The next few days passed differently.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But noticeably.
Mireya became aware of Jae in ways she hadn't before—how he always waited until she finished speaking, how he noticed when her hands shook, how he remembered small things she mentioned once and never repeated.
And that scared her a little.
Because caring quietly felt deeper than caring loudly.
At work, things were busy. Too busy.
A delivery arrived late, a customer complained loudly, and Hana was in a mood.
"I swear," Hana muttered while stacking supplies, "if one more thing goes wrong today, I'm quitting and becoming a goat farmer."
Mireya blinked. "Why goats?"
"They don't complain," Hana said seriously.
Jae, passing by, added, "They do. Just not in English."
Mireya laughed before she could stop herself.
Hana froze. "Wow. You laughed. Is this what love looks like?"
Mireya's face heated instantly. "It's called stress relief."
Jae smiled, pretending to focus on his work—but the smile stayed longer than necessary.
Later, Mireya accidentally knocked over a stack of files.
Paper scattered everywhere.
She stared at the mess, frozen.
Jae was beside her in seconds. "Hey. It's okay."
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I wasn't paying attention."
"Neither was gravity," he said lightly.
She looked at him.
He winked.
She laughed again—this time openly.
As they picked up the papers together, their fingers brushed.
She didn't pull away.
Neither did he.
That small moment felt louder than words.
That evening, rain started unexpectedly.
Heavy. Sudden.
People rushed under shelters, complaining loudly. Mireya stood at the door, watching the rain fall hard against the pavement.
"I didn't bring an umbrella," she said.
Jae held one up. "I did."
She hesitated. "You always do."
He shrugged. "Habit."
They stepped out together, walking close to avoid getting soaked.
The umbrella felt too small.
Their shoulders touched.
Her heart sped up.
She focused on the sound of rain instead.
Halfway down the street, Jae stopped suddenly.
"Mireya."
"Yes?"
"There's something I should say."
Her stomach tightened. Here it is.
She nodded slowly. "Okay."
"I'm not in a hurry," he said. "But I don't want to hide either."
She looked at him, rain blurring the world around them.
"I like you," he continued. "Not because you're quiet. Not because you're careful. But because you're honest when it matters."
Her breath caught.
"I don't expect anything," he added quickly. "I just didn't want silence to become misunderstanding."
She stared at him.
For a second, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then she spoke.
"I like you too," she said softly.
His eyes widened slightly.
"But," she continued, voice shaking, "I'm afraid of moving fast and losing myself."
He nodded immediately. "Then we don't move fast."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
The rain slowed.
She smiled—small, real.
"Thank you."
They continued walking, closer now.
Not touching.
But no longer distant.
At her door, she paused.
"Jae?"
"Yes?"
"Almost doesn't feel so scary anymore."
His lips curved into a gentle smile. "Good."
She stepped inside, heart racing.
That night, Mireya couldn't sleep.
Not because of fear.
But because of possibility.
She thought about his words.
About honesty.
About patience.
What if this time, I don't run?
Her phone buzzed softly.
A message.
Jae:
I hope you got home dry. And… thank you for trusting me tonight.
She stared at the screen, then typed back.
Mireya:
I'm still learning. Please be patient with me.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
Jae:
I'm not going anywhere.
Her chest tightened.
But this time, it felt warm.
The next morning, Mireya woke earlier than usual.
She stood in front of the mirror longer, fixing nothing, just thinking.
At work, she arrived before Jae.
When he walked in, she looked up.
Their eyes met.
Something unspoken passed between them.
Hana noticed immediately.
"Oh," Hana said slowly. "Something happened."
Mireya groaned. "Please don't start."
"I won't," Hana said. "I'll just watch."
Jae laughed. "She's terrifying."
"She is," Mireya agreed.
During lunch, Mireya sat beside Jae—not across from him.
It felt intentional.
He noticed.
"Bold choice," he teased.
She smiled. "Trying something new."
He leaned closer. "I like it."
Her heart skipped—but she didn't panic.
Progress.
Later that day, an older woman came in, holding a photo frame.
"Can you help me clean this?" the woman asked gently.
Mireya nodded and took it carefully.
Inside the frame was a faded picture of a young couple.
"My husband," the woman said softly. "He passed away last year."
"I'm sorry," Mireya said sincerely.
The woman smiled sadly. "We spent years saying 'not yet.' Don't wait too long, dear."
Mireya froze.
The words echoed in her mind.
Don't wait too long.
That evening, Mireya walked home alone.
But she wasn't lonely.
She stood at the same park bench where she and Jae often sat.
She took out her phone.
Typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Finally, she sent it.
Mireya:
Can we talk tomorrow? Not about work.
A few seconds passed.
Then:
Jae:
Anytime. I'll be there.
She closed her eyes.
Her heart was pounding.
Because tomorrow might change things.
And for once…
She wasn't running from that thought.