5 years later, 2025.
The waiting room of J's Law Firm smelled faintly of polished wood and fresh paper, an expensive kind of stillness that made people speak in softer voices. Seon-Woo stood near the entrance, shoulders tense, eyes lowered. He wasn't used to places like this. Offices with glass walls felt too transparent for someone who had spent years hiding in smaller shadows.
His friend nudged him gently.
"She'll help you," he whispered. "Everyone says this lawyer doesn't turn people away. Not if the case is real. Not if the pain is real."
Seon-Woo nodded without lifting his gaze.
His palms were cold. Not from fear, he had lived with fear for so long it had lost its sharpness, but from something heavier. The feeling of walking toward a turning point without knowing whether it would save him or crush him.
They walked toward the reception area, the sound of footsteps echoing against marble floors. A young assistant led them down a narrow corridor lined with framed certificates and awards. Everything here looked perfect, too perfect for someone like him.
And then they reached the last door.
"Attorney Im is ready for you," the assistant said.
The door opened quietly.
And Seon-Woo stopped breathing.
There she was.
Im Ha Yoon.
Not the girl who once ran into the rain with him.
Not the girl who laughed with her whole face.
Not the girl who waited under maple trees with nervous smiles.
Not the girl he walked home in the cold.
This woman, this version of her, stood tall behind a desk of dark walnut, wrapped in a tailored suit, hair pinned neatly, eyes calm in a way that only people who survived too much could manage.
Attorney Im Ha Yoon.
The nameplate on the desk gleamed under the soft office light, reflecting the person she had become.
She lifted her head and froze.
Recognition washed over her features like a slow, widening tide.
Her breath hitched.
Her fingers went still over the papers she had been reviewing.
For a moment, neither moved.
It felt like the whole room had folded in on itself, like time didn't know how to breathe.
"You…" she whispered.
Her voice trembled, almost imperceptibly.
Almost.
Seon-Woo swallowed hard, but no words came. The years pressed against him, the weight of mistakes, of silence, of distance, of everything he never got to explain.
His friend glanced between them, confused, unaware of the history vibrating in the air.
Ha Yoon recovered first, or at least pretended to.
She straightened, hands clasping each other, lawyer-mask sliding into place with practiced precision. But her eyes, the eyes he remembered in the rain wavered, just for a heartbeat.
"It's been a long time," she said softly.
Her voice was steady. But her hands?
Her hands shook.
He managed a small nod. "Yeah… it has."
Her gaze softened, a bittersweet ache flickering beneath her professional composure.
"Struggles make us move on so fast," she murmured, as if speaking to herself, not him.
"As if we blink, and years pass without asking if we're ready."
Something inside him twisted.
He opened his mouth to speak, but another voice cut through the air.
A man stepped in through the open door, wearing expensive casual clothes, the kind that looked effortless only when money did the work. He paused when he saw Seon-Woo.
"Oh," the man said. "You're meeting someone."
"Hae-Min," Ha Yoon breathed.
Seon-Woo turned.
Hae-Min.
Older now. Broader shoulders. A more controlled expression. The kind of confidence built from healing or pretending.
For a moment, the past and present collided, three people in a room filled with everything they once were and everything they could no longer return to.
"Seon-Woo," Hae-Min said, voice calm, unreadable.
"Hae-Min," Seon-Woo replied.
A thousand unsaid things hung between them.
And the room felt unbearably small.
And that afternoon, In the quiet of her office, the city humming softly beyond the glass, Ha Yoon's legs gave way beneath her. She sank to the floor, her back pressed against the cold wood of the door. Her hands trembled as they clutched her chest, as if she could physically contain the storm inside her.
Tears spilled freely, slipping down her cheeks despite her efforts to stifle them. Her mouth was covered with her hand, muffling the sobs that threatened to escape, but the sound of her own heartbreak was deafening in the still room.
She had promised herself for years that his absence, the silence, the distance, would dull the ache. That his love, or what she had thought she understood of it, had faded into a quiet memory. But sitting there, knees bent, fingers pressed to lips, she realized the truth she had spent all these years denying: she still loved him. Every pulse of her heart, every ragged breath, whispered it.
And the cruelest part? She was the one who had been deceiving herself.
Outside, the city moved on, indifferent to her grief. The sunlight faded completely, leaving only the muted glow of office lamps and the soft, lonely thrum of her heartbeat.
Meanwhile, Seon-Woo, somewhere across the city, entered his apartment and let the door fall shut behind him. The familiar walls offered no comfort. The weight of the day, the choices, the silences he'd carried, all of it hit him at once.
He collapsed onto the floor, knees drawn up, forehead pressed against them, and let himself break.
He cried, not quiet, not polite, not the controlled kind that only trickled out. This was loud, raw, body-shaking grief. He cried for the years they had lost, for the distance he had maintained to protect them both, for the love he could no longer ignore.
For a long time, he did not even try to stop. The apartment was small, the sound of his own sobs echoing off the walls, but he did not care. The release was necessary, inevitable.
_______________
The afternoon light outside the Seoul Central District Court was strangely soft, too gentle for a place where so many people walked in carrying broken pieces of themselves and walked out pretending they weren't bleeding. Cars passed, lawyers hurried down the steps, reporters clustered in small groups like vultures waiting for the next headline, today she defended him in the court about the whistle blow case and she won. Someone embezzled money in his work place and he revealed it.
Seon-Woo stands infront of the courthouse.
He stood there as if the world around him had muted itself. His hair was slightly longer than before, brushed back in a way that made him look older, quieter. A man who had lost more than he ever admitted.
When she stepped out of the courthouse, he looked up.
Ha Yoon froze.
Years rearranged themselves inside her chest, memories slipping back into place with the quiet accuracy of a lock turning open. She had not seen him in so long, yet he looked exactly like someone she had once known so intimately it hurt just to breathe.
"You got everything you wanted," he said softly.
Not bitter.
Not angry.
Just tired.
His eyes scanned her face, not in the way lovers do, but like someone trying to confirm she was real.
"And you're not stuck here like me."
A faint smile. The kind that looks like it hurts to make.
Her heartbeat wavered.
"Long time no see, last time we didn't get to talk enough. " she said, trying to steady her voice.
"Struggle makes us move on so fast… faster than we ever expect."
The wind pushed a few strands of hair across her face. She didn't move them away. She couldn't, not while he was looking at her like that, like she was the last familiar piece of a world he barely recognized anymore.
Before either of them could speak again, footsteps approached.
A man in sleek, expensive casual wear, a confident stride, effortless presence. Someone who had been written into her present life long after Seon-Woo had disappeared from it.
"Hae-Min," Seon-Woo said quietly.
Hae-Min's expression flickered, recognition, restraint, something sharp beneath the surface.
"Seon-Woo," he answered.
The air tightened between them. A memory. A rivalry. A friendship. A wound.
None of them said another word.
Not yet.
Not here.
Not in front of a courthouse where endings were delivered like verdicts.
The silence between the three of them felt like the first crack in a frozen lake, quiet, delicate, but promising something devastating beneath.
And just like that, the past reached out and touched the present.
_______________
The building rose in front of me like a stranger pretending to be familiar, glass and steel stretching into a pale morning sky, too clean, too quiet. I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, tools heavy in my hands, heart heavier in my chest.
Then I knocked.
The door opened to the soft creak of hinges and the smell of polished floors. A woman in a simple uniform stood there, her hair neatly tied back. Beside her was a small boy, no more than five or six, clutching the edge of her dress like an anchor.
"Are you the plumber?" she asked, her voice practical, already moving past me in her mind.
"Yes," I said, nodding. "Good morning."
She stepped aside to let me in, and the boy stared at me with wide, curious eyes, as if I were a visitor from another world.
The maid guided me toward the kitchen, explaining the issue with the sink, something about pressure, something about noise. I listened, nodded, set my bag down.
I was halfway through loosening a pipe when I heard it.
Footsteps.
Not rushed. Not hesitant. Familiar.
And then her voice, soft, steady, unmistakable.
"Is the plumber here?"
My hands froze. The wrench slipped slightly in my grip.
"Yes, ma'am," the maid answered. "He's in the kitchen."
Another voice joined hers, lower, warm, casual in the way people sound when they belong somewhere.
"Is breakfast ready?" the man asked.
"Yes," the maid replied. "I've arranged everything on the dining table."
"Okay."
I lifted my head slowly, like the movement itself might shatter something fragile inside me.
And there she was.
Ha Yoon.
Standing at the entrance of the kitchen, her hair pulled back loosely, her face softer than I remembered and somehow sharper at the same time. Beside her stood Hae Min, one hand resting lightly on the shoulder of the small boy between them.
The world tilted. Not dramatically, just enough to make it impossible to stand straight.
"Seon… woo."
My name broke when it left her mouth. It cracked, splintered, fell between us like something dropped by accident.
"Ha Yoon," I replied, forcing my voice into calmness it didn't deserve.
"Oh....Seon woo," Hae Min said, smiling in a way that was kind and unguarded. "It's been a long time."
I nodded, my throat suddenly too tight for words.
My eyes betrayed me before I could stop them. They drifted past their faces to the wall behind them, where a framed photograph hung.
Their wedding photo.
They stood close, smiling, dressed in white and light and certainty. The kind of certainty I used to believe in. The kind I used to imagine.
I stared at it for a second too long. Then I looked back at them.
The irony was almost cruel enough to laugh at, almost.
"Please," Hae Min said gently, as if sensing the tension I was pretending didn't exist. "Join us for breakfast."
"Thank you," I replied, pasting on a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "But I'm full."
It was a lie. But it was the kind that kept people comfortable.
"This is your uncle," Hae Min said, turning to the boy. "Seon woo."
I walked over and crouched down, lowering myself to the child's height.
"Hey, buddy," I said softly.
He studied me for a moment, then smiled, small, cautious. "Hi. I'm Ye Joon."
"That's a good name," I told him. "Nice to meet you."
Ha Yoon hadn't said a word. She just stood there, hands clasped in front of her, eyes flickering between my face and the floor like she was afraid of what she might see if she looked too long.
I finished my work quickly after that. Too quickly. My hands moved on instinct, muscle memory doing what my heart could not. When I stepped outside into the front yard, the air felt colder, sharper.
I almost made it to the gate.
"Seon woo."
I turned.
She stood a few steps behind me, arms wrapped loosely around herself, as if bracing against something invisible.
"Uh… how have you been?" she asked, unsure, like the question itself might hurt.
"Good," I said.
It was the easiest lie I'd told all day.
There was a pause. A long one.
"So," I added, forcing a small laugh that sounded wrong even to my own ears, "you guys are together?"
She didn't answer right away.
"Should I even care?" I said, still smiling.
And yes, I cared. God, I cared so much it felt like my chest was splitting open. Like something inside me was screaming while my mouth stayed calm.
She looked away.
"Are you happy?" I asked quietly. "With the life you chose?"
She swallowed. Still no answer.
Then she looked at me, really looked at me, and the walls she'd built cracked just enough for the truth to slip through.
"Do you really think I left because I stopped caring?" she said. Her voice trembled, but she didn't look away this time. "That I was looking for excuses to go?"
She paused, breathing uneven. "Even after everything… I don't love you any less."
The words landed like a slow, deliberate wound.
"Then," I asked, even though I already knew the answer, "am I still the number one boy in your eyes?"
Silence.
I nodded, accepting what she couldn't say.
"You're still everything I want, Ha Yoon," I said. "And that's the part I don't know how to survive."
She laughed softly, broken. "I ruined every version of myself trying to become calm. Trying to be okay." Her voice dropped. "But you… you shattered every wall I built the moment you came back into my life."
My hand trembled violently. I shoved it into my jacket pocket before she could see.
"And I will always love you," I said, my voice barely steady. "As long as I live."
Then I turned away.
Because if I looked back, I wouldn't leave.
And if I didn't leave, I would break.
She closed her bedroom door and collapsed against it, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor, breath shaking, hands covering her mouth as the sobs finally escaped.
On the other side of the door, Hae Min stood still.
"Was I ever really married?" he asked quietly, to no one in particular.
As he went back home, he plugged the USB into the TV and watch the memories of them he record during high school.
Seon-woo didn't know when he started recording everything.
At first, it was accidental. A button pressed too early. A camera left on too long. But somewhere between ordinary days and unforgettable ones, he began to understand something instinctively,
Some moments didn't announce themselves as important.
They just passed quietly, and if you didn't hold onto them, they were gone.
So he held on.
February
The video began shakily, the dark of a movie theater filling the frame.
"February," Seon-woo whispered, like he was afraid the moment might hear him. "Our first movie together."
The camera tilted slightly, catching Ha Yoon's face lit by the screen. Her eyes were wide, reflecting flickering light, her lips parted in concentration. She leaned closer to him without realizing it, their arms brushing.
"You're not even watching," she murmured, glancing at him.
"I am," he lied, quickly shifting the camera away.
She smiled anyway, soft and unaware that this smile would someday live longer than the night itself.
March 3rd
The bus rattled loudly, rain streaking the windows. The video showed Ha Yoon asleep against his shoulder, her breathing slow, peaceful.
"March 3rd," he whispered. "She fell asleep on me."
He barely moved, afraid even breathing might wake her.
"My arm's numb," he added quietly, smiling to himself. "But I don't mind."
Her hair brushed his cheek every time the bus turned. He didn't dare touch her, not because he didn't want to, but because the closeness felt sacred and he doesn't want to wakes her up.
March 17th
The camera turned on too early, capturing laughter before the words.
"Stop filming me!" Ha Yoon protested, mouth full of food.
"My mom cooked for us," Seon-woo said proudly. "She made your favorite."
"She didn't even know it was my favorite," Ha Yoon said, grinning. "But somehow she did."
"You ate three bowls," he teased.
"And I'd eat three more," she shot back, reaching for another bite.
The video ended with Seon-woo laughing, real, unguarded laughter, the kind he only ever made around her.
March 23rd
Wind roared into the microphone.
"March 23rd," he said, breathless. "The beach."
The camera caught Ha Yoon running barefoot across the sand, shoes abandoned, laughter loud enough to compete with the waves.
"Seon-woo! Look!" she yelled, turning in circles. "It's so big!"
She ran straight into the water without hesitation, shrieking when it reached her ankles.
"You're crazy!" he called after her.
She turned back, eyes bright. "Then come be crazy with me!"
The camera dropped as he ran toward her, their laughter swallowed by the sea.
April
This time, the camera faced him.
He looked nervous, hair slightly messy, uniform collar crooked.
"April," he whispered. "I'm in a relationship with Ha Yoon." That was the first time he said it out loud.
He didn't know it would also be the last time it felt simple.
He paused, swallowing.
"I don't know how long it will last," he added honestly. "But I know how it feels. And I don't want to forget this version of us."
The camera shifted, catching Ha Yoon beside him, leaning into his shoulder.
"What are you saying?" she asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," he smiled. "Just… keeping a memory."
July
The frame showed a notebook filled with careful sketches.
"July," he said softly. "I'm designing rings."
His pencil hovered, unsure, then continued.
"For the future," he added quickly, almost embarrassed. "If we ever get there."
Off-camera, Ha Yoon laughed. "You're ridiculous."
But her voice softened when she added, "Don't erase that one. I like it."
His smile lingered long after the video ended.
September 13th
The camera shook as he climbed the rooftop stairs, cake balanced carefully in his hands.
"September 13th," he whispered, breath uneven. "Her birthday."
The door opened.
Ha Yoon stood there, confused, then stunned, then crying before he could even say her name.
"You remembered," she sobbed.
"I always will," he said quietly.
She laughed and cried at the same time, hugging him so tightly the cake nearly tipped.
The video ended with her whispering into his shoulder, "Thank you for loving me like this."
Seon-woo never stopped recording after that.
Even when things began to change.
Even when the future grew uncertain.
Because somewhere deep inside him, he knew, one day, these would be all he had left.
He watched it and looked at his trembling hands before looking back at the TV
"Is this really the end?" He said