before

Park Minju was crying in your arms. The only thing you could think about was how small she felt in your arms.

Minju was small in stature, but that was the only thing about her that ever was. Not her presence, not her voice, and certainly not her passion and effort. But tonight, with her face buried into your chest and her fingers gripping your shirt like her life depended on it, she felt fragile.

“I don’t want to go like this,” she whispered, her voice uneven. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without you.”

Your hold on her tightened. “You’re acting like we’ll never see each other again.”

“It feels like it. I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again. It could be years.” she said.

You didn’t have an answer for that. Your heart ached, knowing that this was the last time you’d see each other for a long time. You wanted to tell her to stay, tell her you’d wait for her, but you knew you couldn’t.

The car was quiet except for her soft crying and the faint hum of the world outside. It was the same neighborhood you’d grown up together in, the same streets you’d walked side by side a thousand times. Everything was the same.

“You’re going to be amazing,” you told her, the words coming out steadier than you felt. “You’ve been working for this forever. You’re going to be an idol. This is your dream, Minju.”

Minju shook her head against you. “That’s not what I’m scared of.”

You knew.

Her grip loosened slightly, but she didn’t pull away. “What if things change?”

“Things will change.”

She pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red, searching. “That’s not comforting.”

You smiled, just a little.

“I know. But it doesn’t mean we will.”

Those words hung between you for longer than they should have.

Minju looked up at you, studying your face.

“Promise me something, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t disappear on me.”

Your chest tightened.

“I won’t,” you assured her.

It wasn’t a lie.

She nodded, like she wanted to believe you, then leaned forward and hugged you again, tighter this time, like she was trying to make up for all the time that was about to be lost.

The airport the next morning felt too bright. Too loud. 

Her family stood close by, talking, checking bags, going over details. Minju stood among them, but not really with them. Every now and then, her eyes would flick to you like she was checking if you were still there.

You stayed a step back.

It was safer that way.

When she finally walked over, it felt like everything slowed down and sped up at the same time.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

That was it.

After everything last night, after all the tears, that was all you could manage.

Minju let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “This is awkward.”

“Yeah.” you said.

There was a pause.

“I’ll text you,” she said quickly. “And call. A lot. Probably too much.”

You nodded. “I won’t complain.”

You tried to smile, but you couldn’t hide your true feelings in your expression.

You could feel it. Like yesterday, you felt the urge to say something bigger, something dangerous. 

 “Stay.” 

“Don’t go.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

Instead, you stepped back, putting some distance between you.

“You should go,” you said.

Her expression flickered, just for a second.

Then she nodded.

“Okay.”

She hesitated, then stepped forward and hugged you. It was quick this time. Careful. Like if she held on too long, she wouldn’t be able to let go.

When she pulled away, she didn’t look at you right away.

“Don’t forget me,” she said softly.

“I won’t.”

She gave you one last look. An unreadable expression as she turned and walked away.

You watched as she disappeared.

Only then could you breathe again.

The rest of the summer was a blur.

This was your last summer before college, but it just felt empty. Everything reminded you of her.

Late-night drives with no destination, music playing too loud, her voice singing off-key just to make you laugh.

Convenience store runs at 2 AM, arguing over snacks that you would never even finish.

Sitting in the car long after you’d parked, talking about everything and nothing. Her dreams, your plans, what life might look like in five years.

“Do you think we’ll still be like this?” she had asked once, her legs pulled up to her chest in the passenger seat.

“Like what?”

“Us.”

You shrugged, pretending it was an easy question. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we be?”

She had smiled at that. Like she needed to hear it.

And in a blur, the summer was over, and just like her, you were going to leave this place behind. 

At first, the distance didn’t feel like distance.

Minju called all the time. Random hours, in the morning, after practice, before bed, whether she was feeling excited, exhausted, alive.

“Guess what happened today—”

“You will not believe this—”

“I miss you.”

That one always came quieter.

You matched her energy. Stayed up late with her. Woke up early. Replied fast. Sent voice notes. Laughed like nothing had changed.

And in those moments, it really felt like nothing changed.

But slowly, something shifted.

Maybe it was seeing her on the screen instead of next to you.

Maybe it was not knowing when you’d ever see her again. If you’d ever see her again.

No. You knew. You wished she were still here with you. You wished she had stayed, you wished she had never left to chase her dream of becoming an idol, and you hated yourself for thinking it. 

So you started pulling back. You had to. You couldn’t feel this way. You weren’t allowed to.

Your replies got shorter.

Calls became less frequent.

Video calls became regular phone calls.

“I’m busy” became easier for you to say.

Minju noticed.

“Are you okay?” she asked one night.

“Yeah. Just school.”

“You feel… far.”

You forced a laugh. “We are far.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

You didn’t answer.

As time passed, she stayed the same, constantly texting, calling you.

You took longer to respond, your messages got shorter, tell her you’d call her later.

You couldn’t bear to see her messages, her calls show up on your phone. Her cheerful messages, her eagerness to talk to you about anything and everything. She was too bright, everything you couldn’t face anymore.

You stopped answering. And for months, she kept trying. Texting, calling, reaching out.

One day, your phone didn’t buzz anymore.

University was… good.

Better than you expected, actually.

You made friends quickly. Some who’d last, and others, who just made life easier. Late-night study sessions turned into takeout runs. Weekends blurred together between parties and cramped apartments.

You went out more than you thought you would.

There were nights you barely remembered and mornings you definitely regretted, laughing it off with people who only knew this version of you.

And for a while, that was enough.

Classes weren’t a problem. You buried yourself in them when you needed to. It gave you structure, something to focus on when your mind wandered too far.

You built a routine.

Wake up. Classes. Study. Gym, sometimes. Go out. Repeat. It was simple.

There were people, too.

A few. Not serious.

Some almost-somethings that never became anything.

You tried, once or twice. Let conversations linger a little longer. Let someone sit in with you, hoping it could turn into something real.

There was always something missing.

You would always think of someone.

You didn’t say her name. Not out loud. Never.

But she was there.

In the moments between everything else, when it was quiet, when you accidentally let yourself think.

Years of knowing someone that closely doesn’t just disappear.

Of course you’d think about her.

Of course you’d compare.

It didn’t mean anything.

That’s what you told yourself.

And over time, it got easier.

Not better.

Just… easier to ignore.

You laughed when you were supposed to. Showed up when it mattered. Kept moving forward like everyone else around you.

From the outside, you were doing everything right.

You’d worked hard and made your parents proud. Dean’s list every semester. Graduated with honors, and started working with a startup that eventually made it big. You were making a lot of money.

Too much for just you.

It was everything you were supposed to want.

A high-rise apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows. A view that stretched across the city like something out of a movie. 

People respected you. Listened to you. To them, you were doing everything right.

“You’re killing it.”

“You got in at the perfect time.”

“Do you even realize how big this is going to get?”

You smiled. Nodded. Said all the right things.

But none of it stayed with you once you were alone again.

Your phone would light up with emails, group chats, work notifications.

Never her name.

Not anymore.

Seoul didn’t feel real.

It was just a work trip. You had landed, checked in, gone through the motions. Now it was past midnight, and you were lying in a hotel bed, staring at a ceiling, unable to sleep.

The hotel room felt too quiet. Maybe it was the jet lag. Or maybe this unfamiliarity you were feeling in a place that should feel like home.

After an hour of staring at the ceiling, you gave up and got dressed.

The streets were still alive despite the hour. Neon lights, quiet conversations, the low hum of a city that never fully slept.

You walked without thinking.

And somehow, without trying, you ended up at a convenience store.

You almost laughed to yourself.

Some things don’t change.

Inside, it was quiet. Bright lights, stocked shelves, the sound of a refrigerator humming.

You wandered for a bit before stopping in front of the drinks.

You reached out.

At the exact same time, someone else did too.

Their hands brushed.

“Sorry—”

“Sorry—”

They both froze.

You turned your head.

And there she was.

Minju.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

She looked different, but not really. Older, maybe. More polished. But her eyes were the same.

Still hers.

Still… familiar.

“…Hi,” she said, almost like she wasn’t sure it was real.

You swallowed. “Hi.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

“Wow,” she said softly, a small, disbelieving smile forming. “You look…”

“You too,” you said.

She let out a quiet laugh, the tension breaking just a little. “I didn’t think I’d run into you like this.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Me neither. What are you doing here so late?”

She shrugged. “I just needed something after a late schedule.”

Another silence.

“So,” she said, shifting slightly, still holding her drink. “You live here now?”

“No. Just a work trip.”

She nodded. “I’m… here.”

You smiled slightly. “Yeah. I figured.”

That earned a real laugh.

And for a split second, it felt like before.