The afternoon light outside the Seoul Central District Court was strangely soft, too gentle for a place where so many people walked in carrying broken pieces of themselves and walked out pretending they weren't bleeding. Cars passed, lawyers hurried down the steps, reporters clustered in small groups like vultures waiting for the next headline.
And then there was Seon-Woo.
He stood there as if the world around him had muted itself. His hair was slightly longer than before, brushed back in a way that made him look older, quieter. A man who had lost more than he ever admitted.
When she stepped out of the courthouse, he looked up.
Ha Yoon froze.
Years rearranged themselves inside her chest, memories slipping back into place with the quiet accuracy of a lock turning open. She had not seen him in so long, yet he looked exactly like someone she had once known so intimately it hurt just to breathe.
"You got everything you wanted," he said softly.
Not bitter.
Not angry.
Just tired.
His eyes scanned her face, not in the way lovers do, but like someone trying to confirm she was real.
"And you're not stuck here like me."
A faint smile. The kind that looks like it hurts to make.
Her heartbeat wavered.
"Long time no see," she said, trying to steady her voice.
"Struggle makes us move on so fast… faster than we ever expect."
The wind pushed a few strands of hair across her face. She didn't move them away. She couldn't, not while he was looking at her like that, like she was the last familiar piece of a world he barely recognized anymore.
Before either of them could speak again, footsteps approached.
A man in sleek, expensive casual wear, a confident stride, effortless presence. Someone who had been written into her present life long after Seon-Woo had disappeared from it.
"Hae-Min," Seon-Woo said quietly.
Hae-Min's expression flickered, recognition, restraint, something sharp beneath the surface.
"Seon-Woo," he answered.
The air tightened between them. A memory. A rivalry. A friendship. A wound.
None of them said another word.
Not yet.
Not here.
Not in front of a courthouse where endings were delivered like verdicts.
The silence between the three of them felt like the first crack in a frozen lake, quiet, delicate, but promising something devastating beneath.
And just like that, the past reached out and touched the present.
_____________________
Morning light stretched across the dorm hallway like a soft, golden ribbon when Ha Yoon opened her door the next day. She hadn't slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, the rain came back, warm, gentle, glowing around the edges.
She could still feel the imprint of Seon-Woo's lips, hesitant, warm, almost trembling with emotion he didn't yet know how to name.
Everyone always said she was the reasonable one.
The calm one.
The girl who never let emotions sweep her away.
But nothing about yesterday felt reckless.
Nothing felt wrong.
She wrapped her scarf around her neck and stepped outside. The campus courtyard still held last night's rain in small puddles, reflecting slices of the sky. Students drifted past her, hurrying, yawning, complaining about morning classes.
And then she saw him.
Seon-Woo stood under a maple tree, shoulders slightly hunched, hands tucked inside his coat pockets. The moment he sensed her, he lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
A soft, shy current of emotion rushed between them, warm and awkward and impossibly tender.
"You didn't text," he said.
"I didn't know what to say," she admitted.
He laughed under his breath. "Then I guess… I didn't either."
They walked together, shoulders brushing every few steps. Each accidental touch was like a spark. She wondered if he felt it too, or if she was the only one whose heartbeat stumbled each time.
Campus life moved around them as if on a different timeline.
Windows opened.
Bicycles rattled past.
A professor scolded a student for being late.
But for that moment, they lived inside a quiet, private world of two.
And everything felt beautifully simple.
Days Become Weeks
Assignments piled up.
Exams crept closer.
Stress began to settle over everyone like a heavy blanket.
Still, Seon-Woo and Ha Yoon found their rhythm, gentle, unhurried, careful.
Their relationship didn't explode into something dramatic. It unfolded softly:
Sharing instant ramen after class.
Trading pens during exams.
Leaning against each other during late-night study sessions.
Walking halfway toward each other's dorms so neither had to make the full trip alone.
Youth felt warm around them, like the beginning of something they couldn't yet see, but deeply hoped for.
One evening, he walked her back to her dorm again.
At her door, she paused, hand hovering over the doorknob.
"About… us," she whispered.
He inhaled sharply. "Do you regret it?"
Her answer was immediate. "No. I just… want to take things slow."
He let out a breath he had been holding for days.
"Good," he murmured. "Slow feels real."
He reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
A simple touch.
A quiet promise.
"Goodnight, Ha Yoon."
"Goodnight, Seon-Woo."
Near the beginning of winter, campus grew colder, finals, deadlines, exhaustion pressing down on everyone.
One night, nearing 2 a.m., Ha Yoon spotted Jung Hae-Min sitting alone on the empty bleachers overlooking the track field. The streetlights bathed him in dim gold.
"Hae-Min?" she called softly.
He didn't turn. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"
"You didn't come to class today."
He let out a humorless breath. "Family things. Complicated."
She sat beside him, silence settling between them like an old blanket.
"When you said you only saw me as a friend…"
His voice cracked a little.
"I told myself it was fine. That I'd move on. And I am. Slowly. But some days… it still hurts."
She didn't promise that it would get better.
She didn't say sorry again, he didn't need that kind of kindness.
She just placed her hand on his.
A quiet acknowledgement.
A gentle boundary.
A goodbye to a version of him that once hoped for something more.
"You're a good person, Ha Yoon," he whispered. "I hope he treats you well."
"He does."
"Good."
The cold wind brushed past them. They stayed together for a while, two people learning, gently, how to let go of what would never be.
A week later, winter settled hard on Seoul.
Students complained about the weather, about rising cafeteria prices, about finals. Everything seemed normal. Safe.
And then…
Seon-Woo planned their first real date.
He booked a restaurant, not fancy, but quiet, warm, intimate. He arrived early, hands tucked inside his pockets, rehearsing what he wanted to say.
He wanted to tell her he liked her.
Not in a light, playful way.
But in a way that scared him, in a way that felt dangerously close to falling.
And that night…
Everything began to shift.