Why wait till 30?

You two are horrendously bad at relationships.

Like, it’s almost a running joke at this point. You with your naïve, aloof nature—so clueless that you once got asked out and only realized it wasn’t a “study session” two weeks later when the other person stopped talking to you. And Jinsol, who’s just as bad but for entirely different reasons. Where you were oblivious, she was merciless. The moment she broke up with someone, it was like they were on trial and she was both the judge AND the executioner.

“He really thought writing poetry about his car made him interesting,” she once scoffed, sprawled out on your couch, chewing through a bag of chips.

“And?” you asked, not really getting it.

“And that’s fucking pathetic,” she said, eyes sharp like she just witnessed a crime scene.

“…Maybe he just really loved his car. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

She stared at you like you were hopeless. “And that’s why you’re single.”

“I’m just empathetic, JIn-sol.”

Conversations like that were your bread and butter. Somewhere between insulting each other’s non-existent dating lives and silently agreeing you both were doomed, the years just piled on. From awkward high school classrooms to almost nodding asleep during university lectures, you and Jinsol became this weird constant, like a pair of introverts who couldn’t be bothered to replace each other.

And the out-of-nowhere dumb pact? That was born out of one of those long, aimless summer afternoons when you were on summer break.

You remember it clearly. You were both around fifteen, sitting on the curb outside the corner store with popsicles melting faster than you could eat them. The heat shimmered on the asphalt, cicadas buzzing like they had a personal vendetta against your eardrums.

“What if nobody ever likes me?” you asked suddenly, licking a streak of orange off your wrist.

Jinsol turned to look at you, eyes squinted under the sunlight, and snorted. “What do you mean, what if? No one likes you now.”

“Hey!” you shoved her shoulder, nearly making her drop her grape popsicle.

She caught it and shot you a glare. “Don’t start something you can’t win, dumbass.”

Still, after a moment, she frowned and stared at the sticky pavement. “But… yeah. What if nobody ever likes me either?”

There was a pause. The kind that stretched out uncomfortably, filled only by the sound of cicadas and your slurping. Then, in your infinite fifteen-year-old wisdom, you shrugged. “Then… we can just, I dunno… date each other.”

Her head snapped toward you, disbelief painted across her face. “Excuse me?”

You nodded solemnly, as if you’d just solved world hunger. “Yeah. Like, if we’re both still single at… thirty or something, we’ll just date each other. Problem solved.”

Jinsol let out a laugh so sharp it nearly made you drop your own popsicle. “Are you high? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Who would actually want that?”

“You,” you shot back instantly. “Obviously.”

For a second, her mouth opened like she was ready to destroy you with another insult. But then she just huffed, rolled her eyes, and muttered, “Fine. Whatever. If we’re both single, or still single at thirty, we’ll date. Happy? Dumbass prick.”

“Very,” you grinned, leaning back on your hands like you’d just made the most bulletproof plan in history.

And that was that. It was stupid, childish, completely unserious… and yet it stuck. Even as the years rolled on, even as crushes came and went, even as Jin-sol rattled off her breakup postmortems and you fumbled your way through misunderstanding people’s signals — you both kept that promise tucked away. Half joke, half safety net.

Not because you were in love. Not then, anyway. But because, in a world where neither of you seemed to quite fit the puzzle, it was nice knowing there was one piece that would always, somehow, click.

Years passed, the pact aged like a dumb inside joke you never threw away. It popped up every now and then—sometimes when Jinsol was ranting about a failed date, sometimes when you were both three drinks in and too tired to censor yourselves. But it was always brushed off with an eye-roll, a laugh, or a “don’t remind me.”

Until one very normal, very soul-crushing Tuesday at the office.

The two of you ended up working at the same company, which was either fate or punishment, you weren’t sure (let’s go with punishment, just so that she won’t beat you anymore). The open-plan office was a battlefield of keyboards clacking, phones ringing, and people pretending they were busier than they actually were. You sat across from Jinsol, which meant that at least once every hour, you’d look up and find her staring deadpan at her monitor like it had personally offended her.

By the third hour of the day, boredom got the better of you. Leaning over your desk, you whispered, “Hey, Jin-sol. Remember our deal?”

Jinsoul didn’t even glance up from her screen. “What deal?”

“You know,” you said, lowering your voice conspiratorially, “if we’re still single at thirty…”

She groaned, head tilting back against her chair. “Don’t tell me you’re actually bringing that up here. In the middle of the fucking work hour.”

“I’m just saying,” you grinned, tapping your pen against the desk, “we’ve got a few years left, but maybe I should start booking the wedding hall early.”

You expected the usual. You know, her rolling her eyes, maybe muttering “idiot” under her breath before going back to whatever paperwork she was torturing. But instead, she lifted her head up slowly, eyes narrowing on you with this sharp seriousness that knocked the wind out of your chest.

“Why wait until thirty?” she said flatly. “We can just date now.”

Silence. Absolute silence. Even the humming lights seemed to stop for a second.

You blinked at her, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for the smirk, the sarcastic jab, the “just kidding, you moron.” But it never came. She just stood up, grabbed her empty coffee mug, and brushed past your desk.

Huh? Did she say that right?

“Wait—wait, hold up.” You scrambled out of your chair and hurried after her, nearly tripping over the wheel of your chair in your excitement. “Did you just—are you serious right now?”

“I don’t know, am I?” she shot back instantly, walking faster.

“That’s not a no!” you grinned, following her down the aisle between cubicles. “That’s a denial-but-that’s-actually-a-yes. I know that tone.”

“Bug off,” she muttered, not even turning around.

“See? You didn’t say no again!” You jogged to catch up, practically bouncing with energy. “Do you realize what you’ve done now? You can’t just casually say, ‘let’s date now,’ and expect me to function normally. My entire system’s fried. I need to take the PTO this instant.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll finally stop being so fucking loud,” she said, but her pace had slowed just slightly, betraying her.

“I’m telling you right now, if you don’t clarify, I’m going to assume we’re dating. Like, immediately. Boyfriend status. Lock screen photo. Couple discounts at cafés. All of it.”

She stopped abruptly at the coffee machine, finally turning just enough to glare at you. “You’re stupid.”

“And yet…” you leaned against the counter, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face, “…you’re not telling me I’m wrong.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing, and you knew she was about to deliver one of her signature cutting remarks. But instead, she suddenly grabbed your collar, yanked you down, and pressed her lips against yours. It wasn’t long. It wasn’t soft either. Just sharp, deliberate, like she was shutting you up in the most efficient way possible.

By the time she pulled away, your brain had completely blue-screened. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out, your grin wiped clean off your face and replaced with wide-eyed shock.

“Finally,” she muttered, brushing past you with her coffee mug. “Some peace and fucking quiet.”