I made it through my convenience store shift on autopilot, my brain replaying the entire coffee date on loop. The way he'd smiled when I walked in. The carrot cake. The conversation that had flowed so easily after the initial awkwardness. The way he'd asked "Can we do it again?"
By the time I got home at 10:30 PM, I was exhausted but also buzzing with residual nervous energy.
I opened the apartment door to find both Yoo-Na and Min-Ji waiting on the couch like an intervention committee.
"Oh no," I said.
"Oh yes," Min-Ji replied, patting the space between them. "Sit. Spill. Everything."
"I told you in the group chat—"
"You told us you had feelings," Yoo-Na interrupted. "That's not details. We need details."
I dropped my bag and collapsed between them, suddenly too tired to resist. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything," Min-Ji said. "Start from when you walked in. What was he wearing? How did he greet you? What did you talk about? Did he pay? Did anything happen?"
"He was wearing a navy sweater and jeans. He stood up when I saw him, which was unnecessarily formal but kind of sweet. We talked about everything—classes, family, what we'd do if we won the lottery. He paid for coffee and ordered carrot cake to share. And no, nothing happened. We just talked."
"For two hours," Yoo-Na observed.
"Yes. For two hours. Which apparently flew by."
"That's a good sign," Min-Ji said, bouncing slightly with excitement. "When time flies, it means you're comfortable with each other. What else?"
I thought about the conversation, trying to capture what had made it feel different from just regular talking. "He asked me what I deserved. Not what I needed or wanted, but what I deserved. And I didn't know how to answer."
Yoo-Na's expression softened. "What did you say?"
"That I'd be happy when I'm successful. And he said that was depressing."
"He's not wrong," Min-Ji said gently.
"I know. But I don't know how to think about it differently. Happiness feels like... a luxury I can't afford right now."
"That's exactly why you need someone like him," Yoo-Na said. "Someone who reminds you that you're allowed to want things beyond survival and success."
"Someone who buys you carrot cake," Min-Ji added.
Despite everything, I smiled. "The cake was really good."
"And? What happened at the end? How did you leave it?"
"He asked if we could do it again. I said yes. Then he asked if I wanted to call it a date, and I said—" I felt my face heat. "—that a date works."
Min-Ji squealed. Actually squealed. "Ji-Mang has a boyfriend!"
"He's not my boyfriend. We had one coffee date."
"One coffee date is how it starts," Yoo-Na said. "Then it's two dates, then you're texting constantly, then suddenly you're in a relationship."
"I don't have time for a relationship."
"You're making time for him anyway," she pointed out. "So you might as well enjoy it."
She wasn't wrong. I was making time, adjusting my mental schedule to accommodate the possibility of seeing him again, thinking about when we might have another date.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out to find a message from Bok-Jin.
Bok-Jin: Made it home. Thank you again for coffee today. I had a really good time.
My heart did a stupid little flip.
"Oh my god, your face," Min-Ji said, leaning over to see my phone. "You're smiling like an idiot. What did he say?"
"Nothing. Just that he had a good time."
"Text him back!"
"I will! Stop hovering!"
Me: Me too. Thanks for the cake :)
I added the smiley face, then immediately questioned it. Was it too cute? Too juvenile?
Three dots appeared immediately.
Bok-Jin: The cake was a strategic move to see if you'd actually eat it or be polite.
Me: And? Did I pass the test?
Bok-Jin: With flying colors. You ate three-quarters of it.
Me: I did NOT. It was fifty-fifty at most.
Bok-Jin: I was counting. You had more.
Me: You were COUNTING? That's weird.
Bok-Jin: You're calling me weird? You eat triangle kimbap for every meal.
Me: That's EFFICIENT. And kimbap is delicious. Don't kimbap-shame me.
Bok-Jin: I would never. Kimbap is a perfectly valid life choice.
I was grinning at my phone like an absolute fool.
"Okay, you need to stop smiling like that or I'm going to combust from how cute this is," Min-Ji said.
"Leave her alone," Yoo-Na said, but she was smiling too. "Let her have her moment."
My phone buzzed again.
Bok-Jin: I should let you sleep. You must be tired from your shift. But I'm glad we did this.
Me: Me too. Goodnight, Bok-Jin.
Bok-Jin: Goodnight, Ji-Mang.
I set my phone down and looked at my roommates, who were both watching me with identical expressions of fond amusement.
"What?" I demanded.
"Nothing," Yoo-Na said. "Just... it's nice to see you happy. Actually happy, not just accomplished or driven. Happy."
Something in my chest squeezed. "I am happy. I think."
"You think?"
"It's new. And scary. But also kind of nice."
"That's allowed," Min-Ji said. "Being scared and happy at the same time. That's what new things feel like."
I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything else.
We talked for a while longer—about nothing important, just the comfortable chatter of people who lived together and knew each other well. Eventually exhaustion won, and I retreated to my room, where I lay in bed staring at my phone for an embarrassingly long time before finally putting it down and forcing myself to sleep.
Sunday was supposed to be a study day. I had LEET prep to work through, an assignment for Legal Research and Writing, and about seventeen things I should have been focusing on.
Instead, Bok-Jin and I texted on and off throughout the day.
It started innocently enough—he sent a photo of his breakfast (fancy hotel dining room, probably some family obligation) with the caption: Not as good as triangle kimbap.
I sent back a photo of my instant ramyeon: Living my best life.
Bok-Jin: That looks depressing.
Me: That's FLAVOR you're looking at. Respect the ramyeon.
Bok-Jin: If you say so.
Then later, while I was at the library for my afternoon shift:
Bok-Jin: Question. Do you actually enjoy legal research or is it just a necessary evil?
Me: Both? It's tedious but satisfying when you find exactly the right case. Like a puzzle.
Bok-Jin: That's very on brand for you.
Me: What's that supposed to mean?
Bok-Jin: You like things that are difficult but have clear answers. Puzzles with solutions.
Me: Are you psychoanalyzing me through text?
Bok-Jin: Maybe. Is it working?
Me: Disturbingly well. Stop being perceptive, it's unnerving.
Bok-Jin: I'll try to be more oblivious.
Me: Thank you. I appreciate your cooperation.
By evening, Min-Ji had noticed.
"You've checked your phone like forty times in the last hour," she observed from her spot on the floor, surrounded by anatomy diagrams.
"I have not."
"You absolutely have. It's very obvious. Also very cute."
"I'm just... staying connected. That's what phones are for."
"Uh-huh. Is this 'staying connected' with anyone specific? Perhaps someone who bought you carrot cake yesterday?"
I threw a cushion at her. She caught it, laughing.
"I'm happy for you," she said, more seriously. "Really. You deserve something good."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?"
"Because it's true? And because you work so hard that sometimes I think you forget you're allowed to have nice things. Including a cute guy who texts you about ramyeon."
My phone buzzed.
Bok-Jin: Running club tomorrow morning?
Me: 6 AM as always. Are you coming?
Bok-Jin: Wouldn't miss it.
Me: Even though it means waking up at an ungodly hour?
Bok-Jin: Especially because of that. I like the ungodly hour runs.
Me: You're weird.
Bok-Jin: You've mentioned that before. I'm choosing to take it as a compliment.
Me: That's probably healthy. See you tomorrow.
Bok-Jin: See you tomorrow.
I set my phone down and found Min-Ji watching me with a knowing smile.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing. Just observing the Ji-Mang rom-com happening in real time."
"This is not a rom-com. This is real life."
"Real life can be a rom-com if you let it."
I wanted to argue, but honestly? Right now, it kind of did feel like one.
And I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
Monday morning I woke up to a message sent at 5:47 AM.
Bok-Jin: I'm so sorry. Family emergency. Can't make running club this morning.
My stomach dropped.
Me: Is everything okay?
No response.
I got dressed for running anyway, checked my phone again (still nothing), and headed to campus with a weird feeling of unease.
Maybe it really was just a family emergency. People had those. It didn't mean anything.
Except he'd seemed excited yesterday. He'd said he wouldn't miss it.
And now he was canceling with barely an explanation.
I tried to push the thoughts away as I arrived at the meeting point. Most of the usual members were there—golden retriever freshman, a few regulars, some newer faces.
No Bok-Jin.
"Where's Min-Ji unnie?" someone asked.
"She had an early clinic thing," I said, forcing myself to focus. "Alright, everyone, same routine as always. Stretch out, then we run."
We went through warm-ups, and I kept glancing at my phone. Still nothing.
Maybe he was dealing with something serious. Maybe his father had called with some urgent business matter. Maybe—
Or maybe he'd realized that coffee yesterday had been a mistake. That we were too different. That getting involved with someone like me was complicated and not worth it.
Stop it, I told myself firmly. You're spiraling. He said family emergency. Take him at his word.
But the doubt had planted itself, and I couldn't quite shake it.
The run helped—physical exertion always did—but even as I pushed my pace, trying to lose myself in the movement, part of my brain was still churning.
By the time we circled back to the meeting point, I'd checked my phone three more times.
Still nothing.
"Good run, everyone," I announced, trying to sound normal. "See you Wednesday. Don't skip just because it's only Monday."
People dispersed, and I stood there for a moment, phone in hand, debating.
Should I text him again? Ask if everything was okay? Or would that seem clingy and demanding?
I decided on something neutral.
Me: Hope everything is alright with your family. Let me know if you need anything.
I sent it before I could overthink it, then shoved my phone in my pocket and headed back to the apartment to shower and get ready for class.
By Tuesday afternoon, I still hadn't heard from him.
The last message in our conversation was mine from Monday morning. No response. No explanation. Nothing.
"Maybe his phone died," Min-Ji suggested when I mentioned it during dinner.
"For over 24 hours?"
"Maybe he's dealing with something serious and doesn't have time to text."
"Or maybe he's ghosting me."
"He's not ghosting you," Yoo-Na said firmly. "You had one good date. People don't ghost after one good date."
"People ghost after great dates all the time. That's like, a documented phenomenon."
"Ji-Mang." Yoo-Na set down her chopsticks and looked at me seriously. "You're catastrophizing. He said family emergency. That usually means something actually happened. Give him time to deal with it."
"But what if—"
"What if nothing. Either he's dealing with something real and he'll text you when he can, or he's an asshole and you dodged a bullet. Either way, obsessing about it won't change anything."
She was right. Logically, I knew she was right.
But emotionally, I was a mess of anxiety and doubt.
I tried to focus on other things. I had class. I had work. I had LEET prep. I had approximately seventeen legitimate things to worry about that weren't Choi Bok-Jin and his mysterious family emergency.
But every time my phone buzzed, my heart jumped.
And every time it wasn't him, something in my chest sank a little further.
By Tuesday night, I'd convinced myself that Saturday's coffee date had been some kind of fluke. That he'd realized we were too different and was trying to figure out how to let me down gently.
That I'd been stupid to think someone like him could actually be interested in someone like me.
I was lying in bed, staring at my ceiling and feeling sorry for myself, when my phone finally buzzed.
Bok-Jin: I'm so sorry for disappearing. Family situation turned into a whole thing. Are you free for running club Wednesday morning?
Relief flooded through me, immediately followed by embarrassment at how much I'd been spiraling.
Me: Yeah, I'll be there. Is everything okay?
Bok-Jin: It's... complicated. I'll explain tomorrow if that's okay? It's a lot to get into over text.
Me: Of course. See you tomorrow morning.
Bok-Jin: Thank you for understanding. And I'm sorry again for going silent. I know that probably seemed rude.
Me: It's fine. Family stuff happens.
Bok-Jin: Still. I should have at least sent an update. I'll do better.
I stared at that message for a long moment. I'll do better. Like he actually cared about keeping me informed. Like this mattered to him.
Me: We're good. Really. See you at 6 AM.
Bok-Jin: See you then. And Ji-Mang?
Me: Yeah?
Bok-Jin: I missed talking to you.
Oh.
Oh no.
My traitorous heart did that flipping thing again.
Me: I missed talking to you too.
I sent it before I could talk myself out of it, then immediately wanted to take it back. Too honest. Too vulnerable. Too much.
But his response came quickly.
Bok-Jin: Good. I'm glad it wasn't just me.
I set my phone down and stared at the ceiling again, but this time I was smiling.
Tomorrow. I'd see him tomorrow.
And maybe—just maybe—he'd explain what happened.
And maybe—just maybe—everything would be okay.