Jennie stood outside the restaurant for a long moment before going in.
The glass doors reflected her face back at her—neat hair, calm posture, a practiced expression that hid too much. But her hands betrayed her, fingers curling and uncurling at her sides.
Two months.
It had been two months since she last saw Min-jun. Two months since she had left without looking back, convincing herself that distance would dull the ache. Yet here she was, heart beating faster than it should, nerves tightening in her chest like a pulled string.
She took a breath and stepped inside.
The restaurant was quiet, warm light spilling across polished wooden tables. Soft music played in the background, the kind meant to make conversations feel gentler. Her eyes scanned the room instinctively—
And then she saw him.
Min-jun sat at a window table, sunlight catching in his dark hair, hands folded loosely in front of him as he waited. He looked thinner. Older, somehow. As if time had touched him more roughly than it had her.
For a second, he didn't notice her.
Then his gaze lifted.
The moment their eyes met, his face changed completely—surprise melting into relief, relief into unmistakable happiness. He stood so quickly his chair scraped softly against the floor.
"Jennie."
Her name sounded different in his voice. Familiar. Dangerous.
She walked toward him, each step heavier than the last. "Hi, Min."
Before she could say anything else, he pulled her into a hug.
It was instinctive. Natural. Like muscle memory.
For half a second, Jennie almost hugged him back.
Almost.
Her arms lifted slightly—and then she saw it.
Behind Min-jun's table, near the far wall, sat a man she knew far too well.
Mr. Esler.
No—Esler.
He was seated with another man, a quiet conversation between them, but his attention wasn't entirely there. When his eyes met Jennie's, he didn't look away.
Instead, he smiled.
Not the polite, distant smile he wore in class—but something softer. Something knowing.
Her breath caught.
And then she noticed the white bandage wrapped around his hand.
Her heart sank.
She stiffened instantly, her arms falling back to her sides. The hug broke awkwardly, incomplete.
Min-jun stepped back, confusion flickering across his face. "Hey—are you okay?"
"Yes," she said too quickly. "I'm fine. Just… surprised."
The word felt thin.
He nodded slowly, though something had shifted between them already. "Sit. Please."
He pulled out the chair for her, the same way he always used to. Jennie sat down carefully, smoothing her dress, trying to steady the storm inside her chest.
Min-jun sat across from her, watching her closely.
"You look different," he said softly.
She forced a small smile. "So do you."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, heavy with everything they hadn't said over the last two months.
Finally, Jennie took a deep breath. "Why didn't you come see me before I left?"
His expression faltered.
"I did," he said quietly.
Her head snapped up. "You… did?"
"I came that morning," Min-jun admitted. "I stood near your street. I watched you leave."
Shock washed over her. "Then why didn't you stop me?"
Pain crossed his face—quick, unguarded. "Because if I had stood in front of you," he said, voice tight, "you would've stayed."
Jennie's chest tightened painfully.
"I knew it," he continued. "I knew if you saw me, really saw me, you wouldn't go with your parents. And I didn't want to be the reason you fought them. I didn't want to trap you."
She looked down at the table, fingers trembling. "That doesn't make it hurt less."
"I know," he said. "I hate myself for it."
A long pause settled between them.
Then he asked, carefully, "When did the marriage plan happen?"
Jennie hesitated.
She felt it before she saw it—the weight of someone listening.
Behind her, Esler sat still, his posture composed, his attention fixed elsewhere by all appearances. But every word reached him clearly.
Jennie swallowed.
"My parents decided," she said slowly. "After we moved."
Min-jun frowned. "Just like that?"
"They thought it was best," she said, hating how weak it sounded. "They didn't ask what I wanted."
Her voice wavered despite her effort. "I didn't even have time to process it."
Min-jun leaned forward slightly. "And you agreed?"
Her lips parted—and closed again.
She couldn't lie.
"Yes," she said finally. "I did."
Esler's jaw tightened imperceptibly.
Jennie rushed on, her emotions spilling out now. "But that doesn't mean I stopped feeling anything. I didn't. I still—"
She stopped herself too late.
Min-jun reached across the table and took her hand.
The touch was gentle. Familiar.
Too familiar.
Something inside Esler snapped.
The air around him seemed to heat, his grip tightening around the glass in front of him—not enough to break it this time, but enough to feel the tension pulse through his arm. His friend noticed the change in him, glancing sideways.
"You okay?" the man murmured.
Esler didn't answer.
Jennie felt it—the shift behind her. The anger, sharp and restrained, like a blade pressed too close to skin. Her eyes flicked past Min-jun, catching Esler's reflection in the window.
His expression was unreadable.
But his eyes—
They burned.
Jennie gently pulled her hand back.
Min-jun froze.
"Jennie?" he said, hurt creeping into his voice.
"I can't," she whispered. "I'm sorry."
He stared at her for a long moment, understanding dawning slowly, painfully. He followed her gaze briefly—and saw nothing unusual. Just another man in another corner.
To him, the distance between them was her choice.
He leaned back in his chair, disappointment settling heavily across his features. Without another word, he reached for his wallet and placed it on the table.
"I think," he said quietly, "I already lost you."
"That's not true," she said quickly, standing up. "Min—"
He was already rising, shaking his head. "You've decided your future. Even if it wasn't the truth… it looks like it."
He turned and walked away.
"Min-jun!" Jennie called, following him toward the door. "Please—wait!"
He didn't.
The door closed behind him with a soft chime that sounded far too final.
Jennie stood there, chest heaving, tears blurring her vision. The restaurant felt too small, too loud, too suffocating.
She stumbled outside.
The moment the cool air hit her face, she broke.
Tears spilled freely now, sobs wracking her body as she covered her mouth with shaking hands. She didn't know where she was going—only that she couldn't stay there.
Inside the restaurant, Esler stood abruptly.
His friend looked startled. "Hey—where are you going?"
Esler didn't answer.
For a brief, ugly second, something twisted inside him—something like betrayal. Like jealousy sharpened by fear.
She still loves him.
The thought cut deeper than he expected.
But as he reached the door and saw her outside—shoulders shaking, body folding inward like she was trying to disappear—the anger dissolved into something else entirely.
Concern.
He followed her at a distance, careful not to be seen, not to startle her. She walked quickly, wiping her tears, barely aware of her surroundings.
Don't fall, he thought. Don't hurt yourself.
She stopped near the sidewalk, breath uneven, head bowed.
Esler slowed, staying just far enough back to give her space—close enough to catch her if she fell again.
He clenched his bandaged hand unconsciously.
Everything was unraveling.
And none of it could be said aloud.