy to like, Sungho. The way you listen when people talk, how you remember things,the way you get excited about books but try to hide it."

"I don't get excited about books." Sungho frowned.

"You literally recommended four different novels to me last month."

"That's not excitement, that's just sharing information."

You laughed, pointing at him as he playfully swats your hand. "See? That's what I mean. You're so endearing without even trying."

Sungho felt that warm feeling in his chest again, the one that had been showing up more and more lately when you were around. "I was terrified that first day," he said quietly. "Meeting new people, starting over. Everything felt too big and I felt too small."

"And now?" You smiled.

"Now it feels like everything's exactly the right size." He smirked softly, turning to look at you.

You smiled that smile that made his heart smile as well. "Good. Because I was kind of hoping you'd stick around."

"Yeah?" He blnked

"Yeah. I like having you around, Park Sungho. I like it a lot."

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The next few weeks after comfort had been brutal. Midterm projects, late nights at the library, texts that started with "sorry can't talk right now" and ended with promises to catch up soon. By Thursday evening, Sungho couldn't stand it anymore.

"Want to meet up? Nothing fancy, just... miss talking to you." He messaged.

Your reply came twenty minutes later. "Of course. Where?"

"Our bench?"

"Perfect. Give me 30 minutes."

The university garden was quieter at this time of day. Most students were either at dinner or holed up in their rooms studying. Sungho got there first, like always, and watched the last bit of sunlight filter through the leaves above their bench.

You appeared wearing jeans and an oversized sweater, looking tired but happy to see him. When you sat down beside him, close enough that your shoulders touched, he felt some of the week's tension finally ease.

"Hi," you said softly.

"Hi."

You sat in silence for a moment, just being near each other after days of rushed conversations between classes. "So," you said eventually, turning to face him. "Why did you ask me out tonight? Not that I'm complaining."

Sungho smiled, that easy smile he only seemed to have around you these days. "Just because."

"Just because?" You raised a brow.

"And because this week has been crazy and we haven't really talked much lately." He looked at you, taking in the way the evening light caught in your hair. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." You reached over and took his hand, lacing your fingers together, feeling each other's warm and comforting palms radiate. "It's been weird, not having our random conversations every day."

"Yeah." He squeezed your hand. "Also, I wanted to say something important."

"Hm?" You turned your body toward him completely now. "What is it?"

This should have been the moment where his heart started racing, where his palms got sweaty and his words got tangled up. But sitting there with you, your hand warm in his, everything felt easier to say.

"I want to ask you something," he said, and his voice was steady. "Can I be your boyfriend? Like, officially?"

Your face then broke into the brightest smile he'd ever seen. "I was wondering when you were going to ask that," you said, laughing. "Yes. Obviously yes."

"Obviously?" His smile starts to grow wide.

"Sungho, we've been on three dates and I've been telling everyone you're my boyfriend for the past week."

He blinked, a smile growing in his lips. "You have?"

"Of course I have. What else was I supposed to call you? 'The guy I'm dating but we haven't defined what we are yet'?"

"You could have said that." He shyly chuckled.

"That's way too many words." You were still grinning at him. "Boyfriend is easier."

The both of you sat there looking at each other, both smiling like idiots. The garden was getting darker around, but neither of you seemed to care.

After a moment, Sungho scooted closer on the bench. Close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in your eyes, could count your eyelashes if he wanted to.

"Can I..." he started, then stopped.

Instead of finishing the sentence, he leaned forward slowly. Giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn't pull away. You leaned forward too, closing your eyes, meeting his soft lips.

The kiss was light and gentle. Just a brush of lips that tasted like chapstick. It lasted maybe three seconds, but that was the most important three seconds of his life. And when you pulled back, you were both smiling again.

"Wow," you chuckled quietly, not moving away from him. "Yeah, wow." He echoed shyly, his forehead was almost touching yours.

"Good first kiss, Park Sungho." You giggled, leaning your head on his broad shoulders. "Thanks. You too, Hana."

Our first kiss tasted like strawberry, and mint chapstick and felt like coming home to a place I'd never been before. It wasn't as theatrical like how they imagined first kisses to be, it's just healing and comfortable like everything else with you. I'd imagined that moment a hundred times, worried about doing it wrong, about the timing, about whether my hands would shake or accidentally biting your lips. But when it finally happened, it just felt natural. My hands didn't shake, I hadn't bitten your lips. Some people talk about fireworks and explosions when they describe their first kiss. Ours was simpler than that. Like a door opening, or a light turning on in a room that had been dark for too long.

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The first time he saw you cry was during finals week. You'd been stressed for days, snapping at everyone and barely eating. When your professor handed back your essay with more red ink than black, you finally broke down.

You found him in the library and sat down beside him without saying anything. He looked up from his textbook to see tears streaming down your face. "Hey," he said softly, immediately closing his book. "What's wrong?"

"Everything," you said, and then you were really crying, making him hold your cheeks gently. Sungho had never been good with crying people. He usually just stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands. But with you, it felt like he already know what to do.

He pulled you against his chest, one hand rubbing small circles on your back while you soaked his sweater with tears. "It's okay," he mumbled into your hair. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."

You stayed like that until the librarian started turning off lights, and Sungho realized he'd never felt more useful in his entire life.

Then your first real fight was about something completely stupid. You'd made plans to study together, but Sungho had forgotten about a mandatory department meeting. When he texted to cancel last minute, you were already at the library with coffee and snacks.

"Really? You couldn't have remembered this earlier?" you'd argued.

'I'm sorry. I completely forgot. Can we do tomorrow instead?"

"I already cleared my whole afternoon for this."

"I know. I'm really sorry."

You didn't answer for two hours. And when you finally did, it was just "Whatever. See you later."

Sungho stared at the message, feeling sick. He'd never had someone be disappointed in him before, not someone whose opinion actually mattered. He found you the next morning at your usual coffee shop, sitting alone with a book you were clearly not reading.

"I brought you this," he said quietly, setting down a chocolate croissant. Your favorite.

You looked up at him, still a little hurt. "You don't have to bribe me."

"I'm not bribing you. I'm apologizing." He sat down across from you. "I should have remembered. I should have checked my calendar before we made plans."

"It's not about the plans, Sungho." You sighed.

"Then what's it about?"

You were quiet for a moment, picking at the croissant. "It felt like I wasn't important enough to remember."

He immediately shook his head, holding your hand as he consoled. "No. No, you're the most important thing in my life, Hana."

"I know that. Usually, it's just..." You sighed. "I was looking forward to spending time with you. And when you canceled, it felt like you had better things to do."

"There's nothing better than spending time with you."

You finally smiled a little, slowly giving in. "Okay, but next time, put me in your calendar."

"Already done. Every day from now until graduation."

"Every day?"

"Well, the days I want to see you. Which is every day."

The way you automatically reached for my hand when we walked together, like our fingers belonged intertwined. How you kiss me goodbye after every study session, even the short ones. Just a quick peck, but it made my whole day better. Those were what mattered the most. Or how we always saved each other the last bite of whatever we were eating, even if it was something we'd never asked for. How I texted you pictures of dogs I see on campus, because I knew they made you smile. The way you fall asleep against my shoulder during long movie nights, and how I'd stay perfectly still until my arm went numb rather than disturb you. These weren't grand gestures. Other people might have called them ordinary, or unremarkable. But to me, they were everything. They were proof that someone cared about my day, my thoughts, my comfort. That someone chose me, again and again, in a hundred small ways as I chose you too. They say love is in the details, but I never understood what that meant until I met you. Love was the way I remember that you took your coffee with milk, how you'd automatically hand me a philosophy book even though I never asked for it.

════════

It started with something small. Sungho had been quieter lately, distracted during conversations, canceling plans at the last minute. You'd asked if everything was okay, and he'd given you that smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and said he was just tired from school.

You also forgot his presentation day. The one he'd been nervous about for weeks, the one you'd promised to meet him after to celebrate or comfort him, depending on how it went. He waited for you at the coffee shop for an hour before your text came. "I'm so sorry. There was a sudden deadline, and I lost track of time at the library. How did it go?"

Those are followed by more arguments. Whether you get too busy with piling academic works, or Sungho missing and cancelling plans so suddenly without giving you clear reasons why.

"It's like you're not even here anymore," you said, Sungho standing outside your dorm building with your arms crossed. "Even when you're sitting right next to me."

"I'm here," Sungho said, but even he could hear how hollow it sounded.

"Are you? Because it feels like I'm dating a ghost."

It took three days to make up from that fight. Three days of awkward silences and careful texts before he finally showed up at your door with takeout and tired eyes. "I don't want to fight," you said quietly. "I just want my boyfriend back."

"I'm right here," he said, pulling you into his arms. "I'm sorry. I'll do better." And he meant it. He really did.

But two weeks later, you were fighting again. This time because he'd missed dinner with your parents, your parents who'd driven two hours to meet him. He'd texted twenty minutes before they were supposed to meet, saying something urgent had come up with his thesis advisor.

"What's happening to us?" you asked through tears that night. "We never used to be like this."

Sungho looked at you crying because of him, and felt his chest break that had nothing to do with his health. "I don't know," he whispered. "I love you. You know I love you, right?"

"I know," you said, wiping your eyes. "I love you too. But sometimes I just want too feel that you actually do..."

So you'd both agreed on the date, a whole day just for the two of you. No studying, no friends, no responsibilities. Just reconnecting, remembering why you'd fallen for each other in the first place. Sungho had been looking forward to it for days. He'd even written about it in his journal the night before. "Tomorrow I'm going to fix this. I'm going to show her that she's the most important thing in my world."

But at 10 AM, while he was getting ready, the pain hit him like a truck.

It started as a tightness in his chest, then escalated into something sharp and breathtaking. He doubled over on his dorm room floor, gasping, unable to call out for help. The pain was so intense he couldn't even reach for his phone at first.

When he finally managed to dial, his fingers were shaking so badly he could barely hit the numbers.

"Mom," he gasped when she answered. "I need you to come to the city. Something's... wrong."

The next few hours were series of ambulance and hospital rooms and doctors asking questions he didn't have answers to. Tests and more tests, his mother arriving with worry etched in every line of her face, and more waiting.

When the doctor finally came back, Sungho was exhausted and scared and still in pain.

"It's manageable," the doctor said, which wasn't exactly reassuring. "We'll need to monitor it, adjust your medication. You should have been consistent with your check ups. Youre having new symptoms"

"What symptoms?" his mother asked.

The doctor looked surprised. "The fatigue, the shortness of breath, the dizzy spells. Mr. Park mentioned he's been experiencing these just this month. Its new."

Sungho felt his mother's eyes on him, but he was staring at the clock on the wall. 6:47 PM. You were supposed to meet at noon. He looked at the bedside table. His phone felt like it weighed a hundred pounds when he finally picked it up.

Twelve missed calls, and Twenty-three unread messages from you.

"Hey, running a few minutes late but I'll be there soon!"

"I'm here, where are you?"

"Sungho? Your phone is going straight to voicemail."

"It's been an hour. Are you okay?"

"I'm worried. Please call me back."

"I don't understand. Did something happen?"

"I'm going home. I hope you're okay but I'm also really hurt right now."

"Are we still together? Because it doesn't feel like it."

"I can't keep doing this."

Sungho started crying right there in the hospital bed, with his mother watching and nurses bustling around outside his door. Not because of the diagnosis or the pain or the fear of what this meant for his future. He cried because he'd hurt you. Because he didnt show up, and you'd been waiting for him, worried about him, and he'd left you thinking the worst.

But how could he tell you the truth now? How could he explain that he'd been hiding this from you for months, that every canceled plan and distant moment had been because he was falling apart and too scared to admit it? You were already stressed with school, already stretched thin trying to keep your relationship together. Adding his health problems to your list of worries felt selfish and cruel.

So he typed the only thing he could think of. "I'm so sorry. I can explain everything when we see each other. Please don't give up on us."

You never responded.

The distance that grew between you after that felt like watching something beautiful die in slow motion. You tried, both of you tried. Coffee dates that felt forced, conversations that skimmed the surface of everything you weren't saying, forced smiles that didn't convince either of you.

But trust, once broken, was harder to rebuild than either of you had expected. And secrets, once kept, seemed to multiply even more.

Love was still there. Sungho could feel it every time you looked at him. You could feel it everytime he'd hold your hands, could see it in the way you still saved him the last bite of your food, still reached for his hand without thinking.

But love wasn't enough to bridge the gap that had opened between you. Love couldn't fix what neither of you knew how to name or heal.

════════

The rain started just after sunrise, a gentle pattering against Sungho's dorm window that made him think of you. You'd always loved rainy days, said they made everything feel honest, quieter despite the raindrops on the ground. Maybe that's why he finally decided to tell you everything.

He'd been carrying the weight of his secrets for too long. Every canceled date, every distant moment, every time he'd seen hurt flash across your face and known he was the cause. Last night, lying awake listening to the rain begin, he'd finally understood what you'd been trying to tell him for weeks.

"Can we meet this morning? I need to tell you something important." his message lit up your phone.

"Okay, my dorm building in 20 minutes."

You were waiting under the overhang when he arrived, watching the rain create small rivers in the campus walkways. You looked tired, the kind of tired that comes from too many sleepless nights and too much worrying.

"Hi," you said softly when you saw him.

"Hi." He stood there for a moment, just looking at you. "Thank you for meeting me."

"Of course." You observed his face. "You sounded serious in your text."

"I was. I am." He gestured toward the covered area near the campus center. "Can we sit somewhere? This might take a while."

You found a bench under one of the wide overhangs, protected from the rain but still able to watch it fall. The sound of water hitting concrete filled the silence between you as you both settled in.

"So," you said, turning to face him. "What did you want to tell me?"

Sungho took a deep breath. This is the moment where everything either get better or fall completely apart. "I want to apologize first," he started. "For the past few weeks. For being... absent. For making you feel like you weren't important to me."

You didn't say anything, just looked down the raindrops on the ground, listening, and waiting for him to continue.

"I love you so much, Hana. You're the most important person in my life. You always have been. And that's exactly why I've been..." He struggled for the right words. "Why I've been such a terrible man lately."

"I don't understand." you mumbled.

"I've been trying to protect you from something. But I realize now that keeping secrets from you isn't protecting you, it's just hurting both of us. You're a part of my life, and this includes you having the right to know everything about me, bad or good."

Your expression softened slightly with a hint of worry. "What kind of secrets?"

"The reason I've been canceling dates. Why I've seemed distracted, why I couldn't meet your parents, why I missed that date we planned..." He ran a hand through his damp hair. "It's not because I don't care. It's because I've been dealing with some health stuff, and I was scared to tell you."

"Health stuff?" You asked, worry growing evident in your voice.

"Yeah. It's... it's not great. But it's manageable, and the doctors say with the right treatment I can live a normal life, but I've been scared and-"

Then, your phone buzzed, cutting off Sungho. You glanced at it, then looked back at him. "Sorry, I should probably-"

"It's okay. Take it."

You looked at the screen and frowned. It's your mom. She never calls this early unless its some thing serious. You answered immediately. "Mom? Is everything okay?"

Sungho watched your face change. The confusion shifting to concern, then to something that looked like the world had just collapsed around you.

"What?" Your voice was barely a whisper, trembling with each word. "When?"

He could hear your mother's voice through the phone, but couldn't make out the words. He didn't need to. The way your free hand flew to cover your mouth, the way your shoulders started shaking, told him everything.

"I... I need to come home right away. I'll figure out flights and..." Your voice broke completely.

The phone slipped from your hand as you dissolved into tears. Deep, wrenching sobs that seemed to come from somewhere so deep inside you that Sungho felt his own chest ache in response.

He caught your phone before it hit the ground and ended the call, then immediately pulled you against his chest. You collapsed into him like your bones had turned to water, your hands clutching at his jacket as you cried.

"My grandmother," you managed to say between sobs. "She's... she's- oh god.."

"Hana..." Sungho felt his own eyes burn as he held you tighter. He'd met your grandmother once, over video call when you were showing him your family. She'd been fierce and had made him promise to take good care of you. "I'm so sorry."

You cried harder at the gentleness in his voice, and his hand caressed your hair. All thoughts of his confession, of his health, of everything he'd planned to say disappeared. None of that mattered now. The only thing that mattered was you, falling apart in his arms, and how helpless he felt to fix it.

"She was... she was fine last week," you sobbed into his shoulder. "Mom said it was sudden. She didn't suffer, but she's just... gone."

Sungho pressed his face into your hair, holding you as tightly as he dared. He could feel you trembling, could feel the way grief was tearing through you like a physical force.

This was the most painful thing he'd ever experienced. Not his diagnosis, not the fear of his own unsure future, but this, watching someone he loved more than his own life break into pieces and knowing there was nothing he could do to put you back together.

"I've got you," he whispered, the words feeling inadequate but that's the only one he had. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

You stayed like that for a long time, the rain continuing to fall around your small shelter while you grieved in his arms. His secrets could wait. His fears could wait. Right now, you needed him to simply be here, solid and present and unbreakable, while your world fell apart. So he held you and let you cry and promised himself that whatever came next, he would find a way to be the person you needed him to be.

════════

Sungho barely slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face crumpling as you received the news, felt the weight of your grief in his arms. When morning finally came, gray and subdued, he knew he had to see you.

He stopped by the convenience store first, buying all your favorite comfort foods. Mocha latte, the the croissant you liked, those honey butter chips you always craved when you were sad. His hands shook slightly as he paid, remembering how you'd shared these same snacks on happier days, sitting in the garden where you'd first met.

The walk to your dorm felt longer than usual. Students hurried past with umbrellas and coffee cups, normal people living normal mornings while his world felt suspended in the space between yesterday's ache and whatever today would bring.

But when he reached your building, he saw someone emerging with a cardboard box balanced in his arms, a suitcase trailing behind him. It took Sungho a moment to recognize him. It's your older brother, the one from the photos you'd shown him, the one who called you by that embarrassing childhood nickname you pretended to hate.

"Excuse me," Sungho called out, jogging over with the bag of snacks clutched in his hands. "Are you... is Hana here?"

Your brother looked at him with tired eyes that held the same grief Sungho had seen in yours yesterday. "You must be Sungho."

"Yes... Is she okay? I brought her some food, I thought maybe-"

"She's in the parking lot," your brother said quietly. "But..." He paused, shifting the weight of the box. "We're leaving soon."

The words hit Sungho like cold water. Leaving. Not just leaving the dorm, but leaving in a way that worried him. The bag of snacks then suddenly felt impossibly heavy in his hands.

"Where?" he managed to ask.

"Back lot. Near the blue sedan."

Sungho was running before your brother finished speaking, his feet splashing against the damp pavement as he rounded the corner to the parking area. And there you were. You stood beside a car he didn't recognize, wearing the same clothes from yesterday, your hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. There were more boxes in the backseat, more suitcases. Your whole life, it looked like, packed away and ready to go.

The bag of snacks slipped from his fingers, contents scattering across the asphalt as he ran toward you.

"Hana!"

You turned at the sound of your name, and Sungho's steps slowed. Your face was different somehow, not just sad, but empty. Hollowed out. Like something important had been carved away and left you fundamentally changed.

"Sungho." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "You shouldn't have come."

"What's going on?" He was breathing hard from running, from fear, from the growing certainty that this was worse than he'd imagined. "Where are you going? You didn't even tell me-"

You looked away, toward the gray sky that threatened more rain. "Let's... can we talk somewhere else? Not here."

You led him to a small alcove between buildings, away from the parking lot and the car that seemed to be waiting to take you away from him. The concrete walls felt like they were closing in as you both stood there, neither quite able to look at the other.

"My mom is taking me home," you said finally. "Back to my hometown."

"Okay." Sungho nodded, relief flooding through him. "That makes sense. For the funeral, right? To be with your family. When will you be back?"

You felt your throat strain as you looked down, shutting your eyes, hearing Sungho's voice. "I won't be," you said quietly without looking to his eyes.

The ground seemed to shift beneath his feet as he blinked, his eyes starting to glistren. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not coming back, Sungho. I'm withdrawing from school. My mom needs me at home, and I..." Your voice caught. "I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?" But even as he asked, he knew what you meant. This. The relationship that had been fraying at the edges, the distance that had grown between you, the weight of everything you'd both been carrying. You finally looked at him then, and Sungho saw tears welling in your eyes that you were fighting hard to keep from falling.

"I'm tired," you whispered. "I'm so tired, Sungho. My grandmother is gone, my mom is falling apart, I'm failing half my classes because I can't concentrate on anything, and we..." You gestured helplessly between the two of you. "We've been falling apart too. Can't you see?"

"But we can fix it," he said desperately, reaching for your hands. They felt cold and small in his. "Yesterday, I was trying to tell you something important. About why I've been so distant. We can work through this, we can-"

"Can we?" Your voice was so quiet he had to lean in to hear you. "Because it feels like we've been trying to fix us for months now, and we just keep breaking in new places."

"Hana, please. I know things have been hard, but if you just give us another chance-"

"There's no more chance left to give," you said, and now the tears were falling despite your efforts to stop them. "I don't have the energy to keep fighting for us when everything else in my life is falling apart too."

The words hit him like physical blows. He could see it in your face, the exhaustion that went deeper than sleepless nights, the kind of bone-deep weariness that comes from trying to hold too many pieces together at once.

"So that's it?" His own voice was breaking now. "We just... give up?"

You closed your eyes, and when you opened them, they were full of a pain that had nothing to do with your grandmother's death and everything to do with this moment, this choice, this ending that neither of you had wanted but both of you could see coming.

"Yes."

Sungho felt the world tilt sideways. This couldn't be happening. Not now, not like this, not when he'd finally found the courage to be completely honest with you.

"I love you," he said desperately, squeezing your hands tighter. "I love you so much, Hana. Please don't do this."

"I love you too," you whispered, and somehow that made it worse. "That's why this is so hard."

He could feel you slipping away from him even as you stood right there, could feel the finality in the way you said the words. You'd already made your decision. Maybe you'd made it yesterday, or last week, or during one of the fights you'd never really recovered from.

"I have to go," you said, gently pulling your hands from his. "My mom is waiting."

Sungho felt like he was drowning. Like all the air had been sucked out of the world and he couldn't remember how to breathe. He wanted to argue, to fight, to refuse to let this happen. But he could see in your face how much this was costing you, how hard it was for you to be the one making this choice. And he loved you too much to make it harder for you.

"Okay," he said, even though the word felt like swallowing glass. "Alright."

You stepped forward then, rising on your tiptoes to kiss him one last time. It was soft and desperate and tasted like tears.

"Thank you," you whispered against his lips. "For everything. For being the best part of this time of my life. For making me feel like I'm your whole world."

"You are," he said, his voice breaking completely. "You are my whole world."

You smiled then, small, sad, and beautiful, and Sungho tried to memorize everything about that moment, the way the gloomy morning light caught in your hair, the sound of your voice saying his name, the feeling of your hand touching his cheek one last time.

"Goodbye, Sungho."

And then you were walking away, back toward the parking lot and the car that would take you out of his life. Sungho stood frozen until he heard the engine start, until he saw the car pull away with you in the passenger seat, until the brake lights disappeared around the corner and you were really, truly gone.

Only then did he let himself collapse. He sank to his knees in the alcove where you'd just stood, and cried like something had been torn out of his chest. Because something had been. The most important part of himself had just driven away, and he didn't know how to exist without it.

Goodbyes rarely looks like you think it will. I'd imagined dramatic fights or betrayals, something sharp and angry that would make it easier to hate you afterward. But our ending was quiet and full of love that had nowhere left to go. You left because you were tired of fighting battles on every front. I stayed because I thought love was supposed to be a war you never stopped waging. We were both right. We were both wrong. The cruelest part wasn't that you stopped loving me. It was that you loved me enough to walk away when holding on was hurting us both. That kind of love, the kind that chooses someone else's peace over your own happiness, is the most painful gift anyone has ever given me. I wanted to chase after that car. I wanted to be the kind of person who fights for what he wants, who never gives up, who proves through sheer stubborn will that love conquers all. But the most loving thing I can ever do is to let you go. Even when it kills me. Even when it feels like dying. Especially then.

════════ 2025

You now sat in your living room, the evening city lights filtering through your curtains, casting everything in that navy blue glow. The small book felt heavier in your hands now, weighted with recognition and memory. A small smile curved at the corners of your mouth even as your eyes glistened with unshed tears.

You'd known, somehow, from the very first chapter. The way the author described loneliness, the cherry blossoms, the girl who approached a stranger with sunshine in her voice. But reading your own story reflected back to you through someone else's eyes, through Sungho's eyes, felt like looking into a mirror you'd forgotten existed.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you turned to the final pages.

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Those months with you were the happiest of my life. Not because they were perfect, they weren't. We fought and made up and learned how to be two separate people choosing each other every day. But they were real in a way nothing before or since has been. You taught me what it meant to be known. Not just the parts of myself I was proud of, but also the hidden parts, the insecurities, the dreams I'd been too afraid to say out loud. You saw all of me and chose to stay, at least for a while. I know now that some people come into your life to teach you how to love yourself. You were that person for me. You showed me that I was worth choosing, worth remembering, worth caring about in all the small daily ways that matter most. When you left, I thought it would destroy me. For a while, it did. I spent months angry at everything, at your mother for taking you home, at myself for not fighting harder to make you stay. But time has a way of softening the sharp edges of grief. Now I understand that you left because you loved us enough to recognize when holding on was hurting us both. That takes a kind of courage I'm only now learning to appreciate. I've found my peace now, in my own way. I still think about you sometimes and hope you found your peace too. I hope you're happy, wherever you are. I hope someone is making you laugh the way you used to laugh with me, bright and full of joy. I hope you know that loving you, even for such a brief, beautiful time was the best thing I ever did with my life. Some people are meant to stay forever. Others come to teach us what forever feels like, so we'll recognize it when it finds us again. Thank you for teaching me about forever. Thank you for the best months of my life. Thank you for showing me that I was capable of being loved, completely and unconditionally, even if just for a little while. That knowledge has been enough to build a whole life on.

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You closed the book softly, as if it were made of something fragile that might shatter with too much force. One tear escaped your eye, rolling down your cheek before you could stop it. You wiped it away with the back of your hand, a small smile still lingering on your lips.

So that's what he'd been trying to tell you that morning in the rain. He'd been fighting his own battles while you'd been fighting yours, both of you too proud or too scared to show each other the full extent of your struggles.

You thought about the boy you'd known, quiet and introspective, always writing in that leather journal, always listening more than he spoke. The boy who'd bought you sunflowers and held you when you cried and made even ordinary Saturdays feel like small miracles.

It felt strange, this closure you hadn't known you needed. Like finding the missing piece of a puzzle you'd given up on years ago, only to discover the picture was beautiful even with that piece missing.

You ran your fingers over the cover one more time, over his pen name printed in simple black letters. Tomorrow you would put the book back on the shelf, return to your life, to your fiancé, to your wedding plans, to the present you'd built from the pieces of who you'd become after leaving that college town behind.

But tonight, you would sit with this gift he'd given you. The knowledge that those months had been significant to him, that the love you'd shared, though brief and complicated, had been worth something. Had been enough to build a life on.

That was more than you'd dared to hope for when you'd first opened to that dedication page and seen your name written there like a secret only the two of you would know.

Some stories don't need happy endings to be complete. Sometimes they just need to be told with love, remembered with gratitude, and closed with peace.

Three days had passed since you'd closed the book, and life had settled back into its routine. Morning coffee with your soon to be husband, lesson planning for your third-grade class, wedding venue calls during lunch breaks. The story felt like something you'd dreamed.

Your phone buzzed during dinner preparation, a message from a number you didn't recognize at first, then saw the name, Yoon Keeho

"Hey Hana! Hope this number still works. We're planning a college reunion, 2 weeks from Saturday. Would love to have you there! Been too long."

You nearly dropped the wooden spoon you were holding. A reunion after all these years, after reading Sungho's book just days ago, the timing felt like something more than coincidence.

You typed back quickly as you did a little jump from excitement. "Keeho! Yes, this number works. A reunion sounds amazing! Will everyone be able to make it?"

The response came within minutes "Most of the old gang, yeah. Unfortunately we haven't been able to reach Sungho. Lost touch with him a few years back. But everyone else is excited to catch up!"

Your lips pressed into a tight-lipped smile. Of course they couldn't reach him. After reading his book, you understood now why he might have pulled away from old connections, why he might prefer the quiet solitude he'd written about.

"That's great about everyone else. Send me the details when you have them." You respond.

When your fiance came home an hour later, you were standing in the kitchen with a thoughtful expression, stirring soup that definitely didn't need that much stirring.

"Good day?" he asked, kissing your cheek as he reached around you for a glass from the cabinet.

"Actually, yes. I got an interesting message today." You turned to face him, ladle still in hand. "My old college friends are planning a reunion."

"That's nice. When?"

"Two weeks from Saturday. I was thinking..." You paused, considering how to phrase this. "There's someone from that group I'd like to invite personally. He might not know about it."

He raised his eyebrows. "He?"

"His name is Sungho. We dated in college, actually. But we're friends, well, were friends. It's been a long time." You felt suddenly awkward, like you were thirteen and telling your parents about a boy. "I just think he should know about the reunion."

"Of course," He said easily, and you remembered why you loved him, his steady, and uncomplicated trust. "Want me to help you track him down? I'm pretty good at internet detective work."

You smiled, feeling grateful and slightly shy at the same time. "Actually, I think I might have his contact information already. But thank you."

After dinner, you found yourself standing in front of your bookshelf, looking for the book you'd carefully placed back between your other novels. There it was, the spine slightly worn, looking so ordinary yet special among all the others.

You pulled it out and flipped to the back cover, scanning the small print. Author bio, publisher information, and there, at the very bottom in tiny font "For correspondence: [email protected]"

Your laptop felt heavier than usual as you carried it to the dining table. The email compose window seemed to glow extra bright in the evening light filtering through your windows.

You sat there for a moment, cursor blinking in the "To" space, and realized you felt light. Surprisingly, wonderfully light. No anxiety, no old heartbreak threatening to resurface, no weight of unfinished business. Just a simple desire to reach out to an old friend who'd given you an unexpected gift.

Your fingers moved across the keyboard:

Subject: Lee Hana - College Reunion

Hi Sungho,

I hope this email finds you well. This is Hana, Lee Hana from college. I got your email address from your book (which I read recently, by the way. it's beautiful).

I'm writing because Keeho is organizing a reunion for our old group from school. Two weeks from Saturday at 7 PM. He mentioned they haven't been able to reach you, and I thought you might want to know about it. The others will all be there too. I know it's been a long time, but it would be really nice to see you again. No pressure at all if you'd rather not, I completely understand.

If you're interested in catching up before the reunion, I'd love to meet for coffee sometime this week. There's a nice place called Lucky Café downtown, very popular, always busy, good neutral territory. Let me know if that works for you.

I hope you're doing well.

Best, Hana

You read it through twice, checking for the right tone, friendly but not presumptuous, warm but not weighted with old emotion. It felt like writing to someone you'd genuinely like to reconnect with, which, was exactly what it was.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you hit send. The whoosh sound seemed louder than usual in the quiet apartment. Your fiance was in the shower, and you could hear him humming something cheerful and off-key. Your engagement ring caught the light as you closed the laptop, and you twisted it around your finger once, a habit you'd developed during stressful moments.

But this didn't feel stressful. It felt complete somehow. Like you'd just tied up a loose thread you hadn't even realized was bothering you.

Your phone buzzed with another message from Keeho "Just got the venue confirmed! This is going to be so much fun. Feel like we're all kids again just thinking about it."

You smiled, typing back. "Can't wait! And don't worry about Sungho, I think I might have found a way to reach him."

"Really? That's amazing! He was always one of my favorite people from our group. Quiet but really thoughtful, you know?"

"Yeah," you typed, looking at your closed laptop. "I know exactly what you mean."

════════

Later, after you'd both settled into your evening routines, you found yourself in your small home office, ostensibly to check work emails before bed. The room was quiet, lit only by your desk lamp and the glow from your computer screen. You had seventeen new emails. Work stuff mostly, a few wedding vendors, and your cursor hovered over one name in your inbox: Park Sungho.

You opened it without hesitation.

Hi, Hana.

Thank you for reaching out. Saturday at 7 PM at Lucky Café works for me.

See you then.

Sungho

That was it. No small talk, no mention of the book, no "it's been so long" or "how have you been." Just the practical information, plain and direct. Still the same Sungho, you thought with a small smile.

════════

Saturday arrived gray and cool, the kind of winter evening that still held autumn remnants in its air. You walked the familiar downtown streets toward the café, hands tucked into your coat pockets.

The café was busy as expected, filled with the weekend crowd, couples on dates, students with laptops, friends catching up over shared desserts. You scanned the interior through the large windows, looking for a familiar silhouette.

And there he was.

Sungho sat at a table by the window, just like he always used to, arriving early, claiming the spot with the best light. His hair was still the same overgrown black hair you remembered from college, and there were subtle changes in his face that's evident of the years between then and now. A slight sharpness to his cheekbones, faint lines around his eyes when he concentrated.

He wore a dark coat against the chill, had one earphone in his ear, and there on the table beside his water cup is a leather journal. The same one, maybe, or one just like it. Some things never change, you thought, smiling to yourself.

You knocked gently on the window beside his table, and he looked up. For just a moment, you saw something flicker across his face, surprise, maybe, or recognition that went deeper than just seeing an old friend. Like he was seeing not just you, but the remains of who you'd been together, the ghost of those Saturday afternoons that felt like a lifetime ago.

But then he smiled, and it was just Sungho. He was already standing when you walked through the café door.

"Hi," you said as you approached his table.

"Hi." His voice was the same, quiet, and warm. "You look good, Hana. Really good."

"So do you." And he did. Different, but good. There was something settled about him now, a kind of peace that hadn't been there in college. "Should we order? I was thinking-"

"Mocha latte?" he said at the same time you did.

You both laughed, and just like that, the wall of all those years collapsed with the lighthearted recognition of two people who had known each other well once upon a time.

"Some things don't change," you said.

"The good things shouldn't," he replied.

You ordered your matching drinks from a barista who looked about the age you'd been when you first met, then found yourselves walking without really deciding to. Your feet seemed to remember the path, away from the busy downtown streets, toward the quieter neighborhoods, eventually to the small park with the swing set that had been witness to so many of your conversations.

"This feels familiar," you said as you both gravitated toward the bench facing the swings.

"Yeah." Sungho sat down, leaving a respectful space between you. "I was half-expecting to see our younger selves there, talking about the little girl down the slide."

You looked at the empty swings moving slightly in the evening breeze and could almost see them, the girl in the yellow dress who used to swing so high she felt like flying, and the boy who kept his feet on the ground but whose eyes followed her arc through the air.

"So," you said, settling back against the bench. "How are you? I mean, really. It's been what, ten years?"

"Ten years," he confirmed, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup. "I'm... I'm good. Really good, actually. I'm a writer now. Full-time."

"I read your book," you said gently. "It's beautiful."

He glanced at you sideways, a slight color rising in his cheeks. "Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you."

"What about you?" he asked, steering the conversation away from himself the way he always had. "What are you up to these days?"

"I'm a teacher," you said, and felt the comfort that came with talking about your work. "Third grade. It's messy and wonderful and exactly what I never knew I wanted to do."

"That suits you," he said, and something in his voice made you look at him. "You always made everything feel lighter. Kids probably love you."

"Most days," you laughed. "Though there are definitely moments when I question my life choices."

You sat in silence for a moment, watching the swings sway.

"Sungho," you said carefully. "In your book, you mentioned some health issues. From back then. Are you.... how are you doing with all that?"

He went very still for just a second, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. You saw something flicker across his face, fear, maybe, or the instinct to deflect that had kept him from telling you the truth all those years ago. But then he smiled, and it was genuine in its facade, but if you happened to look closely, theres a hint of hesitation in his voice.

"I'm doing well," he said simply, though convincing, it somehow felt empty. "It's cured now. Has been for a while. The doctors are happy with my progress, and I've learned to take better care of myself."

You nodded, relieved by the peace in his voice. "I'm glad. I'm really glad."

"Me too."

You talked about other things then, the reunion, college friends, career changes, books you'd both read, places you'd traveled. The conversation flowed like water finding its natural course.

At some point, Sungho's gaze fell to your hands wrapped around your coffee cup, and his expression softened.

"That's beautiful," he said quietly, nodding toward your engagement ring.

You looked down at it, the simple band with its modest diamond that your fiance had chosen so carefully, and felt a warm flutter of happiness.

"Thank you." You looked up to find Sungho watching you with genuine warmth. "I'm engaged. Getting married in the fall."

"Congratulations," he said, and the word carried real joy. "He's a lucky guy."

"I'm pretty lucky too," you said, and meant it. "He's really wonderful. Kind and patient with my tendency to rearrange furniture at 2 AM."

Sungho laughed. "You still do that?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Some things never change."

"The good things shouldn't," he said again, echoing his earlier words.

As the evening light began to fade around you, you realized how perfectly this had gone. No awkwardness, no lingering hurt, no weight of unfinished business. Just two people who had loved each other once, sitting in the place where they'd been happiest, grateful for what had been and content with what was now.

After a brief silence, Sungho spoke again, his voice quieter than before.

"I don't really want to talk about this anymore," he said, looking down at his hands. "But I need to apologize. For our last day together. For how I handled... everything, really."

You turned to face him more fully. "Sungho-"

"No, let me say this." He looked up at you then, and you could see the weight he'd been carrying. "That morning when your grandmother... I was supposed to tell you something important. About why I'd been so distant, so unreliable. Instead, you had to deal with your grief and my mess at the same time."

"You were there for me when I needed you most," you said gently. "That's what I remember."

"I should have been honest with you from the beginning." He smiled sadly. "I thought I was protecting you, but I was just scared. Scared you'd look at me differently, scared you'd stay out of pity instead of love."

"You could never have been a burden to me." You muttered.

"I know that now." He looked back toward the swings. "But twenty-year-old me didn't know much about anything, did he?"

"He knew enough to love me well," you said softly. "Even if it was complicated."

Sungho was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Do you ever think about how different things might have been? If your grandmother hadn't passed, if I'd told you the truth that morning, if you'd stayed..."

"Sometimes," you admitted. "But not in a way that hurts anymore. More like wondering about alternate lives."

"I used to think we were unfinished," he said. "Like there was more story to tell, more time we should have had."

"And now?"

"Now I think maybe some stories are perfect exactly as long as they are." He smiled, and there was something both sad and peaceful about it. "We had the best parts, didn't we? The falling in love, the discovering each other, those perfect Saturday afternoons. Before life got too complicated."

You felt your eyes sting slightly. "We did have the best parts."

"I'm glad it was you," Sungho said quietly. "It was such a beautiful moment to love you and to be loved by you."

"Me too," you whispered.

The silence that followed was different from the comfortable one you'd shared earlier. You saw Sungho wipe his eyes quickly, thinking you weren't looking. When he turned back to you, he was smiling again.

"It's getting late," he said, checking his watch. "I should probably get going. Still have some work to finish tonight."

You both stood, brushing off your jackets, gathering the invisible pieces of this conversation to carry with you.

"Sungho," you said as you walked back toward the café where you'd parked. "I hope you'll come to the wedding. I'd really like you to be there."

He was quiet for a moment, and you could see him considering it. "I don't think I can make it," he said finally. "But thank you for asking."

"Well, the invitation stands if you change your mind," you said lightly. "And feel free to bring someone. I know from your book that you found your peace and happiness. I'd love to meet whoever helped you find that."

Something flickered across Sungho's face, confusion, maybe, or surprise. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it.

"Right," he said simply, not telling more about it. "Thank you."

You reached your car first, and turned to face him one more time. "This was really nice," you said. "I'm glad we did this."

"Me too." He stepped forward and gave you a brief, friendly hug. The kind of hug you give someone you care about but know you won't see again for a very long time. "Take care of yourself, Hana. Be happy."

"You too," you said against his shoulder. "Write beautiful things."

When you pulled apart, you were both smiling, even though your eyes were a little bright.

"Goodbye, Sungho."

"Goodbye."

You got into your car and watched him walk away in your rearview mirror until he turned the corner and disappeared. There was something final about it, but not sad. Like closing a book after a satisfying ending, complete, perfect in its own way, and ready to be placed back on the shelf with love and gratitude.

════════

Sungho's apartment stretched out before him. Spacious rooms with minimal furniture, walls painted in shades of gray that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. It was clean, organized, the kind of space that looked like it belonged to someone passing through rather than someone who called it home.

He moved through the quiet halls to his bedroom, past the kitchen where he ate most meals standing up, past the living room where he'd never had guests. At his desk, the only space that felt truly lived-in, he sat down and pulled out a thick stack of handwritten pages from the bottom drawer.

These were the words that would never see print. The chapters too raw, and too revealing for the world to read. The parts of his story that he'd kept locked away, even as he'd laid his heart bare in everything else he'd written.

He spread the pages across his desk, his own handwriting staring back at him in the lamplight.

════════

I never moved on from you. I know how that sounds. Pathetic, maybe. The kind of thing people say when they're trying to romanticize their inability to let go. But it's not that I couldn't try to love someone else. It's that no one else ever felt like coming home. I dated, briefly, in the years after you left. Nice women who deserved better than the ghost of a relationship I carried with me everywhere. They could sense it, I think, that part of my heart that would always belong to a girl who used to swing higher than anyone else, who made ordinary Saturdays full of life. I told myself I was just being selective. That I had learned what real love felt like and wouldn't settle for less. But the truth was simpler and more devastating. I had become a prisoner of the past, and I chose to stay locked up. Maybe that's the curse of some people, to love so completely once that everything else feels like settling. Or maybe I'm just a coward who found it easier to live with the memory of my first love than to risk the messy reality of trying again. But I never regretted it. Not once. Because loving you was the greatest thing I ever did with my life, even if it was the only thing I ever did with my whole heart. I saw you last year. Downtown, coming out of that bookstore down the street with him. your fiancé. He was carrying your purse and making you laugh, and you looked so happy it stopped me in my tracks. I stood there for minutes, just watching you be loved the way you deserve to be loved. Completely, easily, without the shadows I would have brought to any relationship. He looked at you the way I used to look at you like you were the sun and he was just grateful to be in your orbit. That's when I finally understood what "letting go" really meant. Not forgetting, not stopping loving, but accepting that your happiness mattered more than my longing. That night, I went home and wrote the ending of my book. The part about finding peace and solitude. I wasn't lying when I wrote those words, I had found peace. But it wasn't the peace of moving on. It was the peace of knowing you were happy, that the gap in your heart I could never properly fill had been completed by someone who could love you without worries. The doctors told me six months ago that there's nothing more they can do. The treatments worked for a while, bought me years I'm grateful for, but this was always going to be the ending of my story. Terminal, they said, like it was just another word instead of the period at the end of everything I'd ever known. I could have reached out, could've told you, could have let you carry that weight, could have asked you to see me, and sit with me while I disappear piece by piece. But I've seen enough of grief to know what it does to the people left behind, and I love you too much to make you watch me fade. You have a life to build, a wedding to plan, a future that stretches out bright and beautiful before you. I won't be the shadow that extinguishes that light.

Tears fell from Sungho's eyes as he picked up his pen, hands steadier than they'd been in weeks, and turned to a fresh page.

January 15th, 2025 With what little time I have left, I never expected the universe to bring you back to me. After all these years, after I'd made peace with never seeing you again, you knocked on that café window like no time had passed at all. There's something almost cosmic about the timing of it. Like the universe decided to give me one last gift before calling in my debt. Seeing you today healed something in me that I didn't even know was still broken. You looked so beautiful, so genuinely happy, so completely yourself. The girl I fell in love with and the woman you've become, both present in your smile, both perfect in their own way. I'm not afraid anymore. I was, for so long. Afraid of the pain, afraid of the darkness, afraid of leaving this world without ever having mattered to it in any meaningful way. But sitting with you on that bench, watching the remnants of our younger selves on those swings, I realized I was never afraid of dying. I was afraid of having never truly lived. But I did live. For those times with you, I lived every second more fully than most people do in entire lifetimes. I learned what it felt like to be chosen, to be seen, to matter to someone in all the ways that build a life worth living. I want to give you forever, but I won't be here anymore soon to give you that. I have no regrets loving you first and last, completely and without conditions, with everything I had to offer. If there's another life after this one, if consciousness continues in some form I can't imagine, I hope I find you there too. Maybe in that life, I'll be braver sooner. Maybe in that life, we'll get our forever. But if this is all there is, these memories, these words, this one beautiful love story that was ours alone, then I'm grateful it happened at all. Thank you for coming back, one last time, to welcome me back, and also to say goodbye. Let's see each other again, whatever form I take, whoever I become when this body is done carrying my heart around. Until then, be happy. Be so incredibly, wonderfully, completely happy. All my love, always, Sungho.

#리우 RIWOO

riwoo just came back from winning his local performative male contest. he argues that he’s aware and progressive and he has made everyone, especially you, aware of this fact! he comes to the group hangouts equipped with his latest feminist literature (that he obviously read on the train ride here) in his tote bag while listening on his wired headphones. he’s always talking about his enlightened views and is always the first to yell “wow, toxic masculinity much?!” at the rest of the guys.

to sungho whenever he holds the door open: “do you know chivalry is rooted in benevolent sexism?”. to jaehyun whenever he starts passionately defending you: “it’s so dude of you to assume [y/n] can’t fight her own battles”. but its all a performance! taesan is making comments like “wow, you’re so confident! i could never repost that many feminist quotes onto my instagram story without actually listening to women, you make it look so easy”. riwoo claims to be your ideological match, he gets you - totally! he’ll send you articles at 2am with “thought you’d find this interesting” even when you don’t! the hangouts drive him insane because why are you hanging out with these low level losers when he and his woke, politically correct values are right there!

#명재현 MYUNG JAEHYUN

you could be killing people out there and still jaehyun will be your knight! if [y/n] has a million fans, then i am one of them. if [y/n] has ten fans, then i am one of them. if [y/n] has only one fan then that is me. if [y/n] has no fans, then that means i am no longer on earth. if the world is against [y/n], then i am against the world. is his motto and he repeats it to himself every night before going to bed. he’s camping in your instagram comments like ‘bro she doesn’t want you’ ‘112.218.73.138 this you?’ and sometimes even resorts to passionate essays that fill up your activity notifications.

he takes his role very, very seriously. he’s always watching out during group hangouts and immediately jumps to your defense at any hint of attack. he’ll even defend the others just to get back at taesan - “erm, actually, i think sungho’s interest in cinema is cool’ - even though he could give less of a shit, he just hates taesan. jaehyun hears warning bells whenever leehan opens his mouth and bats his eyelashes and jaehyun tells you all about how you cannot trust that snake! but it just comes off as jealous paranoia and leehan just looks so hurt and innocent that jaehyun ends up looking like the bad guy. woonhak’s the only one jaehyun’s trust - he confides in the younger boy about all his suspicions, not knowing woonhak is tattling off to other people using this information. the others find jaehyun exhausting - but their opinion doesn’t matter to him, only yours does. he’ll write a thousand essays and send a thousand “i don’t to start drama but…” messages if it means you’ll give him a sprinkle of your attention.

#태산 TAESAN

taesan let’s everyone know that he’s your guy best friend, and there’s nothing that could change that - which also means that he’s better than the rest of the guys. he’s the “i hate your boyfriend” best friend’s final boss, he would not hesitate to call out their bullshit while making himself out to be the obvious better choice.

to jaehyun’s defenseness, taesan is saying shit like “i could never write such long essays for a girl that doesn’t even notice you, but i guess shamelessness is a skill”; and leehan’s constantly getting the “i could never act helpless just to get attention, you’re so much braver than me” comments. he would never let go of any chance to prove himself as the best choice. he’s just mean because he’s protective and you deserve the best (me)! he’s constantly reminding everyone of your shared history - bringing up inside jokes and shared memories and taunting the others with them. taesan believes himself to be irreplaceable - he’s the one person you can’t imagine your life without. he’ll sabotage any relationship that threatens your relationship and he’s just your honest, straight-forward best friend who tells it like it is.

#이한 LEEHAN

the world has never seen a scheming green tea much like leehan. he’s all pouty and wide eyed all the time, and he knows what he’s doing. and no - he’s not sorry. he’s falling and tripping over his own feet and going oh, i’m so clumsy! whenever he sees you and is completely ready to drive a wedge in between every one of your relationships so he can have you to himself.

he’ll accidentally send you a screenshot of taesan shit talking someone, know you wouldn’t like that, and he feels no guilt about it. he’ll flirt with you even when you’re dating someone else because ummm, why wouldn’t you? i mean - have you seen her?. whenever someone talks to him in the wrong tone tears immediately spring to his eyes and he’s cuddling into you and crying about how mean jaehyun was to him when he accidentally said something that set him off. he’s all doe-eyed and fragile and he doesn’t know what he did wrong!, and you have to comfort him because you're the only person that doesn’t hate him like the others do :(( leehan’s obsessed with winning you over, he’s a very, very patient man after all. he doesn’t want to be the one, he wants to be the only one, even if that means ruining some of your relationships forever.

#운학 WOONHAK

while everyone else is fighting it out, woonhak genuinely believes he’s the hero of his own romance story. every manipulation, every piece of chaos he creates, every relationship he damages - he’s doing it for you. it’s for the good ending! he’s doing it for you and defeating all the bad guys because… they’re bad! he’s the only one who truly cares for you.

so when he tells you about riwoo’s weird comments when you’re not around or leehan’s two-faced behaviour, he doesn’t see anything wrong about it! taesan tries to call out woonhak’s shit but all woonhak does is tear up and great, now taesan just looks like a bully and woonhak doesn’t even throw himself into your arms like leehan, he just goes and cries in the corner until you take pity on him. he’s just your innocent, naive, sweet little brother who’s, erm, kinda obsessed with you! he’ll orchestrate a falling out with your best friend just to crumble into tears and distress when you call him out because he just meant to help! he insists through sobs that he’s just “looking out for you” and weeping about how “this always happens when i try to help”! he’s your pure-hearted sweetie who saves you from all the bad guys and gets the princess in the end, so his actions are justified!! in the end, after literally setting fire all your relationships, he’ll look you in the eyes, believe he did the right thing, and expect you to thank him for it.

pick me choose me love me!!!

♡ or ↻ if you enjoyed, support your writers, thank you!!

what did you think? drop your thoughts in my inbox!

He stood with his arms crossed, glaring at you over the rim of his silver-framed glasses.

"What is it... Sunbae?" you called back, trying not to wobble.

"Condo Rules, Section 4, Paragraph 2," Sungho recited in a deep, serious voice, sounding like a living rulebook. "Personal property must not extend beyond the balcony perimeter... And that..." He pointed a long, judgmental finger at your canvas, which was flapping in the wind. "...that monstrosity is about to decapitate my cactus. If it blows over here, I’m calling security."

Monstrosity?!

That 'monstrosity' was 50% of your final grade! You emotionless graph-paper human!

"It is not a monstrosity! It’s Abstract Expressionism!" you argued, climbing down from the stool (and nearly tripping over a bucket of paint). "And sorry! I didn't know the wind was this strong up here."

"Also," Sungho continued, completely ignoring your artistic defense. "Stop climbing on that cheap plastic stool. If you fall, the police investigation will create noise pollution and disrupt my thesis timeline."

Oh.

So your death would be an inconvenience to his schedule? What a compassionate human being.

He adjusted his glasses, looking at you like you were a bug that had flown into his perfect system.

"Go inside. It's 2 AM. Normal people are sleeping. Only 'Raccoons' and 'Art Students' are still awake."

Wait... did he just categorize your entire faculty as rodents?

Before you could shout an insult back, he slid his glass door shut and yanked the blackout curtains closed. Bang.

You stuck your tongue out at his dark window.

"Naggy old man," you muttered, dragging your heavy canvas back into your messy room. "I bet he uses a ruler to measure the water level in his glass before he drinks it... Psychopath."

That was your first conversation.

The war between Unit 904 and 906 was cold and constant. It was a war of lifestyles. He was minimalism and silence. You were chaos and color.

You thought your lives would stay like parallel lines—never touching, just running side-by-side in mutual annoyance.

Like water that sits right at the boiling point but never quite bubbles over. Frustratingly static.

But the universe loves a joke.

Maybe it was karma for lying to Professor Lee about your concept being "emptiness" when you just hadn't finished the work.

The Elevator Incident

It started a few weeks ago.

You sprinted into the closing elevator, clutching a bag of stationery, smelling strongly of turpentine.

And of course... he was there.

Park Sungho stood in the corner, wearing a crisp white shirt with the top button undone. He looked exhausted, leaning his head against the metal wall.

But he looked annoyingly good. Like a fox deity statue your friend sculpted for class—if the statue never opened its mouth.

He scrunched his nose immediately. "Smells like a chemical factory explosion."

"I bathed in turpentine, thanks for noticing," you retorted, pressing yourself against the doors to be as far away as possible. "You look like you haven't slept in ten years, by the way. Rough."

"Observation skills: zero," he murmured, eyes closed. "It's only been three days."

Suddenly—Clunk!

The elevator jerked violently. The lights died.

You yelped, stumbling backward in the pitch black. But instead of hitting cold metal... you hit a warm, solid chest.

A large hand grabbed your shoulder to steady you. "Careful."

His voice was right above your ear. In the dark, it sounded deeper.

"Stand properly. Don't be so flimsy."

The emergency lights flickered on.

You were practically hugging him. For a second, you froze. Not out of fear, but because you realized something...

Underneath the scent of expensive detergent, Park Sungho smelled really good. Cool mint, sandalwood, and distinctly man.

Damn. Suddenly you agreed that your turpentine smell was an offense to humanity.

You scrambled away as the doors pried open at the 9th floor.

"Th... Thanks," you mumbled, heart racing.

"Goodnight, smelly raccoon," he called after you.

(Of course, his room was closer to the elevator. So every night you got scolded, you’d walk past his door and stick your tongue out at it before entering your own room).

But when you looked back that night... you could have sworn there was a faint smile on his face.

The lines we drew began to inch closer during the rainy season.

You were stuck in front of the Art Faculty building, hugging your final project canvas like it was your child. The rain was pouring like a waterfall. No taxi. No bus.

You looked like a disaster—hair messy, clothes stained with charcoal and paint.

A raccoon digging through trash to protect its favorite snack.

"Great..." you whispered to the sky. "Just great."

Suddenly, a dark shadow loomed over you. A giant umbrella opened above your head.

You looked up.

Park Sungho.

"Move," he ordered sharply. He was wearing an expensive long coat, looking grumpy as hell. "I'm walking to the bus stop. Get in."

"But my canvas..."

"That's why I brought the umbrella. Hurry up. Short legs and slow walking... terrible combination."

Excuse me?

You ducked under the umbrella. It was huge, but to keep the canvas dry, you had to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

You noticed he tilted the umbrella almost entirely to your side. His left shoulder—under that expensive coat—was getting soaked, the fabric turning a dark, heavy color.

He was ruining his clothes to save your homework.

You didn't want to swoon, but this was like a scene from a manhwa.

Focus, Y/N!

"Why are you doing this?" you asked softly. "You hate my art. You called it a monstrosity."

Sungho glanced down. "I hate noise," he replied flatly. "And if your project gets ruined, you’ll be crying on the balcony all night... That’s loud."

Okay, fair point.

That might have happened once or twice. When Professor Lee was being unreasonable, you chose to vent via tears and Soju on your balcony. You thought he wasn't home!

The real turning point came at 4 AM, the night before your submission. The witching hour.

You were sitting on your balcony, completely burned out, your color mixing looking like mud.

The glass door next to you slid open.

Sungho walked out. But he wasn't the "Strict Senior" tonight.

He wore loose sweatpants and an old t-shirt. And most importantly... no glasses.

His eyes looked softer, sleepy, like a big kitten. His hair was messy and fluffy.

He held a steaming mug of milk, set it down, and cracked his neck. Pop.

"Haven't slept?" you whispered.

He blinked, squinting to see you (bad eyesight). "Stuck..." he rasped. "Advisor said my design is 'technically perfect but soulless.' He told me to add some 'warmth'... I'm an Architect, dammit, not a heater."

He sighed, leaning against the railing. It was the first time he looked... human. Just another student crushed by expectations.

And he looked like a big, fluffy orange cat.

And yes... you were a cat person.

You dug into your pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar. "Want some? Sugar helps."

You extended your arm across the gap between balconies.

He hesitated, then reached out. His fingers brushed yours—warm from the milk mug.

He ate it right there, chewing until his cheeks puffed out.

God, it was painfully cute.

"Sweet..." he mumbled, looking at you without lenses. "Thanks."

He paused. "Your art... those colors aren't monstrosities. They're just... loud. Like you."

"Is that a compliment?" you tried not to laugh.

"Interpret it how you want," he grumbled. "Go to sleep. You have panda eyes. If you faint, I'll have to drag your corpse to the hospital, and that will disrupt my schedule."

"Thanks for the concern, Old Man," you smiled.

And this time... he didn't frown.

The next night felt like a sequel.

Around 2 AM, you gave up on working due to a lack of ideas (and a stomach rumbling like thunder). You went down to the lobby vending machine for a sugar fix, armed with leftover snacks from your part-time job (using the excuse that they were "imperfect pieces"—a great way to save money on late-night meals).

In your arms: your favorite banana milk and water. You wore a black hoodie stained with multicolored brush strokes (and actual poster paint) to cover your messy hair.

Park Sungho was there. Pacing back and forth, looking irritated. He was in the silk pajamas again. But in this dim light... you couldn't deny he looked terrifyingly good.

"Sunbae?" you called out softly.

He stopped and spun around. His sharp gaze locked onto you immediately. Strangely, he didn't look annoyed like when he shouted across the balcony. His eyes looked... relieved? "Oh... it's you."

He walked straight toward you. He didn't stop at the polite social distance but stepped a little into your personal space... just enough that you instinctively hugged the banana milk tighter.

"What are you doing down here at this hour?" His deep voice sounded softer and closer in the quiet lobby.

"Hungry," you mumbled, suddenly self-conscious about your paint-stained shirt. "What about you? Waiting for a girlfriend?"

"I'm hunting for a missing person," he replied flatly, but his eyes didn't look away. He swept his gaze over your face, stopping at your right cheek. "My friend... She disappeared to god knows where."

You coughed awkwardly, heart skipping a beat. You pointed to a dark corner behind a giant fern. "I think... that 'pile of used laundry' over there might be your friend."

Sungho blinked, snapping back to reality. He looked where you pointed. He marched over to the sofa where his friend was sprawled out—curled up in a white hoodie that blended into the sofa, one leg dangling ungracefully.

"Ugh..." He made a face of pure disgust. "Pathetic. Drooling in public."

He grabbed a newspaper from the coffee table and dropped it onto her face to cover the unsightly view. "Stay there, trash. I'll call the garbage truck (Jaehyun) to pick you up."

Friend handled, he turned back to you. The disgust vanished, replaced by that intense gaze.

He walked back, towering over you.

"You."

He raised a hand. You held your breath.

He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to you.

"Your face," he said softly. "Black charcoal smear right there." He tapped his own cheek. "You look exactly like a stray cat."

"Oh." You took it. Fingers brushing. "Thanks."

"Go upstairs," he commanded, but his voice wasn't the 'Condo President' tone anymore. It was softer. "It's late. Don't wander around. There are weirdos down here."

"You mean... like you?" you teased.

Sungho huffed. A tiny, barely visible smile tugged at his lips. "Go. Before I report you for loitering."

He leaned down, whispering. "Lock your door properly... Neighbor."

The truce was sealed the following night. You came home to find a delivery bag hanging on your doorknob. Inside: Honey Garlic Fried Chicken (Boneless) and Banana Milk. A yellow sticky note was attached. Handwriting: Architectural Precision (All Caps).

SUBJECT: NOISE POLLUTION THE SOUND OF YOUR STOMACH GROWLING IS VIBRATING THROUGH THE WALLS. IT EXCEEDS ACCEPTABLE DECIBEL LEVELS. EAT THIS IMMEDIATELY AND RETURN PEACE TO MY ROOM.

P.S. I ORDERED BONELESS SO YOU DON'T DRIP OIL ON THE FLOOR. 904

You laughed out loud. He knew your favorite flavor. And boneless so you could eat with one hand while painting. You grabbed a marker, drew a raccoon eating chicken, and stuck it on his door.

Roger that, Mr. Architect! Stomach structure repaired. Thanks for the food! :P

Inside Unit 904, Sungho scoffed at your terrible drawing. "Childish." But he pinned that note right in the center of his perfect corkboard.

You shoved your poster tube and art supply bag into the locker with a bit more force than necessary.

You can blame Professor Lee for that. The project he wants to send to the contest isn't exactly a walk in the park. Hence, the constant practice.

Most love-hate relationships stem from high expectations, after all. (Or maybe just the general delusion of art students).

You quickly swapped your clothes for the white uniform, pinning your name tag—BAKER—onto your chest. You tied the beige apron that matched the café's theme and used the hair tie on your wrist to pull your messy hair back into a practical ponytail.

"You're early today."

"Finished class early," you replied, walking into the main bar area. "Plus, there was nothing to do at the studio. Wait—Sunbae, haven't you changed shifts yet?"

"Psychology department has a long exam today, so I'm covering," Lee Han, the Marine Bio senior and head barista, smiled his usual friendly smile before turning back to the ancient cash register that you didn't understand at all. "Are these cookies enough, Y/N?"

"I'll go bake a fresh batch," you said, checking the display. "Sunbae, make me a Banana Milkshake, please?"

Lee Han nodded.

One of the best perks of this job: free drinks.

Although, if you had to make it, the brand-new coffee machine the owner just bought would probably downgrade itself out of sheer offense at your terrible skills.

As an Art Student working as a Baker, you were confident in your pastry skills. That definitely compensated for your "dishwater-flavored Americano."

"Y/N-ah! Come help me take orders once you're done!"

The deep, soft voice of the handsome barista called out from the front.

Just in time. The cookies on your tray were cooled and smelling divine. You shouted a cheerful reply and walked out to restock the display case.

You heard the familiar chatter of Lee Han and his best friend, Riwoo (who was also your coworker's boyfriend, so he was here often enough for your goldfish memory to recognize him).

You wouldn't have thought twice about it if it were just the two of them.

But there was a third voice.

A voice that sounded very familiar.

Like... the owner of Unit 904.

"Ah. The Raccoon bakes too?"

...

Open his mouth and the first thing out is sarcasm. Charming.

You looked up. Park Sungho was looking at you with a face full of shock, as if he had just discovered a new Wonder of the World.

Excuse me? People have roles in life, you know. You aren't just a messy raccoon hugging trash-canvases!

"But doesn't he come here often?" Lee Han asked, looking confused. He usually worked the morning shift, so he was out of the loop.

"Every time he comes, he misses Y/N," Riwoo explained. He had been witnessing this for half a year. "Either my girlfriend is taking orders, or Y/N is busy causing chaos in the kitchen."

"Oh," Lee Han nodded, piecing it together. "So the 'Divine Pastry Chef' who saves your life every morning is actually—"

Han’s sentence was cut short by Sungho’s finger pointing aggressively at his face to shut him up.

Sungho—who was usually a grumpy giant orange cat—looked much more relaxed around his close friends.

You had completely forgotten the look of disgust he gave his drunk friend that night.

It was a side of him you’d never seen.

And you couldn't deny... it was nice to look at.

...

No.

You were definitely working too hard if you thought this nagging neighbor was "nice to look at."

Nice to look at? Him?

You were losing your mind.

"Y/N?"

Lee Han called your name, sounding concerned.

You snapped out of your internal monologue to find three pairs of eyes staring at you.

Riwoo looked like he knew something (which made you feel panic for no reason).

And looking at the guy from Unit 904 was even worse. Sungho... his eyes behind the silver frames held a faint amusement.

Damn it. Not amusing at all.

Your face heated up, probably from embarrassment (you told yourself).

You quickly turned away to take an order from a customer who was standing there calmly, even though you had zoned out for three minutes.

You punched the order into the system and handed her the buzzer. But the feeling of being watched didn't go away.

You stole a glance at the table.

Your face burned hotter when you met sharp eyes behind silver frames.

They held a faint glimmer of... amusement.

Dammit.

You didn't like this at all.

The rush hour died down.

You retreated to the kitchen the moment you got your milkshake. Leehan took over the register.

Five minutes later (don't underestimate yourself, you were very efficient for those five minutes), the next batch of pastries was happily baking in the oven.

You popped back out to the counter.

Leehan was sitting at a table with Riwoo and Sungho.

Huh.

He never sat down. Usually, only Riwoo sat there, typing alien language on his laptop in the corner.

It felt like your thoughts summoned him—Park Sungho turned toward the counter, saw you, and immediately stood up.

Do all cats have sensors or something?

Sungho walked straight to the counter. He leaned his elbows on the surface, staring intensely at your face.

"Did you really make these?"

You followed his gaze.

Perfectly arranged macarons. Gradient colors from light to dark. Pastries of identical size, caramelized to a golden perfection. Just looking at them made you smell the sweetness.

"What now?" you asked defensively.

"Nothing," he replied calmly. “Just... unexpected. Interesting."

He paused, looking you in the eye.

Interesting.?

Damn it! How can he say that without getting shy?!

You felt flustered, not knowing how to respond. Once again, your cheeks started to feel hot.

He raised a hand.

You flinched slightly, but he just reached across the counter...

His long fingertips touched your cheekbone gently.

The contact felt like a small electric shock.

"Flour on your cheek," he whispered. His thumb lingered there for a second longer than necessary.

"You really are a raccoon," he murmured, his voice low. "Charcoal at night... flour in the morning."

Th... This guy...

Sungho pulled his hand back, rubbing the white powder off his thumb.

And there was a small, defeated smile playing at the corner of his lips.

You stood there, frozen like a statue, the tray of macarons nearly slipping from your grip.

Meanwhile, the culprit returned to his seat, sipping his coffee with the calmness of a monk. As if he hadn't just short-circuited your entire nervous system.

"Dangerous," you muttered to yourself, touching your cheek. The warmth of his fingertip still lingered.

Seriously, does he have no mercy for your poor heart?

Closing time. Leehan left. You were locking up.

You turned to walk home—and stopped.

Park Sungho was still there. Leaning against a lamp post like a model for a lonely autumn magazine (contradicted by the convenience store bag dangling from his wrist).

"Not going back yet?" you asked.

He looked up from his phone. "Riwoo left me for his girlfriend," he deadpanned. "And the way home is dark... I don't want to be a witness on the front page news: 'Art Student Kidnapped with Cookie Tray'."

"If you're worried, just say you're worried," you teased, walking past him.

"I'm worried about the building's security system," he retorted, matching your pace with his long legs.

The walk was quieter than usual. But tonight... the silence was full.

"Tired?" he asked suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Standing all day... studying hard," he said softly. "Leehan said you barely rest."

"Used to it," you shrugged. "Art kids are tough. Plus... seeing people happy when they eat makes the tiredness go away."

Sungho stopped walking. You stopped too. He adjusted his glasses, looking straight at you.

"It's delicious."

"..."

"Your dessert," he clarified, enunciating every word like a thesis presentation. "It's really delicious... It's the only thing that wakes me up in the morning."

Okay, who taught this emotionally constipated man to compliment people with a deadpan face? The damage was ten times stronger than cheesy pick-up lines.

Elevator. 7... 8... 9. Ding.

You walked toward Room 906.

"Wait."

You turned back. Sungho stood in front of Room 904. He held the doorknob with one hand and held up the familiar paper bag... the macarons you packed.

"What is it?"

He looked left and right, nervous, then cleared his throat. "So... I bought 4 macarons."

"I know. I packed them."

"Usually, I only eat 2."

"..." You raised an eyebrow. And?

"Eating four alone is gluttony. Eating one is insufficient," he stated with absolute seriousness in English, then switched back. "Two and two. Symmetry is crucial for a balanced diet."

"..." You raised an eyebrow. Is he for real?

"Also," he spoke quickly, ears turning pink. "I have a consultation regarding the 'structural integrity' of the caramel filling."

"Structural integrity?" You laughed, shaking your head. "Are you going to build a building with caramel, Sunbae?"

"It is a serious architectural academic question!" he argued, eyes darting around. "So, are you coming? I have chamomile tea... it helps with sleep."

You looked at him. The neat freak, nagging architect, completely losing his cool and using the lamest excuse in the world to invite a girl into his room.

Mouth saying 'Architecture,' eyes shouting 'Please come in.'

"Just tea?" you teased.

"There's... there's Netflix too," he added quickly. "And... I promise I won't criticize your outfit for twenty-four hours."

You smiled broadly. The border between 904 and 906 had officially dissolved.

"Open the door, Mr. Architect," you walked toward him. "The structural expert will conduct an inspection."

The Museum.

That was your first thought. If your room was an explosion of color, Park Sungho's room was a Museum of Discipline. White, Gray, Black. Books arranged by height. Floor so clean you could eat off it.

"Slippers," he mumbled, placing gray slippers perfectly parallel to the door.

"Thanks." You put them on. "Do you actually live here? Or is this a showroom?"

"I live efficiently," he replied, going to the kitchen. "Sit anywhere, but... use a coaster."

You sat on the gray sofa. Firm, expensive. You watched him brew tea. It was a ritual. He timed the steeping. He placed the mug in front of you (on a coaster) and one Salted Caramel macaron on a small plate.

"Alright," you blew on the tea. "Where's the defect?"

Sungho sat opposite you, crossing his legs elegantly. He picked up the macaron, inspecting it like a miniature building model.

"The shell," he started seriously. "The 'feet'—these ruffles at the edge—are perfectly perpendicular. Indicates stable air bubble distribution."

"Uh-huh," you nodded, suppressing a laugh.

"The filling..." he took a bite. Chewed slowly. "The viscosity of the caramel supports the upper shell structure, preventing collapse, yet yields immediately under pressure."

He looked up at you. "It is the perfect balance between rigidity and softness."

"Sunbae..." you whispered, leaning forward. "You could just say 'It's yummy'."

Sungho sighed, dropping the academic act. He leaned back, brushing his hair up. "I just wanted to use big words to impress you." He admitted with a deadpan face. "Did it work?"

"Not at all. Felt like talking to a textbook."

"Wow..." A low chuckle escaped him. Rare... and genuine.

You looked around the room. Your eyes landed on his desk. Blueprints, rulers, expensive models, and a corkboard... arranged with military precision.

Except for one thing.

Right in the center... pinned with a red pin... was a yellow Post-it note with a terrible drawing of a 'Raccoon eating chicken'.

Your heart skipped a beat. "You kept it."

Sungho froze. He followed your gaze, face turning red. "It... provides contrast to the overall composition," he stammered. "Aesthetically speaking. To break the monotony."

"Liar." You stood up and walked to the board. Seeing it up close made you smile. It was the only "messy" thing in his life. And it was yours. "You kept it because you missed me."

Sungho stood up. He walked toward you. From this angle, he looked bigger. He moved closer until you backed into the edge of his desk.

"I didn't miss you," he whispered, looking down at you. "I see you every day."

"Then why keep this trash?"

"Because..." He moved closer. The scent of mint and tea surrounded you. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "It reminds me that... a little chaos isn't always bad."

His eyes dropped to your lips. The atmosphere in the room grew heavy with gravity. It seemed his 'structure' of self-control was collapsing.

"You know, Sunbae..." you breathed out shakily. "Your room is too quiet."

"I like silence," he mumbled, leaning down. "But now I'm starting to think... I like the noise you make more."

He closed the distance. This time, no hesitation. He kissed you like he was finally allowing himself to break every rule he ever made. His hands grabbed your waist, pulling you away from the hard edge of the desk into his soft embrace.

For a moment, in Room 904, there were no rules, no thesis, no perfect angles. Just a messy, chaotic, perfect collision between Art and Architecture.

And honestly? This macaron tasted much sweeter than usual.

A/N

‘Eating four alone is gluttony. Eating one is insufficient. Two and two. Symmetry is crucial for a balanced diet.’ ...or so he claims. personally, i could demolish a whole tower of macarons if someone fed me (っ'ヮ')っ

just realized almost this entire series is the 'opposites attract' trope... so i guess you already know what's coming next.