Falling

How did you fall again?

That’s the first question everyone would ask. And honestly, you don’t even remember how it happened. Just that you were dashing for your life for the bus, and the next second the world tilted sideways.

Your left leg hit the curb –- oh right, the fucking curb…right. –- and tripped your whole body, and you swear you heard a sickening crack. The bus driver was just so nonchalant — dude didn’t even wait, just closed the door and drove off. And here you are, just lying on the ground — sprawled on the pavement like roadkill, clutching your leg and screaming into the heavens.

By the time the ambulance showed up, your pride was already in critical condition.

Hours later you wake on a hospital bed that feels too narrow for all the thoughts banging at your skull. Your left leg is wrapped in plaster, heavy and immovable, the fabric of the gown rubbing against the back of your knees. The antiseptic smell is steady and sharp, an invisible sting that licks at the back of your throat. Every breath brings a new pulse of pain; even the shallowest shift sends a hot trail of ache from calf to hip. In the silence between beeps you find yourself waiting for some angel in scrubs to appear: a gentle hand on your arm, a soft “you’ll be okay,” the kind of movie-moment consolation that would make everything feel less shameful than it is right now.

Instead, the curtain rips open and she walks, all sharp angles and a voice that drops into your memory like a stone in a still pond.

“Wow,” she drawls, her voice way too familiar. “I didn’t think you’d recognize me this fast. Most people do a double take at least.”

You blink once. Then twice. You almost convince yourself you’re hallucinating from the pain.

But no. It’s real.

Huh Yunjin.

The same girl who used to call you “bread shuttle” like it was your legal name. The same girl who’d slip you money with a smirk and order fried chicken, rice cakes, or whatever else her royal stomach craved, because “ugh, cafeteria lines are soooo long.”

For a second you blame the drugs. You blink at her; blink twice. No haze, no trick of the light. It’s her. Still her.

You can mentally replay the years back: the clipped laugh, the way she used to toss you cash and call you “bread shuttle” like it was your middle name. She had a habit of using her parents’ money like a magic wand — ordering an array of snacks at lunch, waving off queues with a flick of a wrist. Now she’s in scrubs: the cotton of the top soft against her collarbone, the badge at her chest catching a strip of fluorescent light, a clipboard under one arm that looks absurdly official in her hands. She moves like she owns that small rectangle of space at the foot of your bed.

Life really does kick you hard in the ass when you’re down.

You try to hide behind a pillow out of reflex. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you say, voice muffled into linen.

Yunjin pulls up the chair beside your bed, plopping down with way too much confidence for someone in training. “Aww, don’t be shy. You look cute in a patient gown.”

“Cute?” you repeat, peeling the pillow back. The word tastes wrong. “I look like I got run over by a truck.”

She glances at your leg, then at the chart, flipping pages with the kind of casual familiarity that annoys you more than it should. “More like tripping over your own feet,” she says. Her pen scratches; she reads out numbers with an actor’s detachment. “Anyway, left tibia fracture. Extensive bruising. Possible hairline near the ankle. Classic.” She snaps the folder closed like she’s finishing a scene. “Honestly, I thought your pride would snap first.”

You shoot her a look that was sharp enough to kill. “What the hell are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you be at, I don’t know, some shopping spree?”

“Excuse you.” She presses a hand to her chest, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m a nurse intern now.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Intern. As in… your parents ‘donated’ a wing to this hospital and gave you a scrub? That’s just nepotism.”

Her grin doesn’t falter. “Nepotism? Please. I call it…work experience?”

“Right. Of course.” You sigh and lean back. “So this is it, huh? Some fucked up comedy from above. Break my leg, then send you to babysit me.”

She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “C’mon. Admit it. You missed me a little.”

“Missed you?” You let out a bitter laugh. “The only thing I miss is the money you still owe me for all those cafeteria runs.”

Her laugh cuts through the beeps, bright, unapologetic. It’s loud enough for a passing nurse to glance in, and she doesn’t care. “God, you’re still bitter. Fine — next time you’re discharged I’ll treat you to coffee. Happy?”

You shrug, the motion small, and say, “Yeah, sure, whatever.” The words are nonchalant and yet something in your chest lightens, absurdly.

She studies you for a second, then smirks. “Say it.”

You frown. “Say what?”

“‘Thank you, Yunjin.’” She sits up straighter, like she’s waiting for the applause she thinks she deserves.

You stare at her, unblinking. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

“Oh, come on. Just once. Respect your healthcare professional.”

“Healthcare professional?” You snort. “You’re not even getting paid. If anything, you’re free labor with an ID badge.”

Yunjin gasps dramatically, clutching her clipboard like you just stabbed her. “How dare you slander the medical field like that?!”

“No, I’m slandering you.” You roll your eyes, almost into the back of your skull. “Relax. What are you gonna do? Force me to go buy bread again? Hate to break it to you, but I’m not very mobile right now.”

Her smirk turns wicked. “You know… that’s not a bad idea. Bed-shuttle has a nice ring to it.”

“That was terrible…” You groan. “Please shut up and just let me die.”

But she laughs again, softer this time, the sound filling the small hospital room. For a second, you catch her expression shift—something less smug, more… genuine.

Then it’s gone, replaced by that same grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”

You close your eyes, deciding it’s safer not to look at her anymore. But even then, you can still hear the sound of her scribbling on that clipboard, humming softly like she owns the place.

Great. Out of all the nurses in Seoul –- no, in Korea. Wait, actually, worldwide –- you get stuck with her.

The painkillers hit hard the first few nights. Not enough to knock you out peacefully, though — just enough to drag you into one of those weird, murky dreams where nothing makes sense but everything feels real. And your brain decided to replay the moments back in high school.

You were standing in the middle of the cafeteria again, tray trembling in your hands. The vivid smell of fried oil and kimchi stew clung to the air, mixed with the sharp chatter of students. But none of it was yours. The fried chicken wings, the strawberry bread wrapped in plastic, the cold carton of chocolate milk — every piece you would devour right back then belonged to her.

“Hurry up,” came the voice, sharp and expectant.

You turned your head, and there she was. Yunjin. Sitting at the best table near the wide windows, her shoes propped up on the chair next to her, surrounded by friends who laughed too loud at every word she said. Sunlight caught on the glossy strands of her hair as she twirled them around her finger, not even glancing your way.

You stumbled forward, weaving between tables, almost dropping the tray when someone bumped your shoulder. Snickers followed you like a shadow. By the time you set it down in front of her, your hands were slick with sweat.

She didn’t thank you. She didn’t even look at you. Just pulled the chocolate milk toward herself with a flick of her wrist and said, casual as ever, “Don’t forget the fish cake skewers next period.”

Her friends giggled, some covering their mouths, some not even bothering. The sound made your ears burn.

You wanted to snap back, to tell her to get her own damn food. But when you opened your mouth, no words came out. Not a single sound. And then the cafeteria shifted. The room stretched wider, the tables multiplying, the chatter rising into a roar. Suddenly, every head turned toward you, hundreds of eyes pinning you to the spot. Students pointed, whispering at first, then chanting in unison. Bread shuttle. Bread shuttle. Bread shuttle. The word swelled until it was thunder. You tried to move, but your legs refused to work. Your tray slipped from your hands, crashing to the floor, bread scattering everywhere. The chant grew louder, pounding in your skull. Bread shuttle. Bread shuttle. Bread shuttle!

You jolted awake with a sharp gasp. Chest heaving.