Sunday afternoon I changed my outfit three times before Min-Ji physically stopped me.
"It's not a date," she said, watching me debate between two nearly identical sweaters.
"I know it's not a date."
"Then why are you acting like it's a date?"
"I'm not acting like—" I stopped, seeing her knowing smile. "Okay, fine. I'm acting like it's a date. But it's NOT a date. We're just friends going to a festival."
"Friends who are in love with each other but taking it slow."
"We're not—I haven't said—" I gave up. "The blue sweater or the cream one?"
"Cream. It makes you look softer. Less like you're about to argue someone into submission."
"I don't look like that."
"You absolutely do. It's your brand. But today you can be soft." She flopped onto my bed. "Just have fun, okay? Stop overthinking everything. He likes you. You like him. Go look at flowers and eat overpriced festival food and enjoy being young and not actively dying."
"That's a low bar."
"It's an appropriate bar given recent events."
She had a point.
I settled on the cream sweater, jeans, and my good jacket—the one Yoo-Na had insisted I buy last year that was too nice for my usual life but perfect for today. Minimal makeup, hair down and actually styled for once.
When I emerged from my room, both roommates whistled.
"Look at you," Yoo-Na said approvingly. "Actual effort. I'm so proud."
"It's not that much effort."
"For you it is. You usually look like a beautiful disaster. Today you look like a beautiful person who slept more than four hours."
"Why are you both like this?"
"Because we love you," Min-Ji said. "Now go. He'll be here soon."
Bok-Jin texted at 1:55: I'm outside.
I grabbed my bag, ignored my roommates' knowing looks, and headed down.
He was waiting by the building entrance, and when he saw me, his whole face lit up in a way that made my heart stutter.
He was wearing dark jeans and a gray sweater under his jacket, his glasses catching the afternoon sun, and he looked unfairly good for someone who claimed to have spent yesterday drowning in midterm papers.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi. You look nice."
"So do you. Really nice." He seemed almost shy about it. "Ready?"
"Ready."
We walked to the subway station, and the comfortable silence from running club carried over. Not awkward, just easy. Like we didn't need to fill every moment with conversation.
The festival was at Olympic Park, about thirty minutes away. The train was crowded with people heading to the same place—families with kids, couples, groups of friends. We ended up standing close together, holding the same pole, and I was very aware of how near he was.
"This is probably going to be a nightmare," he said. "Overcrowded, overpriced, and probably underwhelming cherry blossoms."
"Then why are we going?"
"Because it's a beautiful day and we're alive and not actively in crisis. That seems worth celebrating."
I couldn't argue with that logic.
Olympic Park was indeed crowded. The cherry blossom trees lining the paths were in full bloom, creating tunnels of pale pink and white. Festival vendors had set up stalls selling everything from tteokbokki to flower crowns, and stages scattered throughout the park featured live music.
It was touristy and cliché and absolutely beautiful.
"Okay, I was wrong," Bok-Jin admitted, looking at the cherry blossoms overhead. "This is actually really nice."
"Don't sound so surprised. Spring is objectively the best season."
"That's a strong claim. Fall exists."
"Fall is just spring's depressed older sibling. Spring is hope and renewal and flowers. Fall is dying leaves and existential dread."
"That's the most lawyer thing you've ever said."
"I'm pre-law. It's my job to have strong opinions about everything."
We walked through the festival, stopping at various stalls. I insisted on buying us hotteok from a vendor because I'd been craving it, and Bok-Jin got us cups of makgeolli from another stall despite my protests that it was too early to drink.
"It's a festival," he argued. "Festival rules apply. Normal time conventions are irrelevant."
"That's not how time works."
"It's exactly how time works."
We found a spot on the grass overlooking one of the ponds, sat down with our snacks, and watched people mill about. Kids running around with balloons, couples taking selfies under the cherry blossoms, elderly people walking slowly and appreciating the view.
"This is nice," I said, taking a sip of makgeolli. "Just... existing. Not studying or working or worrying."
"You should do it more often."
"I'm trying. It's harder than it sounds."
"I know." He was quiet for a moment, then: "Can I tell you something?"
"Always."
"When you collapsed at running club, I was terrified. Not just worried—actually scared. Because I realized how much you meant to me and how little I could do if you were determined to destroy yourself."
I set down my cup, not sure what to say.
"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty," he continued. "I'm just... I'm glad you're taking care of yourself now. That you let people help. That you're here instead of working yourself into the ground."
"Me too," I said quietly. "And I'm sorry. For scaring you. For pushing you away when you were just trying to care."
"You don't have to apologize again. I just wanted you to know that—" He stopped, seeming to search for words. "I see you. Not just the perfect student or the hard worker or the girl who has everything figured out. I see the person who's scared and tired and trying her best. And I think that person is pretty amazing."
My throat felt tight. "Bok-Jin—"
"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to hear it."
We sat in silence for a while, and I felt something shift between us. Something that had been building since our coffee conversation, maybe even before that.
A band started playing on a nearby stage—some indie rock group covering popular songs. The music drifted over the festival, and people started gathering to watch.
"Want to go closer?" Bok-Jin asked.
"Yeah."
We packed up our things and made our way toward the stage. The crowd was thick, and at one point Bok-Jin reached back and took my hand so we wouldn't get separated.
And then he didn't let go.
I looked down at our joined hands, then up at him. He glanced back, saw me noticing, and there was a question in his eyes.
I didn't pull away.
We found a spot near the back of the crowd, and he kept holding my hand, his thumb absently tracing patterns on my palm. It felt natural. Right.
The band played energetic songs that made people dance, and then shifted to slower ones that made couples sway together. We stood close, hands still linked, and I felt like a teenager at her first dance—nervous and excited and overwhelmingly aware of every point of contact.
"Is this okay?" he asked quietly, leaning close so I could hear over the music.
"Yeah. This is okay."
"We're taking it slow."
"We are."
"But this feels less slow than before."
"A little bit."
He smiled, and there was something warm and hopeful in it. "Good."
After the band finished their set, we wandered through more of the festival. Past food stalls and craft vendors, under cherry blossom trees that dropped petals like pink snow. We were still holding hands, and I'd stopped questioning whether we should be.
We found a photo booth near one of the food areas—the kind with props and filters and multiple poses.
"We should do it," Bok-Jin said.
"That's so touristy."
"We're literally at a tourist festival. Come on."
He pulled me into the booth before I could protest further. We squeezed onto the small bench, and the first photo snapped before we were ready—both of us laughing, my hand up trying to block the camera.
For the second one, we made silly faces. The third, we grabbed props—him with a fake mustache, me with heart-shaped glasses. The fourth was supposed to be serious, but he made a ridiculous face at the last second and I was caught laughing again.
We emerged with strips of photos, and I looked at them with unexpected fondness. We looked happy. Genuinely, uncomplicated happy.
"Can I keep one?" he asked.
"Yeah. You can have the set with the silly faces. I'll keep the one where I look like I'm about to murder you."
"That's very on brand for you."
We continued walking, eventually finding ourselves back near the pond. The sun was starting to set, painting everything in golden light, and the cherry blossoms seemed to glow.
"Thank you for this," I said. "For today. It was exactly what I needed."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I forgot what it's like to just... enjoy things. Without guilt or worry or feeling like I should be doing something more productive."
"You're allowed to enjoy things. You know that, right?"
"I'm learning."
We found a bench overlooking the water and sat down. The festival was starting to thin out as families with young kids headed home, but plenty of people remained, enjoying the evening.
"Can I ask you something?" Bok-Jin said after a while.
"Sure."
"Where do you want this to go? Us, I mean. Are we building toward getting back together, or are we just figuring things out, or—"
"I don't know," I admitted. "I know I like spending time with you. I know I missed you. I know that holding your hand today felt right. But I'm also scared of rushing into something before I'm ready. Before we're ready."
"That's fair. We don't have to decide anything right now."
"But you want to know where we stand."
"I want to know what you're thinking. What you're feeling."
I took a breath, trying to articulate something I'd been feeling but hadn't put into words.
"I think I'm falling for you again," I said quietly. "Or maybe I never stopped falling. But this time it feels different. Less desperate, more... solid. Like we're building something that could actually last instead of just getting swept up in feelings."
He was quiet, processing.
"I'm scared of hurting you again," I continued. "I'm scared of my pride getting in the way, or my fear of dependence, or any of the thousand ways I could mess this up. But I'm more scared of not trying. Of walking away from something real because I'm too afraid to be vulnerable."
"So what do we do?"
"We keep doing this. Taking it slow. Being honest. Figuring out what we are together." I looked at him. "And maybe... maybe we acknowledge that this isn't just friendship anymore. That we're moving toward something more. Even if we're not quite there yet."
He smiled, and it was soft and genuine. "I can work with that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He reached over and took my hand again. "I can work with slow. As long as we're moving forward."
We sat there as the sun set fully, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The festival lights started coming on, fairy lights strung through the cherry blossoms, making everything look magical.
"I should probably get you home," he said eventually. "It's getting late."
"Probably."
Neither of us moved.
Finally, we stood and made our way back to the subway station. On the train home, less crowded now, we sat close together. Not quite cuddling, but my shoulder against his arm, comfortable and warm.
At my building, we stopped in our usual spot.
"Thank you for today," I said. "Really. It was perfect."
"It was pretty good," he agreed. "Even with the crowds and overpriced food."
"Especially with the crowds and overpriced food. That's what makes it authentic."
He laughed, and then we just stood there, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing.
"I'm not going to kiss you," he said.
"Oh. Okay."
"Not because I don't want to. But because when we kiss again, I want it to be when we're sure. When we're together for real, not just figuring things out."
"That's very noble of you."
"I'm a very noble person."
"You really aren't."
"Fair." He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture achingly gentle. "But I'm trying to be. For you."
"I appreciate the effort."
"Goodnight, Ji-Mang."
"Goodnight, Bok-Jin."
I watched him walk away, and this time I let myself feel it fully. The wanting, the hope, the terrifying possibility that this might actually work.
When I got upstairs, both roommates were waiting like predators.
"Well?" Min-Ji demanded.
"We had a nice time."
"That's it? 'A nice time'? You're gone for six hours and all you have is 'nice'?"
I pulled out the photo strip from my bag and showed them. "We took photos. He held my hand. We talked about where this is going. It was good."
Yoo-Na studied the photos with a soft smile. "You look happy. Really happy."
"I am happy. Scared, but happy."
"That's allowed," she said. "Both things can be true."
"Yeah. I'm learning that."
I went to my room and pinned the photo strip to my cork board, right next to my LEET study schedule and my list of law schools. A reminder that I could have both—academic ambition and personal happiness. That they didn't have to be mutually exclusive.
I pulled out my phone and found a text from Bok-Jin, sent while I was talking to my roommates.
Bok-Jin: I had a really good time today. Let's do it again soon?
Me: Yeah. Let's.
Bok-Jin: Sweet dreams, Ji-Mang.
Me: You too.
I got ready for bed with a lightness I hadn't felt in months. Tomorrow I'd have running club, then classes, then LEET prep. I'd be busy and stressed and juggling a million things.
But I'd also have this—moments of happiness stolen from the chaos. Cherry blossoms and hand-holding and the possibility of something real.
And for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.
More than enough.
It felt like everything.