After a long night of tears, Soo-ji woke with puffy cheeks and swollen eyes. Mrs. Gu-won returned with the frozen spoons she'd requested. As the cold metal gently pressed against her eyelids, Soo-ji let out a soft exhale.
"Now that I think about it," she mumbled, voice still husky from crying, "I seriously overreacted yesterday. Why was I even crying that much? He didn't say anything…"
"Good morning, Ms. Kim," Seo-jun's familiar voice called out.
Startled, she yanked the spoons off her face like a child caught mid-mischief. "Seo-jun!" she said, almost like she'd been waiting for him.
"How are you feeling today?"
"Stupid," she muttered.
"Pardon?"
"Be honest," she said, sitting up straighter. "Why didn't you come after me yesterday?"
Seo-jun hesitated. "Well… Mr. Tae-hyun told me not to."
Her brows shot up. "Tae-hyun?"
"He figured if you needed to run, then it must've been important. He didn't want to stop you."
Soo-ji slapped her forehead dramatically. "Oh my God. Is he home? I really need to apologize for that unnecessary outburst."
"Unfortunately, he left very early this morning," Mrs. Gu-won said.
"When's he coming back?" Soo-ji asked quickly.
Mrs. Gu-won simply shook her head.
Soo-ji sighed, clicking her tongue. "Great."
"Should I cancel your makeup class today so you can rest?" Seo-jun asked gently.
"No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "I've already missed it too many times."
Seo-jun gave a small nod.
"I'll go get ready now."
---
An hour later, they stood at the entrance of Soo-ji's makeup school.
"Noona," Seo-jun called.
"Yes?"
"Someone else will pick you up today. I've got somewhere to be."
"Okay. Thanks for letting me know in advance," she smiled.
He bowed with a teasing smirk and turned to walk away. Soo-ji sighed as he left.
"I should've done cooking instead," she muttered, stepping inside.
---
Hours slipped by, and soon her class ended. She exited the building with a group of women, chatting lightly but keeping half an eye on her phone. Her thoughts spiraled—who was coming to get her?
She stepped outside and found herself staring at the once-beautiful cherry blossom tree at the corner. Its branches were bare now, petals long gone. As the breeze rustled the dry leaves, a voice spoke behind her.
"Did you know," the voice began, calm and deep, "in Japan, they call it hazakura—when the blossoms fall and the leaves begin to show. But this?" He stepped closer. "This is different. Withered, cold… honest."
"Honest?" Soo-ji echoed, not turning yet.
"Yeah. No petals to distract you. Just the truth of what's left behind."
She finally turned. Tae-hyun stood there, hands tucked in his coat pockets, face unreadable as always. She blinked at him, then looked back at the tree. Maybe he had a point. Maybe fall wasn't about fading—it was about revealing. Standing bare and saying, this is me without the bloom.
"You look surprised to see me," he said.
"I didn't expect you were the one the 'little guy' meant."
"Have you had lunch yet?"
She shook her head. "Not yet."
"Perfect," he said, tilting his head toward the car.
---
They ended up at a small, cozy restaurant tucked into a side street. Soo-ji, fully immersed in the flavors of her meal, ate with such gusto she didn't even notice Tae-hyun watching her.
"You come here often?" he asked.
She nodded with a mouthful, then swallowed. "You should try the food. It's mesmerizing. I know it's not your kind of place, but it's safe, clean… And for me to ditch my grandma's restaurant, trust me, that says a lot."
She took another spoonful of soup, humming in satisfaction. "Oh my God. I could live here."
"You seem to really be enjoying yourself," Tae-hyun observed.
"That's why I insisted on paying. If I didn't, I'd feel guilty eating this much. Plus, I haven't had much of an appetite lately."
"Why? You don't like Mrs. Gu-won's cooking?" he asked curiously.
"It's not that. Her food's just too… perfect. Too organized. Too precise. I like meals that are a little messy, a little flawed. It feels more real, you know?"
"That's… interesting," he murmured, finally picking up his chopsticks.
There was a brief lull before he asked quietly, "How are you feeling today, Ms. Kim?"
She froze, slowly setting down her chopsticks. "I'm… okay. And—I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I overreacted. A lot."
Tae-hyun shook his head. "I don't think you did. If anything, you didn't react enough. I thought about what you said. You were right—I've been a terrible host. After dropping like a storm into your life, I disappeared. That wasn't fair."
He picked up a shrimp, took a bite—and his eyes widened. "Wow."
"Good?" Soo-ji asked, a smile forming.
He nodded, still chewing. "Clumsiness doesn't taste too bad."
"I'm glad you like my recommendation," she said softly, picking up her chopsticks again.
He leaned back slightly. "So… tell me about yourself, Ms. Kim."
"Just like that?" she said, eyes narrowing.
Tae-hyun nodded. "I'm aware you dislike me, but I'd like to know more about my doctor. Seems only fair."
"Hm…" She pushed her tray aside. "You mean likes and dislikes? That kind of thing?"
"Yes. That kind of thing."
"Well… things I like? Seo-jun. Things I hate?" She clicked her tongue. "People like Hee Tae-hyun—complicated and impossible to read."
He chuckled. "You're not the first to say that."
"You're not even offended," she said.
"Should I be? You and Seo-jun seem close. Are you lovers?"
Soo-ji burst into laughter. "What? No! Oh my gosh—that's hilarious."
"Why is it funny? Seo-jun seems like a decent man" Tae-hyun asked, puzzled.
"Seo-jun's a priest," she said between chuckles.
His eyes widened. "A priest??"
"Yes! People never believe it, but he's never even dated. He's been my friend since kindergarten, and I just never let him go."
"That explains a lot. At one point I thought I'd have to apologize to him for holding his girlfriend's captive."
Tae-hyun took another shrimp. "You know, I might just hire the chef here for Velvet Loft's next anniversary. Thoughts?"
"They'd be thrilled," Soo-ji replied. "It'd be the biggest thing that's happened to them."
He nodded thoughtfully.
"Mr. Tae-hyun?"
He looked up, those dark eyes meeting hers. Her voice softened.
"Why did you choose me?"
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "There are a lot of reasons. But I'll give you one."
She waited.
"I love your fragile audacity."
Her brows knit together. "Fragile audacity? What does that even mean—"
Before Tae-hyun could answer, the phone in his coat buzzed sharply against the wooden table. He glanced down, and for the briefest second, his face hardened, his eyes narrowing at the caller ID.
"Excuse me," he said, his tone suddenly clipped, businesslike.
Soo-ji watched as he rose from his seat, phone pressed to his ear. His voice dropped low, words she couldn't catch, but the tension in his shoulders told her enough—it wasn't the kind of call you could ignore.
He ended it quickly, slipping the device back into his pocket. "I have to go."
"Go? Already?" she asked, startled by the abrupt shift.
His expression softened as he looked at her, as if torn between two worlds. "Something urgent came up."
She leaned back, chopsticks still in hand. "Oh! I see."
He let out a faint breath, almost like he wanted to explain—but didn't. Instead, he pushed his chair back in neatly and straightened his coat. "Stay and finish your meal. Mr. Jun will make sure you get home safely."
And just like that, he was gone, the bell over the restaurant door chiming faintly as he stepped into the street.
Soo-ji stared at the half-empty dishes between them, the shrimp he'd barely touched, the words he'd left unsaid. "Fragile audacity," she whispered to herself, her lips curving in a half-smile, half-sigh.
Outside, autumn leaves brushed against the windows, as though even the season knew—he always left as suddenly as he came.