FORGET me not ─── ✹ lhs
" it's completely normal to like your wife you know? "
vol 8. — after the distressing breakup of your five years long relationship you finally decided to settle down and marry the infamous disciplined family friend and the heir of Lee Corporation. What you did not expect was a shy tall guy who stammered three times while saying one sentence and looked at you with stars in his eyes.
𖧧 ָ࣪ 𖧵ֹֺֽ໋໋݊ arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff
note: don't let the synopsis fool you
ʚĭɞ if you liked this don't forget to check out my other works in library
Your friends expected it. Your parents braced for it. But when your long-term boyfriend of nearly five years packed his bags, left your shared apartment, and walked out of your life with nothing but a muttered apology and a shadow of regret in his voice, you didn’t shed a single tear.
Instead, you stood by the door, fingers curled around your sleeves, heart thudding like a dull drum inside your ribs as you watched him go. The soft click of the latch felt louder than thunder. And yet, the silence that followed was even louder.
That was the worst part.
Not the betrayal. Not the abandonment. Not even the mess of memories he left behind, the cracked photo frame he bought you in second year, the shared playlist you couldn’t bring yourself to delete, the faint scent of his cologne in your closet.
No. The worst part was how quiet you became afterward.
You, who once painted the world with laughter, you, who danced barefoot in the rain and burned cupcakes on purpose just to see how far disaster could stretch, you, who used to fill empty rooms with your presence before even speaking.
You disappeared slowly. Like fog rolling into the ocean.
It took months before you left your childhood room again. You’d returned home after graduation, saying it was temporary. That you needed to "rethink things.” Your parents didn’t push. Not when they saw the dark circles under your eyes or the way you flinched when the phone rang. You still hadn’t told them the full story. You couldn’t. How do you explain to your mother that the man you were ready to marry simply changed his mind? That he said you were “too much” one day and “not enough” the next?
That he left without a proper reason. Just a goodbye.
You had just curled up with a blanket and an old journal when your mother knocked on your door.
“Y/n-ah,” she called softly. “Come downstairs.”
You didn’t move. “Why?”
“There’s someone we want you to meet.”
You let out a quiet sigh. “Not today.”
“It’s important.”
You sat up slowly, fingers tracing the corner of your blanket. “Who is it?”
“Lee Heeseung.”
Your breath caught.
The name felt familiar in a distant, foggy kind of way, like a song you once heard in the background of someone else’s life.
Heeseung. The boy with perfect grades, perfect posture, perfect life. The son of your father’s business friend. You remembered vague stories about him growing up, the golden heir. Always abroad. Always busy.
Why would he be here now?
Before you could ask, your mother added, “Just for a few minutes.” And for some reason, you listened.
You expected a stiff man in a starched shirt, radiating cold ambition and forced smiles. What you didn’t expect was a man standing awkwardly in your living room, holding a mug of tea like it was a fragile artifact, and looking more nervous than you felt.
He turned when you walked in and paused. You saw the subtle shift in his breathing pattern.
His eyes met yours, and for a brief second, time bent around the space between you. You noticed the way his gaze softened, then darted away quickly, almost embarrassed. The tips of his ears flushed faintly pink.
You blinked. Interesting.
He bowed slightly. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
You gave a polite nod, sitting across from him. “You too.”
You didn’t speak much after that. Your parents carried the conversation, polite chatter about the market, mutual friends, old memories. Heeseung answered like a proper gentleman, straight laced and careful with his words. You watched him more than you listened. There was something oddly... stiff about him. Like he hadn’t been in a room with a stranger in years.
He caught you watching once and looked away quickly, clearing his throat leaving a warmth pooling in your stomach as you directed your eyes at your palms resting on your stomach.
They dropped the bomb after dinner. An Arranged marriage. With Lee Heeseung, the heir and future CEO of Lee Corporation.
“Just think about it,” your father had said, his tone soft, his eyes more so. There was hope in them, but it was cautious, almost tentative, like he wasn’t quite sure whether it deserved to be there. Next to him, your mother looked everywhere but at you. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger as if it were a question she couldn’t answer.
And across from you, Heeseung sat.
Tall. Composed. The collar of his button-down crisp, the sleeves of his dark blazer pushed back just enough to show a silver watch that gleamed under the dining room light.
He didn’t look surprised.
He didn’t look anything.
Only when he spoke did something shift “You don’t have to decide now,” he said gently, voice as even as his expression. “We can meet a few more times. Talk. See if it’s something you’re open to.”
You stared at him.
Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it like he already knew how this story ended. Like he’d already accepted whatever answer you might give, even if it was a no. He didn’t plead. He didn’t push. He wasn’t playing the role of the desperate suitor or the charming stranger trying to win your favor.
If anything, he seemed… resigned.
And you?
You were so damn tired.
Tired of grieving a love that had left you in pieces. Tired of pretending you were still the same girl who once believed in fairytales. Tired of hearing your friends get engaged, move abroad, fall in love again while your life stood still, wrapped in a fog you couldn't shake off.
So you nodded. Not because it made sense. Not because it felt right. But because, in that moment, anything was better than standing still.
The wedding was simple.
Elegant in the way a gentle breeze was elegant, soft, intentional, and fleeting. There were no loud colors, no over-the-top displays of affection, no extravagant celebrations. Just muted tones of white and beige draping every corner of the small private hall. Golden hour light filtered in through sheer curtains, making everything seem like a daydream. A few strings of fairy lights hung above your heads like stars that had descended for just this moment. The music was soft, almost distant, like a memory trying not to disturb anyone.
Only family and a few close friends were invited. That was the way you both preferred it — quiet, contained. No crowd to force a smile in front of. No strangers to pretend for.
You stood at the entrance, your hand gently clutching the silk of your ivory dress. It clung to your frame delicately, elegant in its simplicity. Your hair was pulled back, and gold earrings brushed against your neck every time you moved. They had once belonged to your mother.
And across the aisle, waiting....was him.
Heeseung.
He wore a slate grey suit that fit him too well, paired with a navy tie that brought out the deeper shades in his usually unreadable eyes. His posture was rigid, but not from arrogance. From nerves. His fingers twitched at his sides. His lips parted slightly when he saw you.
And he didn’t stop staring.
You walked toward him slowly, trying to ignore the way your heart thudded against your chest like it didn’t remember this wasn’t a love marriage. This wasn’t the fairytale. It was an arrangement. Something practical.
But then why did he look at you like that?
As though something about you had caught him off guard.
His gaze didn’t lower or flicker away, even when you stood right before him. Even when the officiant cleared his throat and began the short ceremonial script. Even when you reached out your hand. His hand met yours with a tremble.
Just a flicker. Barely there. But you felt it. Both of you felt it actually.
When the rings were exchanged and the final blessing was offered, the photographer gestured gently, asking for a hug for the photos. A staged embrace, a brief moment of closeness for the sake of memory.
You hesitated, and so did he. But you stepped forward anyway, lifting your arms with quiet grace and sliding them around his waist. His body stiffened instantly under your touch, like he hadn’t prepared himself to be held. Like he didn’t think you would do it.
But then slowly you felt him breathe. His shoulders softened.
His arms came up, unsure, before settling loosely around your back. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t passionate. But it wasn’t cold either. It felt… human. And when you pulled away, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, you saw it.
The faintest blush spreading softly across his cheekbones, like the sun peeking over the edge of dawn.
You bit your lip, amused. A giggle slipped out before you could stop it. It was light, airy, and very real. The kind of laugh you hadn’t heard from yourself in a long time. Heeseung’s eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting it. But then, something shifted in his expression. Not quite a smile but something close. His lips twitched at the corners, and he looked down, embarrassed.
You didn’t know why, but your chest warmed.
The first night in your shared apartment was quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. A silence that allowed space to exist between two people without demanding they fill it. You both stood in the living room for a moment, bags still at your feet, before silently choosing opposite doors. You unpacked in your rooms. No drama. No awkward hovering.
Well you didn’t expect to be comfortable anytime soon.
But it wasn’t as strange as you thought it would be.
Heeseung knocked softly after a while, standing at your doorway like he didn’t want to intrude. “Are you hungry?” he asked, voice tentative.
“I was thinking of making something,” you replied, brushing off your hands from folding clothes. “Do you want to help?”
He seemed surprised. “I—I mean, I can. If you don’t mind.”
You didn’t.
So you both ended up in the kitchen.
It wasn’t big, but it was clean. Minimalist, like the rest of the apartment. The kind of space that hadn’t yet been lived in. You gave him the task of slicing the vegetables while you heated the oil. It was an ordinary moment. Too ordinary. But he tried his best to keep up. He worked in silence, furrowed brow, bottom lip tugged between his teeth.
And then
“Ow.”
You turned immediately. “What happened?” He lifted his thumb sheepishly, where a thin line of red had appeared. “It’s not bad.”
A spurge of panick rose as you stammered to find anything you can, fortunately heeseung had his emergency bix ready for moments like this. You grabbed a tissue and dabbed it with alcohol immediately, clicking your tongue. “You’re hopeless,” you muttered, gently pressing it to the cut.
He winced.
“You ever held a knife before?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
He looked genuinely guilty. “Not often.”
That made you laugh almost. The corners of your mouth twitched, but you suppressed it. Barely.
Dinner turned out decent. Slightly over-salted, but edible. You both sat at the table across from each other, clinking spoons occasionally. Heeseung ate slowly, carefully, complimenting the food like he was afraid of insulting you otherwise. When the dishes were cleared and the clock ticked past ten, you curled up on the living room couch with a light blanket, journal in your lap. Random dates, random events, random thoughts. Writing helped. It always had. It made you feel like your thoughts were being listened to.
Heeseung settled into the chair across from you, laptop open, fingers dancing over the keyboard. A pair of glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, making him look softer, more academic than corporate. His brows furrowed again as he read something on the screen. You watched him for a moment. The way he adjusted his posture every few minutes. The way he chewed the inside of his cheek when something didn’t make sense. The way he pushed his glasses up with his knuckle.
He was handsome, yes. Way too much handsome from what you've seen till now.
But he was also strange.
Like a puzzle you didn’t know you were supposed to solve. You tore your gaze away and focused back on your journal until the question slipped out of your mouth.
“You always this serious?”
Heeseung paused mid keystroke. His eyes slowly flicked toward you, clearly startled. “Huh?” You leaned back, head tilting playfully. “Or are you just pretending to impress your very pretty wife?”
A beat of silence.
Then he blinked.
And blinked again.
His face flushed. Not pink. Red. An unmistakable crimson that painted his ears, cheeks, even the base of his neck.
You watched it spread with fascination.
He looked away quickly, clearly flustered. “I, uh—I’m not pretending.”
You grinned, unable to help it. Gotcha
And then you laughed. Finally
Not the soft, polite kind. But a laugh that shook your shoulders. A laugh that sounded far too much like your old self. One that tasted like freedom. Like lightness.
Heeseung stared at you wide eyed, confused, but not unhappy. And in that moment, something inside you cracked open.
Not completely.
But enough to let a little light in.
Enough to remember that this whatever this was didn’t have to be cold or lonely. Maybe it could be… different.
Maybe. Just maybe.
After dinner you followed him, heart awkward in your chest. “We’re married,” you said quietly.
He looked at you. Eyes crinkling a bit “We are.”
You bit your lip. “How does it feel?”
“Like I’m going to pass out.”
You laughed. So did he. And just like that, the room warmed.
You both fell asleep that night, not in each other’s arms, but in the same room. Two souls still cautious. But not strangers anymore. Somewhere between the silk sheets and the soft rustling of fabric, you felt his fingers brush yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away.
The days that followed weren’t perfect but they were real. You cooked breakfast. He cleaned the dishes. You danced alone in the living room. He watched, pretending not to smile.
You fought over the last slice of toast but he shared it anyway.
One evening, he returned early and found you on the balcony, feet up, journal in hand.
He stood there, watching you, quiet.
You glanced over. “You know, for someone who likes his space, you hover a lot.” He gave a small smile. “You’re easy to hover around.” Your heart thumped against chest your walls as you closed the journal.
Heeseung walked closer, placing a cup of tea beside you.
You turned to him, a silly expression playing on your lips “You know...I do notice how much you blush every time I touch you.”
He froze. “No I don’t.” You raised a brow. “You just did.”
His ears flamed. “I’m—That’s not—You’re very—” pretty. He stopped. “Never mind.”
You giggled. “You’re cute when you malfunction.” He groaned into his hands. “I’m regretting this marriage already.”
You reached over, gently flicking his forehead. “Liar.”
You were quiet. Not shy. Not submissive. Just... still. And Heeseung had thought, Perfect. No dramatics. No chaos. No endless talking that led nowhere. You seemed like someone who wouldn’t get in the way of his routine. Obedient. Low-maintenance. Easy to manage.
But stillness, he would later learn, was not the same as simplicity.
You weren’t “easy” in the way he first assumed. You were surviving. He just didn’t see it yet.
The first time you touched him, it was nothing. Really, it was nothing. Just a brief adjustment to the collar of his shirt before a family photo. The fabric was crooked, and you, dutiful, distant, fixed it with all the care of someone folding a stranger’s laundry.
But his throat closed.
And later that night, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he found himself staring at the spot your fingers had grazed. Like it had left a burn.
Heeseung loved that. He loved that he was starting to notice things.
The way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. The way your voice softened when talking to plants, like they were old friends. The way your eyes darted around the room when you were overwhelmed but trying not to show it. He hated how easily his heartbeat betrayed him.
Once, you fell asleep on the couch wearing his hoodie. He had walked into the room to ask if you wanted tea. Stopped. Stared.
And nearly had a cardiac arrest.
You looked smaller somehow, curled into the armrest, face turned into the fabric that used to smell like him. The hoodie dwarfed you, sleeves swallowed your hands, and you breathed so softly he thought you might disappear if he blinked.
He didn’t touch you. Didn’t dare. Just stood there and watched you sleep like an idiot, pretending it meant nothing that you’d chosen his hoodie over the dozens in your wardrobe. He told himself it was fine.
Until it wasn’t.
Because one evening, you hummed while watering the plants near the window, barefoot in your pajamas, and something twisted painfully in his chest.
You looked… light.
Like whatever darkness you were dragging around had loosened for a second.
And he thought, She still has it. That light. It’s just buried.
But then someone flirted with you at a company party. Some friend of a friend with too many teeth and not enough respect. The guy leaned in too close when he spoke to you, smiling like he knew you, fingers brushing your elbow as he laughed.
And Heeseung saw red.
He was across the room, drink untouched, shoulders tense. The man’s hand hovered near your lower back, and Heeseung didn’t even remember moving, just that he was suddenly there, standing beside you, one hand on your waist, his tone calm but sharp enough to bleed.
“She’s taken.”
The man backed off. Quickly. You glanced up at him, startled. “I was handling it.” But inside you were going absolute nuts. THAT WAS SO FUCKING HOT WTF.
“I know,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t like watching.”
You fell in love with Lee Heeseung. You weren’t sure if it was real, if your brain was just weaving comfort into romance. But the way he looked at you made you feel real. Grounded. Heeseung didn’t flirt. He didn’t chase. But he remembered. He remembered the one time you said you hated sleeping with the door closed. He remembered your favourite scent was lavender, not rose like everyone assumed.
He remembered the time you offhandedly said you always wanted to stargaze, but no one ever took you.
And he remembered you. Even on the days when you couldn’t remember you.
You sat at the breakfast table, spooning cereal into your mouth, pretending not to notice how Heeseung kept glancing at you over the rim of his coffee mug. You were wearing his hoodie, not for sentiment, but because it was soft and smelled like cedarwood and something vaguely comforting.
He cleared his throat. Loudly.
You blinked at him. “Yes?”
He tensed. “What? Nothing.”
“You’ve been staring for five minutes.”
“I wasn’t—” He cut himself off. “You just have milk on your lip.”
You wiped your mouth while giggling “That’s your excuse today?”
He went red. “You’re imagining things.”
“I’m imagining you blushing every time I breathe?"
He said nothing. Just took a long, slow sip of his coffee and looked away. You leaned your chin on your hand. “It’s okay, you know.”
“What is?”
“Liking your wife.”
He choked on his coffee. You handed him a napkin, laughing, and Heeseung groaned into his palm. “Why are you like this?”
You smiled. “Because you like it," and god.... poor Heeseung swore if his gorgeous wife doesn't stop terrorising him anytime soon.
The day began like any other. Soft sunlight filtered through the lace curtains as you flipped the page of your journal, pen poised above the paper. A list of dates stared back at you. Appointments, grocery items, a friend’s birthday next week. There were tiny corrections in the margins, crossed out reminders, swapped days and scribbles you didn’t remember making.
You blinked at them, brow furrowed.
You always kept your journal close. It wasn’t just a habit anymore, it was a lifeline. Your memory had been slipping, barely noticeable at first. A word forgotten. A date misremembered. But lately, the fog had thickened.
You tapped the pen against your palm, trying to recall what you’d written five minutes ago.
“Y/n?” Heeseung’s voice came from the hallway, sleepy and warm. He peeked into the room, his hair tousled from bed. His tie hung loose around his neck. “Did you see my cufflinks?”
You pointed to the dresser. Heeseung stepped in, brushing a kiss over your temple without a second thought. You smiled, heart tugging. His affection had changed. He’d become gentler, softer. He didn’t look at you like he was tolerating a contract anymore, he looked like he was slowly learning how to love.
And you… you were starting to believe in it.
“I’ll make us coffee,” you said, standing a little too fast.
The world tilted sharply and you didn’t even register the fall.
You woke up to beeping machines and Heeseung’s panicked voice floating somewhere near your ear. His hand gripped yours like a lifeline, tight and trembling.
“You’re okay,” he whispered, over and over. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”
Doctors ran tests. Your blood pressure, blood sugar was normal. Heart rate was stable. CT scan was clear. They told you it might’ve been a stress induced fainting spell. Nothing serious.
But it felt serious. You could see it in Heeseung’s eyes. The quiet way he watched you that night, tucking you into bed, fingers ghosting against your forehead. You felt it in your bones too. Something had shifted inside you. And it wasn’t just fatigue.
That night, as you lay beside him in bed, your voice broke the silence “I used to think love was something safe.” He turned his head to you, still half-awake, droopy eyes slowly meeting yours. “But it’s not,” you whispered. “Not always. Sometimes… it just leaves you.”
Heeseung didn’t say anything. But his fingers found yours beneath the covers and squeezed, tender.
“It left me once. Completely. And I’m scared if I ever feel it again, it’ll do the same.”
Your throat closed, you didn’t tell him you were in love with him. But your eyes did. They searched his, trembled with quiet confession, and Heeseung… oh, he was unraveling from the inside. He said nothing. He only gathered you into his arms and held you so tightly, so fiercely, that your breath caught.
And then he kissed your forehead like a promise.
Like he’d never leave.
The warmth didn’t last forever. A shadow crept in slowly, just as your memories began to slip through your fingers like grains of sand.
You fainted again three days later.
This time, it wasn’t dramatic or alarming in the way most people imagined fainting would be. There was no dizziness or shortness of breath. Just silence. Just a quiet, mundane moment, laundry on your lap, socks in your hand, sunlight spilling through the windows like everything was perfectly normal, and then…
Black.
A blink later, you were waking up to the sound of footsteps thundering down the hallway. Heeseung’s voice, frantic and cracking at the edges, shouted something unintelligible into his phone. There was desperation in his tone, something close to begging, and when you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was his silhouette pacing like a man unraveling thread by thread.
You groaned faintly, and the sound jolted him. “Y/n!” The phone clattered to the floor as he dropped beside you, his knees hitting the hardwood. His hands hovered over your shoulders, afraid to shake you too hard, afraid to touch you too softly.
You tried to speak, but only a croaky sound came out.
“Jesus, don’t do that again,” he breathed, brushing a stray hair away from your face with trembling fingers. “You scared the hell out of me.” You blinked at him, mind still foggy, body weak. And then perhaps to deflect the weight in his gaze, perhaps to avoid your own rising dread, you smiled faintly and said,
“Maybe I’m pregnant.”
The words hung in the air like they didn’t belong there. Heeseung stilled.
“Preg—what?!”
You blinked again, suddenly aware of what you’d just said. “I was joking—obviously—I mean, we haven’t even—oh my god—”
His entire face flushed crimson. He scrambled upright, running a hand through his hair like the heat on his cheeks could be shaken off. “Why would you even say that?!”
“I don’t know!” you blurted, still breathless. “I was just—I don’t know—it slipped out!”
“I—okay, well—” He turned away for a second, then turned back just as fast, blurting out, “Would you… want to?”
Silence.
You blinked again, a faint blush creeping on your cheeks this time “What?” you asked softly. He cleared his throat, swallowed, tried again. “I mean not now—not like this, I just–if we ever did...you know like if we were ready—would you want to have a kid with me?”
You just stared at him. Eyes round, heart skipping, stare that peeled you open from the inside and left every thought exposed.
He panicked. “Shit–I didn’t mean it like that. I just–God, I sound like a lunatic. I’m sorry—”
“No,” you interrupted, and your voice, though small, was steady now. “You don’t.”
Heeseung’s breath caught.
You reached forward, hand brushing over his where it hung awkwardly by his side. Slowly, you entwined your fingers, tugging gently until he let himself sit beside you on the couch. He didn’t speak, neither did you.
The silence felt soft this time, tender, warm in its own way.
“I see a future,” you murmured. “And you’re in it.”
He inhaled sharply, chest rising like he’d just been given permission to breathe again. His hand tightened around yours instinctively, and then without another word he pulled you into him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his around your waist. He held you like you were something fragile and precious. His chin dropped to your shoulder, and you felt his lips press into the crook of your neck, featherlight. Then the top of your head. Then again and again.
The crown of your skull. Your temple. Your hair. Tiny kisses, barely there, like he couldn’t help himself.
His hands moved up and down your back, long strokes, slow and careful like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. Like he wanted to trace your shape into his memory forever. You leaned into him, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, listening to the way his heart thudded so loud it echoed through his chest.
“Heeseung,” you whispered.
“Hmm?”
“You don’t have to be scared.”
He said nothing for a long moment. Then, softly, “You’re the only thing I’m scared of losing.” That’s when you knew...he meant it. Every trembling, terrifying word. It wasn’t just affection. It wasn’t just comfort. He loved you. Quietly, desperately, in the way only someone who’s afraid of not being enough ever could.
But you couldn’t say it back.
Because something in your chest twisted whenever the words reached your throat. You wanted to. God, you did. But how could you, when a part of you knew you might forget the weight of those words one day?
So instead, you just pulled him closer.
Let his warmth anchor you. Let your silence be love. And he accepted it like it was all he needed.
For now.
You weren’t supposed to forget things like this.
It started with little slips. You misplaced your favorite pen, the one you always kept clipped to your journal. You put milk in the pantry instead of the fridge. Called Heeseung’s PA by the wrong name, twice.
You told yourself it was stress.
But you started writing everything down. Grocery lists. Things to do. Things you’ve done. Just in case. You didn’t tell Heeseung. Not yet. He’d been watching you more carefully lately, even after the hospital said you were fine. Normal vitals. Normal bloodwork. Just a little fainting from low blood sugar, they said.
You smiled at Heeseung when he brought you tea in the mornings. Laughed when he’d forget his tie and you’d fix it for him before he left for the day. Kissed his knuckles goodbye.
And then, at night, when he was asleep next to you, you wrote.
Remember: His coffee is black with half a sugar. He hums when brushing his teeth. He hates losing control. He loves order. But he loves you, even when you’re chaos.
Your handwriting trembled some days.
You couldn’t afford to forget him.
Until something happened which shook your whole world. You were out for a small grocery run, just around the corner of your cozy apartment.That afternoon, the sky had been unusually dull for mid spring, kind of gray that made everything feel quieter. You were reaching for a carton of oat milk when someone said your name.
A voice you hadn’t heard in years, soft, hesitant. Drenched in familiarity
“Y/n?”
You froze mid-motion. Hand halfway to the shelf. The fluorescent lights above flickered like they always did in that dingy corner aisle. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
But you did anyway.
Jongseong.
There he stood. Your ex. Five years of history packed into one lean frame and a stupidly familiar jawline, he hadn’t changed much, still wore that same brand of denim, still had his hair pushed back like he hadn’t really tried but somehow looked effortlessly put together. Still had that look in his eyes, like he was constantly on the verge of saying something meaningful. You wished you could’ve walked away, wished your feet moved. But your body betrayed you. You stood rooted, staring at the man who had left you broken on the bathroom floor that night so many years ago.
“Hi,” he said, cautiously, as if testing the waters.
You let out a shaky breathe, recovering. “What the hell are you doing here? ”
His lips curved into that apologetic smile, the one that once made you forgive things you never should have. “Shopping. Just moved back last month.”
Of course he did. A painful silence settled between you, thick like humidity before a storm. You hated how your heart still reacted, a strange, erratic beat that had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with trauma. You glanced down at your cart. Laundry detergent, a bag of oranges, ice cream you knew Heeseung would pretend not to like but eat anyway.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, voice low. “You look…”
“Don’t.”
That shut him up. He nodded, eyes darting around. “I heard you got married.”
You responded by muttering a quiet 'hm' and stepping back. “I—I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said finally, breath hitching. “For how I left. For all of it. I was a coward. I know that now.” You closed your eyes for a second. Let the words wash over you like cold water. They didn’t heal anything. Didn’t change the nights you’d spent alone wondering what you did wrong.
“I don’t need your apology,” you said, quiet but firm.
He took a step forward, then another. You didn’t move. You should have, but it was too late. He pulled you into a hug before you could protest. His arms wrapped around you like old muscle memory. You felt nothing.
No heat. No pain. Just a dull ache — like pressing on a bruise that had already begun to fade.
You let it happen.
Maybe out of shock. Maybe because you needed to feel nothing for a moment. Then you pushed him back.
“Don’t do that,” you said, voice sharp.“I just—” He looked desperate now. “I miss you, Y/N.”
“I don’t.”
He recoiled like you’d struck him. And maybe you had.
Your hands were still trembling when you stepped out of the grocery store. The air outside was thick with city noise, buses hissing past, horns blaring somewhere in the distance but everything around you felt strangely muted. As if the world had taken a step back, blurred its edges, dulled its colors.
He had touched you.
He had hugged you.
And you had frozen. Stiff, shocked, disgusted. You didn’t even know what scared you more, the fact that he dared to wrap his arms around you, or the fact that, for a split second, you didn’t pull away fast enough. You could still feel the ghost of that hug clinging to your skin like grease. You wiped your arms with your sleeves again and again as you walked, as if scrubbing the moment off could make it disappear.
It didn't.
Halfway back to your apartment, your vision started to blur. The world tilted to one side. Your legs stumbled, heart racing in your chest, a noise ringing faintly in your ears.
And then nothing.
You woke up under hospital lights, too white, too sharp, sterile brightness. A cold breeze hummed from the AC. Your wrist had a hospital band. Your head throbbed.
“Miss?” the voice of a young nurse stirred beside you. You nodded.
It was third time in one month. And the last two times you’d brushed it off, too little sleep, maybe low blood sugar, maybe stress. But this time felt different. Your limbs still felt heavy. Your memory hazy. You sat up slowly as the doctor entered, young, calm, and professional, with a clipboard in his hand and a thoughtful expression behind his glasses.
“We ran some tests while you were unconscious. Vitals look stable, but I want to ask a few questions.”
You nodded absently, already reaching for your journal. The leather cover had softened from overuse. You opened it and began jotting something down under the last entry, the date, the name of the hospital, a reminder to track symptoms.
The doctor noticed.
“You carry that with you often?” he asked.
“Always,” you replied, not looking up. “It helps me keep track of things. Sometimes… I forget details. Or what day it is.”
He tilted his head. “How long have you been doing that?”
“For months....more than half a year to be exact...”
“And before that?”
“I....don't remember ” you said simply.
The next ten minutes passed in quiet tension as he asked you a series of questions. Your age, your name, your address.
Easy enough.
Then what day it was, the current year, who the president was.
You fumbled. You knew it. You did. But in that moment, it slipped away like mist through your fingers. You blinked hard, tried again. But your mouth stayed still.
The doctor’s voice was gentle. “Y/N… I’m going to be honest with you. Some of the signs you’re displaying memory lapses, spatial confusion, fainting episodes they’re consistent with early onset Alzheimer’s disease.”
You stared at him. What?
The words didn't make sense. Not at first.
That was something older people got. Grandparents. Not someone in her twenties. Not someone like you.
“That's not possible,” you murmured. “That’s not—people my age don’t get that.”
“It’s rare,” he agreed, “but not impossible. Especially when there’s a genetic predisposition or trauma involved. We’ll need to run more scans, cognitive assessments, but... I’d advise preparing for the possibility.”
The room closed in.
You were still holding your pen. You hadn’t even finished your sentence in the journal “What happens now?” you asked, your voice brittle.
“You be careful,” he said quietly. “You start documenting everything. You let someone close to you know. And… you prepare. Because things might start getting messy from now on.”
You nodded.
You didn’t cry. Not yet. There was a storm going inside you. What happens now? Instead, you turned to your journal and wrote everything down.
Because if your brain was going to fail you…you needed your words to remember.
Heeseung noticed the emotional shift before anything else. You became quieter, guarded again. It reminded him of how you were when he first met you, polite, careful, full of silences that hurt more than shouting.
He didn’t understand why.
You weren’t pulling away physically. You still reached for his hand, still leaned into his chest on the couch. Still smiled at his stupid jokes. But something behind your eyes had dimmed.
Heeseung didn’t press. At first. Then, one afternoon, he caught you staring blankly at the laundry machine. You’d loaded it three times and hadn’t turned it on.
You didn’t even notice him standing behind you until he touched your arm.
“Are you okay?”
You blinked. “Yeah. Just... zoned out.” He didn’t believe you but he nodded anyway. That night, you sat on the balcony with your journal in your lap. The stars were faint, the city always swallowed most of them. Still, you looked up and whispered to yourself
“I hope I remember what the sky looks like.”
Heeseung’s promotion came two weeks later.
CEO.
The letters barely held any weight in your mind, but they meant everything to the company and to him. It was the culmination of years of dedication, late nights, near flawless discipline. He had been groomed for this position since the day he stepped into his father’s office, and now he finally stood at the top. There was a celebration, of course. Lavish, gleaming, all sharp suits and champagne glasses. You were expected to be there, not just as his wife, but as his partner, the quiet, polished figure beside the man of the hour. A photograph for the headlines. A name in the caption.
And so, you helped him get ready.
He stood in front of the mirror while you adjusted the lapels of his charcoal suit, the one you had picked for this night months ago, long before the diagnosis, long before your world started folding in on itself. It had a clean cut, regal structure, and a dark sheen under warm lighting. He looked like a leader. Like someone people would follow.
Like someone who deserved everything good in this life.
You moved closer, fingers brushing over his shoulders as you smoothed down the fabric. Then the tie — a deep navy silk one that complimented his skin. You looped it slowly, methodically, the way you’d done a hundred times before, but today your hands were a little shakier. When you finished tightening the knot, you adjusted the collar, folding it just right.
And then… you met his gaze.
He was looking at you the way he always did when he was proud of something. Eyes full of stars. That small boyish smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. The kind of smile that made your heart ache because he still saw you not the version that was slowly slipping through cracks, but the version that had once walked into his life like a spark.
“You’re really good at this,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “Should I be worried? You might have a secret career as a stylist.”
You chuckled weakly “Only for you.”
Heeseung grinned, a hint of pink on his ears as he lowered his head shyly. He had always been like this, confident in the boardroom, decisive in crisis, but hopelessly soft around you. “When are you getting ready?” he asked “I mean, not that I want to rush you, but… should I help you with your dress too?” It was teasing, yes. But the sincerity in his tone turned it fragile. Tender. As if he wanted nothing more than to make you feel cared for.
You couldn't meet his eyes anymore.
Your smile felt forced, stretched across your face like something stitched on. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips quick, light, almost mechanical then pulled back and murmured, “I’ll go change now.”
You walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind you.
Locked it.
The moment you turned around, the first sob escaped before you could stop it. Your back slid against the door, and you dropped to the floor, your knees folding beneath you.
You cried.
Not the loud, guttural cries of heartbreak. These were quieter. More dangerous. Cry that hollowed you out from the inside. The kind that didn’t shake the walls but carved themselves into your ribcage like scratches from within. Because how could you stand beside him tonight? How could you wear a smile and pose for photographs next to someone so perfect, so capable, so destined while you were falling apart in silence?
You didn’t deserve to be in those frames. You didn’t deserve the warmth in his voice or the light in his eyes. Heeseung wasn’t just beautiful, he was good. A man who’d carry the weight of the world and still ask how you were doing. He deserved someone strong. Someone helpful. Someone who would hold his hand and not forget the reason why she loved him.
Not someone who would make his life harder. You pulled your knees to your chest, pressing your forehead against them, biting back the next wave of sobs. Tears soaked through the fabric of your dress before you even realized.
And then came a knock. Gentle, hesitant.
“Y/N?” His voice. Muffled through the door, but heavy with concern. “Are you okay?” You panicked for a moment. Could he hear you crying? Could he feel it through the wood? You scrambled to your feet, wiping your face with trembling hands. “I’m fine,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just… changing. I’ll be out in a minute.”
A beat of silence.
“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. You heard his footsteps retreat, but slowly. Like he was still half-listening. You turned to the mirror.
Your eyes were red. Your lips were trembling. Your heart was still fractured in your chest.
But you smiled. You forced it. You fixed your face, did your makeup, washed your cheeks with cold water. You put on your dress, the one he loved and stepped into the role you needed to play tonight.
His wife, His person. And maybe a ticking clock he hadn’t heard yet.
Everyone at the office practically worshipped him that day. Heeseung stood on the stage like he was born for it, tall, composed, every line of his suit sharp, every word he spoke deliberate. The perfect heir, finally crowned. You watched him from the back of the room, fingers loosely threaded in front of your dress, the heels you wore pressing too hard against your ankles. He scanned the crowd with those piercing eyes of his, unreadable as ever, until they landed on yours. His gaze softened. Just a flicker a small, private moment no one else caught.
You smiled. Clapped along with everyone else. Even mouthed a “congratulations” later, when he walked off stage and found you again.
But it ached.
The pride did. The smile. The applause. The knowledge that this moment belonged to him, but not fully to you.
Because you’d seen it all evening.
That woman Heejin, his PA hovering just a little too close. Laughing at his jokes like she’d memorized the rhythm of his humor. Knowing the stats, the reports, the number of interviews scheduled, the name of the board member’s wife who just had a baby. She touched his arm like she had every right. Whispered in his ear and was so dangerously close to adjust his tie like it was second nature.
You told yourself it didn’t matter.
Heeseung was with you throughout the whole event. When he wasn’t being pulled away to speak with department heads or board directors, he returned to your side. He introduced you formally. Called you his wife. Smiled that same smile that always softened at the edges when it was just the two of you. Still, it felt like a storm was swelling beneath the chandeliers.
The whispers began slowly, it curled around your ankles and trailed up your spine like a chill. Faces half turned. Brows raised. Smirks too subtle to name. For a moment you thought you were imagining it.
Until Heejin, heels clicking, ponytail high made her way to Heeseung and whispered something in his ear while holding her phone to his face. His jaw tensed. The sharp intake of his breath wasn’t loud, but you felt it like a slap.
He didn’t say anything. Just handed the phone back, eyes suddenly blank. You took a step forward, concern prickling in your chest, but before you could reach him
Your own phone buzzed.
One notification. Then another. Then another.
You froze as the screen lit up with a forwarded image and a text chain that had clearly been passed from one employee to another.
A picture.
Of you and Jongseong.
Your arms around each other in the middle of a grocery store aisle. His head tilted, mouth close to your ear. The caption was cruel —
"The new CEO’s wife already bored? Guess Heeseung’s cold heart wasn’t enough to keep her warm."
The room spun for a second. You gripped your clutch tighter, your breath lodged in your throat. You remembered that day. Every nauseating second of it. How you’d walked out of the store in shock and disgust that you’d let your ex touch you. How the encounter made your stomach churn. How you’d fainted halfway to your apartment the third time in a month. How you woke up in the hospital, and how that day changed everything for you.
But none of that was in the photo.
Just a snapshot. A second. A cruelly timed frame that looked like you were holding someone you still loved.
You barely made it through the rest of the event.
when you returned home, Heeseung was quiet.
Too quiet.
He removed his tie slowly, hands shaking in the low light of your shared bedroom. You stood by the dresser, unsure whether to speak first. The silence between you throbbed, thick and pulsing like a bruise.
“I didn’t know about the picture,” you breathed out, finally. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”
He didn’t look at you. Just nodded. “Okay.” But that okay was hollow. A placeholder. You stepped closer. “I didn’t know someone took it. It wasn’t a… moment. It was nothing. I told him to stay away.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, still not meeting your eyes. “Did you?”
You blinked. “Yes.”
He licked his lips, exhaled. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Do you still love him?”
The question hit you like a punch.
“No,” you said too quickly. His eyes finally lifted to yours. Red rimmed. Vulnerable in a way he rarely showed. “Then why did you look like you did?”
You hesitated. “I didn’t. That photo—”
“No,” he interrupted gently, almost apologetically. “I’m not blaming you. I just… I don’t know how to ask this without sounding like I’m accusing you, but… was I not enough? Am I… not enough for you?” It broke your heart to hear him ask that. To hear that insecurity come from someone who had always seemed so sure of himself so composed, so precise. “You’re more than enough,” you said. “God, Heeseung, you’re everything. That day… I was in shock. I didn’t want him to touch me. I felt disgusted the second he did. And after that— I—" you stopped, more like the words abruptly run out of your brain. What exactly happened after that? You wanted to reach out to your journal but at this moment it felt like a foreign subject in that room.
He stared, breath caught in his throat “after that what?”
You opened your mouth. But nothing came out.
So instead, you reached for him. Sat beside him. Took his hand in yours “I felt like I didn’t deserve you,” you said honestly. “You’re… perfect. And I’m not. I’m going to ruin your life.”
He shook his head, eyes stinging. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” you whispered.“No.” He squeezed your hand. “I’ve ruined every relationship I’ve been in because I’m quiet. Closed off. I tried to do better with you. I tried to laugh more, talk more, open up. I don’t know if that scared you. Maybe I overwhelmed you—”
You didn’t let him finish. You pressed your mouth to his.
Soft at first. Like reassurance. Like apology.
But it didn’t stay soft. Your lips opened. His hands found your waist. Yours slid to the nape of his neck. He pulled you into his lap, clutching you like he didn’t want you to vanish. It was desperate. Heated. His mouth moved against yours with all the frustration and confusion he couldn’t put into words. His tongue tasted of hurt, of longing, of too much and not enough all at once. Your hands explored his jaw, his chest, the familiar planes of his body.
You gasped into his mouth when he gripped your thigh, and he caught the sound with his own lips, like he couldn’t stand to be away from you for even a second.
Clothes shifted. Hands wandered. You both chased each other’s warmth, each other’s breath, each other’s forgiveness. Your bodies tangled, your mouths pressed again and again, as if trying to remember what this meant what you meant.
When it was over, you lay against his chest, both of you breathless.
He held you like you were something breakable. You clutched the fabric of his shirt in your fist like he was your anchor.
Neither of you spoke.
Because sometimes, silence wasn’t emptines.....sometimes it was healing.
You stayed like that until sleep found you, nestled in the wreckage of that night, hearts still beating wildly but at least for now still together.
The next morning, he woke up alone.
Your pillow was cold.
Your phone was gone.
So were you.
Heeseung tore the apartment apart. Every room, every drawer, every closet. He called everyone. Checked hospitals. Airports. Police stations.
Nothing.
It was like you’d never existed.
Except for one thing
Your journal.
You’d hidden it behind the books on the shelf. It fell when he yanked the entire stack down in a frenzy. He opened it with shaking hands. Inside, he found pages pf him. Notes, memories, doodles of his face, stupid jokes, coffee orders, days he looked happiest, days he looked tired, the way he kissed your temple after work, the time he asked if you wanted kids and you couldn’t stop laughing.
But nothing about you.
No fears. No timeline. No diagnosis.
Until the last page.
Your last entry....probably
If you’re reading this, I probably forgot to tell you...I didn’t mean to leave like this. But I was so scared, Heeseung. I’m still scared. Alzheimer’s, That’s what they said. I’ll forget my name. My home. Maybe one day… even you. But I wrote you down so I wouldn’t. Because how could I forget the only place I ever felt safe?
He found the prescriptions next, right in between the pages, crumbled hard truth. His hands were shaking and he dropped the journal.
You weren’t in any of the places that made sense. Not your mother’s. Not your childhood home, the hospital where they gave you that impossible diagnosis, not even that quiet little beachside cafe you loved as a teenager, the one you once told Heeseung you’d run away to if life ever got too loud.
Heeseung checked them all. He didn’t stop looking. His PA begged him to rest and his board of directors hinted at taking a leave. Tabloids started speculating that you had disappeared because of him but that was not enough to make him stop looking for you. He ignored it all.
You were gone.
And all he had left was a journal where you remembered everything about him… but not a single word about yourself.
It destroyed him.
Every scribbled sentence felt like a goodbye in slow motion.
You wrote down his allergies, his favorite tie, the way he bit his lip when he was nervous. You even wrote down the first time he ever said your name like it meant something. But nothing — nothing — about when you first forgot your keys. Or when you got your test results. Or when you decided that loving him meant leaving.
Heeseung knew you did it to protect him.
But he didn’t want protection.
He wanted you.
At nights, Heeseung found himself on the beach. The sky quiet, no stars and too much cloud. Just the sound of waves, soft and endless. He remembered what you said once about wanting to see stars
“I feel like I belong to the sea. It forgets everything and still keeps going.”
He stared at the ocean for a long time. Then whispered, “I won’t forget you. Even if you forget me.”
Back in Seoul, your disappearance became public. Someone leaked the hospital records. Someone else found the journal. It was only a matter of time. Suddenly, the narrative changed. You weren’t the runaway wife anymore.
You were tragically sick. Young. Beautiful. Doomed.
The world grieved you like a ghost while you were still breathing somewhere. Heeseung hated it.
He hated that they mourned your memory while he still clung to your toothbrush. Hated that your name became a headline when it used to be a whisper only he was allowed to say that gently. And through all of it, the noise, the press, the pity he kept looking.
Weeks passed.
The world moved on.
He didn’t.
It was almost six months later when the knock came. A strange, hesitant rhythm, three soft raps, then silence. It wasn’t the knock you get from someone delivering mail or asking for a favor. It was the kind that came burdened with weight. With grief. With something you weren’t ready to hear. Heeseung opened the door, expecting a stranger. And he was though somehow, not entirely.
The man looked about his age. Disheveled, eyes filled with exhaustion and rimless glasses around them, lips trembling like he’d rehearsed this moment too many times only to still not be ready.
“Are you… Heeseung?” he asked, voice rough, tight. Heeseung blinked. “Yes. Can I help you?”
The man swallowed, then took a deep breath like it hurt to say her name. “I’m Jake. I—
I’ve been taking care of Y/N.”
Heeseung didn’t register it at first. But then the words unfurled inside his chest like shrapnel.
“I found her,” Jake continued, “about six months ago. On the street. She had fainted. Hit her head pretty bad.”
Everything around Heeseung went still. His fingers gripped the door tighter.
“You what?”
Jake nodded, frantic now. “I tried to help her. I brought her to the hospital. I wanted to call you—believe me, I did. But she… she begged me not to. Said you’d worry. Said she just needed a moment away.”
Heeseung felt his world turn inside out. “So she’s with you?” Jake’s expression shattered. “Yes...but I can't do this anymore. ” He stepped forward, desperate now. “Please, can I come in?”
They sat in silence for a moment on opposite ends of the couch. Jake’s fingers trembled around the cup of water Heeseung handed him. “I’m sorry,” Jake murmured, voice cracking. “I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know if there’s a right way to explain any of this.”
Heeseung nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. Jake looked down. “She didn’t remember much that day. Just bits and pieces. She kept asking for directions to a bakery that closed years ago. She was mumbling about… socks, a couch, stars. It didn’t make sense at first.” He paused to take a breathe “But there was something about her. Something… delicate. She didn’t want to be seen as fragile, but she was. She had this quiet kind of sadness. Like she was running from her own mind.”
Heeseung’s throat felt like sandpaper.
“I brought her to my place,” Jake continued, wiping his eyes. “It was closer than the hospital. She stayed for a few days. Then… weeks. And I just… let her.”
There was guilt in every syllable.
“I should’ve called you. I know that. But I—she asked me not to. She said she wasn’t ready to go back. That she needed time. And after everything she told me—or tried to tell me—I didn’t want to force her.”
Heeseung finally found his voice, low and raw. “Told you?”
Jake let out a weak laugh. “Pieces. Fragments. She kept scribbling on papers. I read one by accident one night when she forgot where she hid it.” That hit Heeseung in the chest. “She still wrote?”
“Obsessively,” Jake whispered. “Dates. Events. What you wore. The first time you laughed during breakfast. The time you hugged her when she thought no one would.” He looked up at Heeseung with a hollow sort of respect. “She didn’t write about herself. Just you.”
The silence that followed was cruel.
Then Jake broke it, voice cracking open. “I didn’t plan on falling for her. But it happened.”
Heeseung’s fingers curled into fists.
“I think… I think I fell in love the moment she offered to fold my laundry. She said she couldn’t sleep unless the room was organized, so she started arranging things, my books, labeled my kitchen spices.” He gave a humorless laugh. “She even asked me one night what tie I’d be wearing the next day. I told her I was a kindergarten teacher—I don’t wear ties. I don’t even own one.”
Heeseung looked at him, and something inside him twisted.
Jake’s next words came with a crack.
“She said she loved me once. Looked me straight in the eye and said it. But I knew—God, I knew—she didn’t mean me.”
Heeseung's chest ached.
“She looked at me like she loved someone. But there was no warmth in it. No spark. Just muscle memory.” Jake’s hands trembled harder. “Every day, she did things I knew weren’t meant for me. She’d ask me if I remembered the constellation we saw last December. I’ve never gone stargazing with her. She made tea the way you liked it. She even called me 'Seung' once.”
Heeseung felt the blood drain from his face.“I tried to be enough,” Jake whispered. “I told myself if I loved her hard enough, it wouldn’t matter that she was forgetting. That I wasn’t the one she loved. But I’m not strong enough. I can’t keep lying to myself. I’m going crazy.”
His voice finally broke. “She’s still in love with you.”
Heeseung sat frozen, pain slicing through every nerve. Jake covered his face. “I didn’t come here to fight. Or to beg. I came because I can’t hold this anymore. She’s slipping, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to keep her grounded.”
He looked up, red-eyed. “But maybe you do.”
Heeseung didn’t sleep that night. Jake left after an hour. Not because he wanted to, but because he said staying longer would feel like he was asking for permission.
Heeseung wandered back into the old room you used together. It still smelled like you. The scent hadn’t left, even though you had. He sat at your desk and opened one of the drawers.
And there it was.
Your journal. The one with the frayed corner and ink blot on the back. His hands shook as he turned the pages.
February 3rd – Heeseung laughed today. Actually laughed. I think it was because I burnt the toast and blamed the toaster, but I want to believe it’s because he’s starting to feel safe around me.
March 19th – He looked at me like I was someone worth choosing.
May 1st – I told a joke. He didn’t laugh. I think I messed up. I think I’m slipping again. Heeseung, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I wanted to remember. I wanted to stay.
Heeseung pressed the pages to his chest and let himself cry.
Because you didn’t run away. You simply… forgot your way back. And now he had to find you before the memory of him disappeared too.
The storm had passed, but the ruin it left behind still trembled beneath Heeseung’s ribs. The next morning, sunlight spilled pale and cold over his apartment floor, but there was no warmth in it. Just silence. Thick. Suffocating. Jake had left the address on a wrinkled piece of paper, scrawled in shaky handwriting like his hands were trying to outrun guilt. Heeseung held it tight as he stood in front of the door now, frozen not from fear, but something worse.
What if you look at him and see nothing? He didn’t knock. He just stood there for a second. Then another. Then the door opened from the inside. You stood barefoot, hair pulled back loosely, wearing a familiar oversized cardigan. His cardigan.
But the eyes that met his weren’t familiar at all.
You frowned.
“Who are you…” your head tilted, voice uncertain. “Why do you look so sad?”
It wasn’t a joke anymore. It wasn’t teasing. Your voice was too sincere, too puzzled. Heeseung’s heart dropped into a bottomless void.
He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even breathe. So he stepped forward and hugged you. He didn’t ask. Didn’t wait. He just pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it nearly broke both of you.
“I missed you,” he whispered, voice trembling against your ear. “I missed you so goddamn much.”
For a beat, you didn’t move. Then your fingers clutched his shirt. And you began to cry.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” you said, voice cracking. “But you… you feel familiar.” He nodded into your shoulder, gripping you like an anchor in a storm.“You’re warm... but so familiar ” you mumbled, cheek pressed against his collarbone now. "Heeseung...why are you sad?”
His tears spilled freely now.
Behind them, Jake watched from the hallway, shoulders stiff, arms crossed, mouth quivering.
When you turned slightly and met Jake's eyes
You blinked. Shifting suddenly,Then asked, “Who are you?”
Silence.
Jake’s lips parted. But no sound came.
A second passed. Then another. He blinked once, twice, swallowed the storm threatening to choke him.
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered.
Heeseung didn’t speak. Didn’t turn.
Jake’s eyes glistened. But he smiled anyway, as if giving you up was the easiest thing he’d ever done. He turned away and went into the other room. A silent retreat.
That night, Heeseung stayed. He didn’t sleep. Neither did you. You curled against him on the couch, wrapped in past like a quilt. He tucked you into his side like he had never lost you. Your hand rested on his chest, fingers twitching every so often like you were trying to remember something with touch alone.
In the silence, you whispered, “I want to go.”
He turned to look at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Where?”
You shook your head, confused. “I don’t know. Just… away.”
“Away from what?”
“I don’t know that either,” you said. “But I want to go. With you.” Heeseung kissed your forehead, gently. “Okay.”
Jake woke up to an empty house. No voices. No breathing. No you. He called out once. Twice. Silence answered.
His heart seized.
Then he saw it, on the dining table. A phone. No, not a phone. A voice recorder. The kind Heeseung used sometimes when working through business proposals aloud.
He pressed play. And heard Heeseung’s voice. Soft. Tired. But steady.
“Jake…I know you probably hate me right now. Maybe you should. But I need to say this before I go.
Thank you.
Thank you for finding her when I lost her. For caring for her when I didn’t know how. For loving her in the quiet ways that kept her alive.
I read the journal.
I know now that she didn’t leave because she wanted to forget me. She left because she was scared I’d forget her. Or worse, that I’d watch her forget me. But Jake… she remembers something. Somewhere deep down, in the part of her soul untouched by time or illness or fear...she remembers love.
And I’m going to remind her. Every day. Until the stars go out. I’m taking her away. Just the two of us.
She wanted to go. So I’m taking her where the sky’s clear and quiet. Where the world slows down.
I’m going to show her the stars.”
The recording stopped. Jake stood there for a long, long time. He didn’t cry right away. Instead, he sat down at the kitchen table. Fingers trembling, he reached for the cross that hung from his necklace.
Clutched it. Pressed it to his lips. And closed his eyes.
“Take care of them,” he whispered. “Please.”
And then he cried. For you. For Heeseung. For himself. For the cruel poetry of loving someone who never truly belonged to you.
THE END
©sunishake
Masterpiece 🙏
