Wednesday morning arrived cold and clear, and I was at the meeting point fifteen minutes early.
Which was ridiculous. I was never early. But apparently anxiety and anticipation had turned me into someone who showed up to things ahead of schedule.
I did some stretches while I waited, trying to look casual and not like someone who'd been obsessively checking her phone for the past two days.
Other club members started trickling in. Golden retriever freshman waved enthusiastically. A few regulars nodded hello. And then, right at 5:58, I saw him.
Choi Bok-Jin, walking toward the group with his usual measured pace, wearing track pants and a hoodie, glasses already tucked away somewhere. He looked tired—there were shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there on Saturday—but when he saw me, his expression softened into something that might have been relief.
"Hi," he said, coming to stand beside me.
"Hi." I wanted to ask a thousand questions but settled for: "You made it."
"I said I would." He glanced around at the gathering group, then back to me. "Can we talk? After the run?"
"Yeah. Of course."
"Thank you."
Min-Ji chose that moment to arrive, slightly out of breath. "Sorry I'm late! Emergency with a cat at the clinic this morning." She took in me and Bok-Jin standing together and grinned. "Oh good, you're both here. Excellent."
"Why is that excellent?" I asked.
"No reason. Just observing. Carry on."
I gave her a look that promised retaliation later, but she just smiled innocently.
"Alright everyone!" I called out, shifting into club president mode. "Standard route today. Let's warm up and get moving before we all freeze."
We went through the usual routine, and I was hyperaware of Bok-Jin's presence a few feet away. He was quieter than usual, more withdrawn, and I wondered what exactly he was going to tell me.
The run itself was good—crisp morning air, steady pace, the familiar route around campus. Bok-Jin ran near me but not directly beside me, like he was giving me space but staying close. Or maybe I was reading too much into positioning.
By the time we circled back, my mind was churning with possibilities. What kind of family emergency took two days to resolve? What was so complicated that it couldn't be explained over text?
"Good run, everyone!" Min-Ji announced, since I was clearly distracted. "Same time Friday. Don't be lazy!"
People started dispersing, and Bok-Jin caught my eye, tilting his head slightly toward the quieter edge of the meeting area.
I followed him to a bench near the library building, away from the main group.
We sat down, and for a moment neither of us said anything. He was looking at his hands, and I could see tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before.
"I'm sorry," he said finally. "For disappearing like that. I know it probably seemed like I was avoiding you."
"The thought crossed my mind," I admitted. "But I figured if you wanted to ghost me, you probably wouldn't have bothered texting at all. So either you were dealing with something real or you're really bad at ghosting."
He smiled slightly. "I'm dealing with something real. Or rather, my family is dealing with me."
"What happened?"
He was quiet for a long moment, like he was deciding how much to say. "My father called me Sunday morning. Said he needed me home immediately for urgent family meetings. When I got there, it was—" He stopped, choosing his words carefully. "It was about my future. Specifically, about arrangements they want to make regarding my future."
"Arrangements?"
"The kind that involve strategic business alliances and suitable matches." He said it flatly, like the words themselves were exhausting. "My family doesn't really believe in letting their children make their own choices about important things. And apparently, who I spend my time with qualifies as important."
Oh.
Oh no.
"They want to arrange your marriage," I said, the words coming out more blunt than I intended.
"Not yet. But they're laying groundwork. Making plans. Discussing options." He looked at me then, and there was something raw in his expression. "I spent two days in meetings about my 'future responsibilities' and 'family obligations' and what kind of person would be 'suitable' for someone in my position."
"That sounds awful."
"It was. Is. I don't—" He stopped, frustrated. "I'm sorry. This probably sounds like rich people problems. Complaining about my family having expectations."
"No," I said firmly. "It sounds like you're being treated like a business asset instead of a person. That's not a rich people problem. That's just a problem."
He looked at me with something like gratitude. "Most people don't see it that way. They think having money means I shouldn't complain about anything."
"Most people are idiots." I shifted slightly to face him better. "So what did you tell them? Your family, I mean. About their plans."
"That I'm twenty-two and focused on finishing my degree and not interested in discussing marriage arrangements." His jaw tightened. "They were not pleased. My father said I was being naive. My mother said I was being selfish. And they both made it very clear that my opinions on the matter were noted but ultimately irrelevant."
"They can't actually force you to marry someone. This isn't the Joseon era."
"No, they can't force me. But they can make my life extremely difficult if I don't cooperate. They control my trust fund, my position in the company, my access to basically everything. And they're very good at applying pressure."
I thought about the phone call I'd overheard that first night. The formal way he'd spoken to his father, the tension in his shoulders. This wasn't new. This was his entire life.
"Is that why you couldn't text?" I asked. "They were monitoring you?"
"Essentially. The meetings went late into the night, and when they weren't actively in meetings, my father had me reviewing company documents and sitting in on conference calls. I barely slept. And yes, they were definitely watching to see if I was 'distracted' by anything or anyone." He looked down at his hands. "I should have found a way to send you a message anyway. Even just to say I was okay. But honestly, I was so exhausted and frustrated that by the time I had a moment to myself, I didn't know what to say."
"You don't have to apologize. I get it."
"Still. You didn't know what was happening. For all you knew, Saturday was a mistake and I was avoiding you."
"The thought crossed my mind," I admitted again. "But Min-Ji and Yoo-Na talked me down from my spiral. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"I may have convinced myself by Tuesday night that you'd realized we were too different and were trying to figure out how to let me down gently."
His expression shifted, something almost pained crossing his face. "Ji-Mang. That's not—I would never—" He stopped, seeming to struggle for words. "Saturday was one of the best days I've had in months. Talking to you, learning about you, just being able to be myself without worrying about family expectations or business obligations. The last thing I wanted was for you to think I regretted it."
My chest felt tight. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"I believe you. And I'm sorry your family is putting this pressure on you."
"It's not your fault."
"I know. But I can still be sorry it's happening." I studied his tired face, the tension still visible despite his obvious relief at talking to me. "So what now? Do they expect you to just... go along with their plans?"
"They expect me to be a dutiful son and consider what's best for the family." He said it with bitter humor. "Which apparently doesn't include making my own choices about my personal life."
"What do you want?"
The question seemed to catch him off guard. "What?"
"What do you want? Not your family, not their expectations. You."
He looked at me for a long moment, and something in his expression made my heart race.
"I want to finish my degree on my own terms," he said slowly. "I want to figure out who I am separate from being the Hansung heir. I want to make decisions because they're right for me, not because they're strategically advantageous for the company." He paused. "And I want to keep seeing you. If you're okay with that."
"Even though your family has 'plans' for you?"
"Especially because of that. You're the first person in a long time who's treated me like I'm just... me. Not a business opportunity or a strategic asset or a future CEO. Just Bok-Jin." He smiled slightly. "The guy who gets leaves stuck in his hair and argues about triangle kimbap."
I felt my face heat. "That is a very specific identity."
"It's my favorite identity."
We sat there for a moment, and I was suddenly very aware of how close we were sitting. How easy it would be to just... close the distance. To see if this thing between us was just friendly interest or something more.
But we were also sitting on a bench in full view of campus, and I could see a few straggling running club members still lingering nearby, and this didn't feel like the right moment for... whatever this was building toward.
"I should probably get ready for class," I said reluctantly. "I have Constitutional Law at 8:30 and I haven't even showered yet."
"Right. Yeah." He stood up when I did, and we started walking slowly toward the campus exit. "When can I see you again? I mean, besides running club."
"When are you free?"
"That's complicated. I have classes and some family obligations I can't get out of. But I can make time. For you, I can make time."
The way he said it—simple, certain—made something warm bloom in my chest.
"I have library shift tomorrow afternoon," I said. "And convenience store Thursday night. But I'm free Friday evening, if you want to do something then."
"Friday evening works. Dinner?"
"Dinner," I agreed, then caught myself. "Nothing too expensive, though. I'm a broke college student, remember?"
"What if I pay?"
"Then I'll feel guilty and weird about it."
"What if I promise not to make you feel guilty or weird?"
"That's not how guilt works. It's internal."
He smiled. "Okay. Compromise. We go somewhere reasonably priced, and we split it."
"I can live with that."
"Good." We'd reached the edge of campus where our paths would split—him toward the nicer student housing area, me toward my apartment. "I really am sorry about this week. For worrying you."
"Stop apologizing. You explained, I understand. We're good."
"We're good," he repeated, like he was testing the words. Then, more quietly: "Thank you. For understanding. For not... giving up on this before it even started."
"Well, you did buy me carrot cake. That bought you at least a little patience."
"I'll remember that. Strategic cake deployment for future relationship maintenance."
"Did you just say 'relationship maintenance'?"
"I'm a business major. Everything is a strategic framework."
"That's deeply unromantic."
"Would you prefer I say something romantic?"
"Absolutely not. I'd probably die of embarrassment."
He laughed, and the sound was lighter than it had been all morning. "Noted. I'll keep the romance to a minimum."
"Much appreciated."
We stood there for another moment, neither of us quite ready to leave, until I finally forced myself to take a step back.
"Friday," I said. "We'll figure out details?"
"Friday. I'll text you."
"Okay. And Bok-Jin?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you're okay. That you came back."
His expression softened. "Me too."
I watched him walk away, and only when he'd disappeared around a building did I let myself fully process the conversation.
His family was planning his future. Talking about suitable matches and strategic marriages. Treating him like a piece on a business chessboard.
And he'd told them no.
For now, at least.
But what happened when they pushed harder? When they actually introduced him to whoever they thought was "suitable"? When the pressure became too much?
I pushed the thoughts away and started walking toward my apartment. I didn't have answers to those questions, and worrying about them wouldn't help.
What I did have was Friday. Another chance to see him, to figure out what this thing between us was, to enjoy something good before reality inevitably complicated it.
That would have to be enough.
For now.