I didn't text Bok-Jin first for the rest of Wednesday.
This was petty, I knew. Childish, even. But I couldn't help testing whether he'd notice, whether he'd reach out, whether I mattered enough for him to prioritize when his perfect suitable match was suddenly back in his life.
He did text, around 2 PM.
Bok-Jin: Coffee with Seo-Yeon took longer than expected. She had a lot of questions about the business program here. Sorry I didn't text sooner.
Me: It's fine. I was working anyway.
Bok-Jin: Are you okay? You seem off.
Me: Just tired. Didn't sleep well.
Bok-Jin: Want to do something tonight? I could come by after your convenience store shift.
I stared at the message, torn between wanting to see him and wanting to protect myself from whatever this situation was becoming.
Me: I should probably study. Midterms are coming up.
Bok-Jin: Okay. Tomorrow then?
Me: Maybe. I'll let you know.
There was a long pause before his next message.
Bok-Jin: Ji-Mang, if this is about this morning, I'm sorry. I should have handled that better.
Me: It's fine. Really. I understand.
Bok-Jin: Can we talk about it? Actually talk, not just text?
Me: I have to get back to work. I'll call you later.
I didn't call him later.
Thursday I avoided campus between classes, taking the long way to my library shift to minimize the chance of running into anyone. It was cowardly and I knew it, but I wasn't ready to face Bok-Jin and pretend everything was fine when my chest felt tight every time I thought about him introducing me as just the running club president.
Min-Ji noticed something was wrong at dinner.
"You've been quiet," she said, watching me push noodles around my bowl. "Like, more than usual quiet. What's going on?"
"Nothing. Just stressed about midterms."
"You're always stressed about midterms. This is different." She set down her chopsticks. "Does this have to do with Bok-Jin?"
"Why would it have to do with him?"
"Because you haven't mentioned him once in two days, and before this week you couldn't shut up about him. So either something happened or you're going through a weird phase."
Yoo-Na emerged from her room, clearly having overheard. "What happened?"
I sighed, knowing I couldn't avoid this conversation. "His family's prescribed match is back from the US. I met her on Wednesday. She's perfect—Columbia grad, from the right family, everything they want for him. And when he introduced me to her, he said I was just the running club president. Not his girlfriend. Just... running club."
Both of them winced.
"Oh, Ji-Mang," Yoo-Na said softly.
"I know it was probably strategic," I continued. "I know telling her the truth would complicate things with his family. But it still hurt. And then Seung-Ho saw them together at a café and made sure to tell me all about how cozy they looked and how chaebols don't actually end up with scholarship students."
"Seung-Ho is a garbage person," Min-Ji said fiercely. "His opinion means nothing."
"But he's not wrong, is he? This is exactly what I was afraid of. The moment someone suitable appears, I become... what? A secret? An inconvenience?"
"You're not a secret," Yoo-Na said. "You're someone he's trying to protect from his family's interference. There's a difference."
"Is there? Because from where I'm standing, it feels the same."
They were both quiet, and I appreciated that they didn't try to force optimism or tell me I was overreacting.
"Have you talked to him about how you feel?" Yoo-Na asked finally.
"He knows something's wrong. But I don't know what to say. If I tell him I'm hurt, I'm being unfair—he's in an impossible situation. If I don't tell him, I'm just... slowly pulling away until this ends."
"Those aren't your only two options," Min-Ji pointed out.
"They feel like my only two options."
My phone buzzed on the table. All three of us looked at it.
Bok-Jin: I miss you. Can we please talk?
"You should respond," Yoo-Na said gently.
"I know."
But I didn't. Not yet.
Friday morning I almost skipped running club.
I stood in my room at 5:45 AM, fully dressed in my running clothes, staring at the door and debating whether facing Bok-Jin was worth the emotional energy. Part of me wanted to see him, wanted to feel his hand in mine and remember why I'd let myself fall for him in the first place.
Another part of me wanted to hide.
"You're going," Min-Ji said from her doorway. She was up early for a clinic shift and had apparently been watching my internal crisis. "You don't get to bail on your own club because you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You're terrified. But you're going anyway because that's what you do. You face things head-on." She grabbed my running jacket and threw it at me. "Go. Run. Talk to your boyfriend. Stop spiraling."
She was right. I hated that she was right, but she was.
I made it to campus by 5:58, and Bok-Jin was already there. His face lit up when he saw me, then quickly shifted to concern as I approached.
"Hi," he said carefully.
"Hi."
"I wasn't sure you'd come."
"I'm the club president. I can't skip."
"Right. Of course." He looked like he wanted to say more, but other members were arriving, and this wasn't the place for the conversation we needed to have.
The run was awkward. I kept my pace slightly faster than usual, not quite running away but not making it easy for him to stay beside me either. He kept up anyway, his presence a constant reminder of everything I was trying not to think about.
After cool-down, when people started dispersing, he caught my arm gently.
"Can we talk? Please?"
I wanted to say no. Wanted to make an excuse about class or work or literally anything else. But I also couldn't keep avoiding this.
"Okay."
We walked to our bench—the one that had become ours over the past few weeks—and sat down. The morning was cold and clear, and I wrapped my arms around myself, partly from temperature and partly from the need to hold something together.
"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "For Wednesday morning. For how I introduced you. For not being honest with Seo-Yeon about us."
"Why weren't you?"
"Because—" He stopped, searching for words. "Because the moment I tell her, she'll tell her parents, who will tell my parents, and then this whole thing becomes a battle I'm not ready to fight. Not yet."
"So when will you be ready? When your family officially announces your engagement to the suitable match?"
"That's not going to happen."
"How do you know? You said yourself they're pushing you together. Setting up meetings, arranging coincidental encounters. How long before it stops being suggestions and starts being demands?"
"I'll say no."
"And then what? They cut you off? Disinherit you? Make your life miserable until you comply?" I looked at him directly. "I'm not trying to be cruel. I'm trying to be realistic about what happens when people like you try to be with people like me."
"People like us," he said quietly. "We're not categories, Ji-Mang. We're just... us."
"But we're not just us, are we? We're us plus your family's expectations and my financial obligations and the fact that Park Seo-Yeon exists and is perfect for you in every way I'm not."
"I don't want perfect. I want you."
"For now. But what happens when the pressure gets too much? When choosing me means losing everything you've ever known?"
"Then I lose it." His voice was firm. "Ji-Mang, I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But I'm not going to give up on this just because it's complicated."
"It's not just complicated. It's impossible."
"Nothing's impossible."
"That's easy to say when you've never had to worry about money or survival or—" I stopped myself, but the damage was done.
"You're right," he said after a moment. "I haven't had to worry about those things. I've had every advantage, every privilege. But that doesn't mean I don't understand what's at stake here."
"Do you though? Because from where I'm sitting, you get to have both—the suitable match your family wants and the secret girlfriend they don't know about. I'm the only one losing in this situation."
"You're not a secret."
"Then what am I? Because 'running club president' doesn't exactly scream 'important person in my life.'"
He flinched. "That was a mistake. I panicked. I didn't know what to say that wouldn't make things immediately worse."
"So instead you made me feel like I don't matter."
"You do matter. You matter more than anything." He reached for my hand, but I pulled back.
"I can't do this right now," I said, standing up. "I have class. I need to go."
"Ji-Mang, please—"
"I'll see you Monday."
I walked away before he could respond, before I could see the hurt on his face, before I could change my mind and apologize and pretend everything was fine.
But everything wasn't fine.
And I was starting to wonder if it ever would be.
The rest of Friday was a blur. Classes I didn't absorb, a library shift where I kept making mistakes, a convenience store shift where I rang up the wrong prices and had to void three transactions.
By the time I got home at 10:30 PM, I was exhausted in every possible way.
My phone had been relatively quiet all day. Just one text from Bok-Jin at 3 PM: I'm giving you space, but I want you to know I'm here when you're ready to talk. I'm not giving up on us.
I didn't respond.
Yoo-Na was waiting up again, which was becoming a pattern. She took one look at me and patted the couch beside her.
"Rough day?"
"The roughest."
"Do you want to talk about it or just exist?"
"Just exist, I think."
We sat in companionable silence, and I appreciated that she didn't push. After a while, she said, "You know, there's no right answer here. Whatever you decide—to keep trying with him or to protect yourself—neither is wrong."
"It feels like both options are wrong. Like I lose either way."
"Maybe. Or maybe you're just in the hard part. The part where you have to decide what you're willing to fight for and what you're willing to walk away from."
"How do I know which is which?"
"You don't. Not until you're in it. But I know you, Ji-Mang. You don't run from things. You run toward them, even when it's terrifying."
I thought about that. About running toward things instead of away from them. About the girl who'd clawed her way to the top 1% of her class through sheer determination, who'd never backed down from a challenge, who'd always chosen to fight.
When had I become someone who pulled away?
My phone buzzed.
Bok-Jin: I know you need space and I'm trying to respect that. But I also need you to know that Seo-Yeon doesn't mean anything to me. You do. Whatever happens with my family, whatever they try to arrange, my answer is always going to be no. Because I choose you. I'll keep choosing you until you tell me to stop.
I stared at the message for a long time.
Me: I'm scared.
Bok-Jin: Me too.
Me: What if this doesn't work? What if we're just making it worse by trying?
Bok-Jin: Then at least we tried. At least we didn't give up without fighting.
Me: I don't know how to fight your entire family and their expectations.
Bok-Jin: You don't have to fight them. I do. You just have to decide if you want to stand beside me while I figure it out.
Did I?
That was the question, wasn't it. Could I stand beside him through whatever storm was coming? Could I be with someone whose family would always see me as unsuitable, whose world would never fully accept me?
Or was I just prolonging the inevitable heartbreak?
Me: Can we talk tomorrow? Actually talk, like you said.
Bok-Jin: Yes. Anytime, anywhere. Just tell me when.
Me: Tomorrow afternoon. After my library shift. The roof?
Bok-Jin: Our roof. I'll be there.
Me: Okay. Goodnight, Bok-Jin.
Bok-Jin: Goodnight, Ji-Mang. Thank you for not giving up yet.
I set my phone down and looked at Yoo-Na, who'd been politely pretending not to watch me text.
"Tomorrow I'm going to figure out what I'm willing to fight for," I said.
"Good. That's very you."
"Is it though? Because lately I feel like I don't know who I am anymore."
"You're someone who's learning that wanting something for yourself isn't selfish. That's growth, not loss of identity." She squeezed my hand. "And for what it's worth? I think he's worth fighting for. But only you can decide that."
I went to bed that night with my mind churning, replaying every conversation, every moment, every choice that had led to this point.
Tomorrow I would talk to Bok-Jin. Really talk, openly and honestly, about what we were doing and whether it was sustainable.
Tomorrow I would decide whether to keep running toward him or finally protect my heart by running away.
Tomorrow.
But tonight, I let myself feel everything—the fear, the hurt, the anger, and underneath it all, the stubborn hope that maybe, just maybe, this could still work.