Saturday morning I woke up at 6 AM out of habit, even though there was no running club. I lay in bed for a while, staring at my ceiling and thinking about the conversation I'd be having with Bok-Jin later.
The rooftop. Our place. Where we'd had our first kiss and everything had felt possible.
Now I wasn't sure what I was going to say. What I even wanted anymore.
I gave up on sleep and decided to head to campus early. The library wasn't open yet, but there was a 24-hour study room in the building next door. I could get some LEET prep done, clear my head before the afternoon.
I was walking through the main quad, coffee in hand, when I saw them.
Bok-Jin and Park Seo-Yeon, sitting at one of the outdoor tables near the business building. It was barely 7:30 AM, and they were already together, coffees between them, deep in conversation.
I stopped walking.
From where I stood, maybe thirty meters away, I could see everything. The way Seo-Yeon leaned forward, engaged and animated. The way she reached across the table and touched his arm while laughing at something. The way he smiled—not his full smile, but still, a smile.
They looked perfect together. Like a photo from a magazine about successful young people. Both attractive, both polished, both from the same world where Saturday morning coffee on campus was casual instead of a luxury.
I should have walked away. Should have gone to the study room like I'd planned and dealt with the hurt in private.
Instead, I stood there like an idiot, watching them, until Seo-Yeon glanced up and—shit—made eye contact with me.
She said something to Bok-Jin. He turned. Saw me.
His expression shifted immediately—surprise, then concern, then something like guilt.
I didn't wait to see what happened next. I turned and walked away quickly, my heart pounding, my coffee suddenly tasting like ash.
My phone buzzed before I'd made it fifty meters.
Bok-Jin: Ji-Mang, wait. It's not what it looks like.
I didn't respond.
Bok-Jin: Seo-Yeon asked to meet this morning. She wanted to talk about something important. I couldn't say no without being rude.
Bok-Jin: Please don't think this means anything. You're the one I want to see. You're the one I'm meeting this afternoon.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and kept walking. Found the study room. Sat down at a desk. Stared at my LEET prep book without seeing any of the words.
It's not what it looks like.
Except it was exactly what it looked like. Him spending time with the woman his family wanted him to be with. The suitable match. The perfect choice.
And me, the girl who had to see it from a distance because I didn't belong in that world.
My phone rang. My mom.
I almost didn't answer—I wasn't in the right headspace for a family call—but guilt won out.
"Hi, Mom."
"Ji-Mang-ah." Her voice was shaky, and I immediately knew something was wrong. "I'm sorry to call so early. I know you're busy."
"It's fine. What happened?"
There was a long pause, and I heard her take a deep breath. "Your father... he lost his job. They laid off half the factory workers on Thursday. He came home with a box of his things and—" Her voice broke. "We don't know what we're going to do."
The world tilted. "What? But he's worked there for twelve years."
"I know. They said it's economic restructuring. He'll get one month of severance, and then... nothing."
"Okay." I tried to think through the panic. "Okay, so you have one month to figure things out. He can find another job in a month, right?"
"Ji-Mang." She sounded exhausted. "There are no jobs. Not here. Everyone from the factory is looking for work. And your father is fifty-three. No one wants to hire someone his age when they can get younger workers for less."
"He could try the city. Busan, or—"
"We can't afford to move. And we can't afford to stay." She was crying now, trying to keep it quiet. "Rent is 800,000 a month. Utilities, food, your siblings' school expenses... even with your father's severance and what you send us, we won't make it past two months. And that's assuming nothing else goes wrong."
My chest felt tight. I pulled up my bank account on my phone with shaking hands. 380,000 won. My next paycheck from the library would be about 250,000. The convenience store, another 200,000.
Not even close to enough.
"How much do you need?" I asked, even though I was afraid of the answer.
"I don't know. To survive comfortably until your father finds work? Maybe 2 million a month. But we can make do with less, we always have. If you could just send a bit more than usual, maybe 500,000 instead of the normal 100,000? We'll figure out the rest."
Five hundred thousand won. Every month. On top of my rent, my food, my own expenses.
I did the math in my head. I'd have to pick up every extra shift available at both jobs. Cut my expenses to basically nothing. Maybe drop a class to free up time for more work.
And LEET prep? The tutoring I desperately needed? The study materials I hadn't bought yet?
"I'll send it," I heard myself say. "500,000 a month. I'll make it work."
"Oh, sweetheart. Thank you. I'm so sorry we have to ask this of you. You work so hard already."
"It's okay, Mom. We're family. We take care of each other."
After I hung up, I sat there in the empty study room, staring at my phone, at the numbers that didn't add up no matter how I calculated them.
My LEET prep book sat on the desk, mocking me with its promises of a better future. A future that was rapidly slipping out of reach.
I could ask Bok-Jin for help. The thought crept in unbidden. Two million won over a few months—that was probably what he spent on clothes. What his family spent on a single business dinner.
But then what? I'd be the girlfriend who needed her rich boyfriend to support her family. I'd prove every single person right who said I was with him for his money. And even worse—I'd know. I'd always know that I couldn't handle my own problems.
And it wouldn't just be a one-time thing. This wasn't a crisis to solve, it was a new reality. My father might not find work for months. Years, even. I'd be asking for help over and over, becoming more dependent, more indebted.
No.
No, I would figure this out myself. I always had.
I just had to give up a few things. Like sleep. And decent meals. And maybe my dreams of law school, at least for now.
My phone buzzed.
Bok-Jin: Please talk to me. I'm worried about you.
I stared at the message for a long time, then turned off my phone.
I spent the next five hours trying to work through LEET practice problems while my brain calculated and recalculated impossible budgets.
If I worked 30 hours a week at the convenience store instead of 20... if I picked up weekend shifts at the library... if I stopped buying coffee... if I lived on ramyeon and rice for every meal...
Maybe. Maybe I could make 500,000 a month work while still covering my own expenses.
But that left no room for LEET prep. No money for the tutoring program Professor Kwon had recommended. No time to actually study when I was working 50+ hours a week on top of classes.
Law school was supposed to happen next year. I was supposed to take LEET in December, apply in January, start law school next March.
Now I was looking at... what? Delaying a year? Two years? Indefinitely?
By noon, I was crying over my practice problems, the words blurring together until they were meaningless.
I turned my phone back on. Twenty-three messages from Bok-Jin, escalating from concerned to worried to almost frantic.
Bok-Jin: Please just let me know you're okay.
Bok-Jin: I'm going to the rooftop at 2 like we planned. Please come. We need to talk.
Bok-Jin: It's 1:30. I'm leaving now. I'll wait for you.
I checked the time. 1:47 PM.
I should go. We'd agreed to talk. I owed him that much.
But I also knew that if I went up there, if I saw him, if he was kind to me the way he always was, I might break down and tell him everything. And then he'd offer to help, because that's who he was. And I'd either accept and hate myself, or refuse and have to explain why, and either way it would become about money. About the gap between us. About all the ways I wasn't enough.
My phone rang. Bok-Jin.
I answered because I was too tired not to.
"Thank god," he breathed. "Where are you? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You haven't answered my messages all day and I saw your face this morning and—where are you?"
"I'm at the library study room."
"I'm on the rooftop. Can you come up? Please?"
I closed my eyes, thinking about my father's lost job, my mother's tears, the 500,000 won I needed to send home every month, the future slipping away from me.
"Okay. Five minutes. I'm coming."
The rooftop access door felt heavier than it had two weeks ago when he'd first brought me here. Or maybe that was just the weight I was carrying.
I pushed it open and stepped out into the afternoon sun. Bok-Jin was standing near the edge—not dangerously close, just looking out over the city like he was trying to find answers in the skyline.
He turned when he heard the door. Relief flooded his face, quickly followed by concern.
"You're here," he said.
"I said I would be."
"I wasn't sure you'd come." He took a step toward me, then stopped, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to get closer. "About this morning—"
"You don't have to explain."
"I do, actually. Because I saw your face when you saw us together, and I know what it looked like."
"It looked like exactly what it was. You and Park Seo-Yeon, having coffee, looking perfect together."
"We weren't—it wasn't like that. She asked to meet because she wanted to tell me something. Something important about why she's really back in Korea."
"I don't need to know why she's back. It doesn't matter."
"It does matter. Because she's not interested in me. She's gay, Ji-Mang. She came out to her parents before she left for Columbia, and they sent her away to 'fix herself.' She's back now and they're pushing her toward me because they think she's changed, but she hasn't. She's using our families' expectations as cover so they'll leave her alone."
I blinked, processing. "She's... gay?"
"Yes. She told me this morning. Asked if I'd be willing to pretend, to keep up appearances. I said no. Because I'm with you, and I'm not going to pretend to be with anyone else."
This should have made me feel better. Should have solved at least one problem.
Instead, I just felt tired.
"That's good," I said flatly. "I'm glad she trusted you."
"You don't sound glad. You sound exhausted." He moved closer, and I saw the worry in his eyes. "Something else is wrong. Please talk to me."
I could tell him. Could explain about my father losing his job, about the 500,000 won I needed to send home every month, about my dreams crumbling under the weight of family obligation.
Or I could end this now, before it got more complicated. Before I was tempted to lean on someone I couldn't afford to depend on.
"I can't do this anymore," I said quietly.
His face went pale. "Can't do what?"
"This. Us. I can't keep pretending we're going to work when everything about our situations makes it impossible."
"What are you talking about? Seo-Yeon isn't a threat—"
"This isn't about Seo-Yeon. This is about reality. Your family's expectations, my family's needs, the fact that you can afford casual Saturday morning coffee while I'm..." I stopped before I said too much. "We're from different worlds. That's not going to change."
"I don't care about different worlds. I care about you."
"But I care about worlds! I care that your life is full of options while mine is full of obligations. I care that no matter how much we want this, reality doesn't care what we want."
"Where is this coming from? What happened?"
"Nothing happened. I'm just being realistic."
"You're being scared." He moved closer, and I stepped back. The hurt on his face was immediate. "Ji-Mang, please. Whatever this is, we can figure it out together."
"No, we can't. Because some problems can't be solved by wanting them away. Some gaps are too wide to cross."
"I don't believe that."
"Then you're naive."
The word landed like a slap. I watched him flinch.
"Is this really what you want?" he asked quietly. "To end this? To give up?"
No. Yes. I don't know.
"I think it's what needs to happen."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have."
We stood there, the city spread out below us, and I memorized everything. The way the afternoon light caught his glasses. The hurt and confusion on his face. The feeling of my heart breaking in real time.
"I should go," I said.
"Don't. Please don't do this."
"I'm sorry."
I turned toward the door, and he caught my hand.
"At least tell me this is temporary," he said desperately. "Tell me you need space and we can work through this when you're ready."
I wanted to say yes. Wanted to leave that door open.
But leaving doors open just meant prolonging the inevitable pain.
"Space isn't going to fix this," I said, pulling my hand free. "We were always going to end up here. We just didn't want to see it."
"I don't accept that."
"You don't have to. But it doesn't change anything."
I walked to the door, and this time he didn't try to stop me.
"Ji-Mang," he called out as I reached for the handle.
I paused but didn't turn around.
"I love you," he said. "I know I haven't said it before, and maybe this is the worst possible time, but I love you. And I'm not giving up on us just because you're scared."
The words hit like a physical blow. I felt tears burning behind my eyes.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, and pushed through the door before he could see me cry.
I made it to the stairwell before I broke. I sat down on the steps and sobbed—for the relationship I was ending, for my father's lost job, for the future I couldn't afford anymore, for all the impossible choices I had to make.
My phone buzzed. A text from my mom: Your father is looking at jobs in other cities. It might mean moving. I'll keep you updated.
Moving. Which meant my siblings changing schools, disrupting their lives, my parents starting over in their fifties.
All because we were poor and had no safety net and one lost job could destroy everything we'd built.
I looked at my phone, at the messages from Bok-Jin above my mom's text. The boy who'd just told me he loved me. Who could solve my family's problems without noticing the expense.
I could call him back. Could swallow my pride and ask for help.
But then what? He'd give me money—of course he would—and I'd become the charity case girlfriend. The one who needed rescue. The one who proved everyone right about why poor girls dated rich boys.
And it wouldn't stop at one payment. My family's situation was ongoing. I'd need help next month, and the month after, and eventually I'd just be... what? His dependent? His project?
No.
I dried my tears and stood up.
I would figure this out the way I'd figured out everything else in my life. By working harder, sacrificing more, making do with less.
I'd pick up extra shifts. Drop to part-time student status if I had to. Put law school on hold—not forever, just until my family was stable.
It wasn't the life I'd planned. But it was the life I had.
And I was going to survive it without Choi Bok-Jin's money or his love or anything else from his world that I couldn't pay back.
Even if it meant giving up everything I'd ever wanted.