ONE SHOT | WINRINA | Word Count: 5.41k
"Was I just an afterthought?"
Events were loosely adapted from real-life occurrences
The rain had just stopped when Kim Minjeong stepped through the university gates for the first time. The air still smelled like wet concrete and new beginnings, and she wasnât sure if she liked either.
Sheâd transferred from a small high school where everyone knew everyoneâwhere she could blend into the background without anyone really noticing. But here, in one of Seoulâs most prestigious colleges, she was suddenly the new girl. The quiet one with the neat handwriting, soft voice, and eyes that never stayed long enough to meet anyoneâs.
Her first class was Introduction to Communication Studies. She slipped into the last empty seat near the window, clutching her ID like it could anchor her.
Thatâs when she heard a voice beside her, smooth, slightly accented, playful.
âYouâre new, right? I donât think Iâve seen you before.â
Minjeong turned. The girl beside her had bright, confident eyes and an easy smile that reached them.
âYeah,â Minjeong said, adjusting her bag. âI just transferred.â
âIâm Aeri, by the way. But everyone calls me Giselle.â
âMinjeong.â
âCute name,â Giselle said without missing a beat. âWhere were you before this?â
âDaegu. Itâs⌠quieter there.â
âAh,â Giselle said, leaning on her elbow. âNo wonder you look like you hate this city.â
Minjeong blinked, startled, then laughed quietly. âMaybe a little.â
That was the start of itâsmall talk that didnât feel forced, shared snacks during breaks, random debates about music, and laughter that echoed past classroom walls.
By the second week, people started pairing them up during group works because they clicked so naturally. Minjeong never noticed the way Giselleâs smile lingered a little longer on her, or how sheâd always wait by the gate just to walk her to the bus stop.
One lazy afternoon, Minjeong walked into the campus cafĂŠ and spotted Giselle sitting with two girls. Both looked like they belonged there, polished, confident, the type who turned heads without trying.
âMinjeong!â Giselle waved. âOver here!â
Minjeong hesitated but joined them anyway.
âThis is Ningning,â Giselle said, pointing to the girl with dyed blonde hair and a mischievous grin. âAnd this is Karina.â
Karina looked up from her phone and smiled, and that was it.
Something in Minjeongâs chest fluttered, then sank. Karina had the kind of beauty that was impossible to ignore: sharp eyes softened by warmth, a voice that carried calm even when she wasnât saying anything. Minjeong tried to return the smile, but it came out a little too late, a little too shy.
âHi,â Karina said, extending her hand. âIâve heard a lot about you.â
âOh? From who?â Minjeong asked.
âFrom your biggest fan,â Ningning teased, gesturing toward Giselle, who groaned.
âShut up,â Giselle muttered, cheeks red.
Karina chuckled, resting her chin on her hand. âSo itâs true, huh, Gigi? Youâve got a crush on the transfer student?â
âYah!â Giselle hissed, throwing a straw wrapper at her.
Everyone laughedâeven Minjeongâbut her heart was pounding for a different reason.
Because when she dared to glance at Karina again, she realized something dangerous.
It wasnât Giselleâs laughter that made her stomach twist.
It was Karinaâs.
Because in that small cafĂŠ, surrounded by teasing and laughter, Minjeong already knewâthis was how it started. Quietly, softly, like a secret blooming where it shouldnât.
Weeks passed, and Minjeong began to settle into her new routineâearly morning lectures, coffee breaks at the cafĂŠ, and lunch under the acacia tree behind the music building. Somewhere along the way, she stopped being âthe new transfer studentâ and simply became part of their circle.
Karina, Ningning, Giselle, and Minjeong.
Four names that were always said together, like they fit.
They spent their afternoons sprawled across the campus lawn, talking about anything and everything. Ningning would scroll through her phone, laughing at memes; Giselle would hum whatever song was stuck in her head; and KarinaâKarina would always sit quietly, half-listening, half-lost in thought.
It was on one of those afternoons when the teasing began.
âSo, Gigi,â Ningning started, her tone sing-songy. âHowâs your favorite transfer student?â
Giselle choked on her drink. âWhat theâNing, not this again!â
Karina chuckled softly, twirling her straw. âCome on, weâve all noticed. You literally light up when Minjeong walks in.â
âI do not!â Giselle protested, but her blush betrayed her.
Minjeong, caught mid-sip, blinked in confusion. âWait, what are you guys talking about?â
âNothing!â Giselle said quickly, glaring at her friends.
But Ningning wasnât done. âShe means she adores you. Like, in a crush kind of way.â
Minjeong froze. Her heart did a weird flip, not out of excitement but out of panic. She glanced at Giselle, who looked mortified, then at Karinaâwho was smiling, amused, her chin resting on her palm.
âOh,â Minjeong said softly. âI⌠didnât know.â
Giselle groaned. âGreat. Thanks a lot, Ning.â
Karina laughed quietly. âDonât worry, Gigi. Weâll help you win her over.â
Minjeongâs breath hitched.
The teasing became a daily thing after that. Whenever Minjeong and Giselle walked together, Karina and Ningning would exchange knowing glances, whispering jokes just loud enough for everyone to hear.
âCareful, Gigi, your girlfriendâs leaving you behind.â
âMinjeong-ah, donât make Giselle jealous!â
It was harmlessâat least to them. But to Minjeong, every word felt like a needle.
Because no matter how many times they teased Giselle, her eyes would always drift toward Karina. Every time Karina laughed, Minjeongâs chest tightened; every time she smiled at her, it felt like the world shifted a little too close, a little too bright.
Giselle started texting her more, calling her Minjeongie in messages. Sheâd share playlists, buy her snacks, wait by her classroom after class. Everyone thought it was sweet.
But Minjeong couldnât feel it. Not really.
She appreciated it, yesâbut it wasnât the same warmth that bloomed in her chest whenever Karina said her name.
âMinjeong,â Karina would call out after class, voice smooth, soft around the edges. âYouâre coming with us, right?â
That alone was enough to make her forget how to breathe.
She knew it was wrongâto feel this way while Giselleâs heart was pointed straight at herâbut Minjeong couldnât help it. Karina wasnât just beautiful. She was effortless. She had this quiet confidence that drew people in, made them feel seen without even trying.
And Minjeong? She was falling. Fast, and quietly, in a way that no one noticed.
Sheâd catch Minjeong staring sometimesâduring lectures, or while they sat across from each other at the cafĂŠ. Karina would tilt her head, smile just a little, and Minjeong would look away, cheeks flushed.
âAre you okay?â Karina would ask.
âYeah,â Minjeong would lie.
Because what was she supposed to say? I like you, even though I shouldnât. Even though they all think Giselleâs the one who does.
The teasing continued, but the laughter started to sound different.
And one rainy afternoon, when Minjeong found herself standing under the same umbrella as KarinaâGiselle nowhere in sightâshe realized something terrifying.
For all the teasing and pretending, she wasnât just part of the game anymore.
She was the one losing it.
It started with silence.
Not the comfortable kindâthe kind that hums between two people who understand each otherâbut the kind that sits heavy in the air, pressing down until breathing feels like effort.
Minjeong noticed it first. Giselle wasnât as loud anymore. The jokes stopped coming, and the teasing that once filled their days faded into soft, hesitant smiles. Even Ningning picked up on it, her usual energy dimming whenever the group sat together.
Karina, on the other hand, stayed the sameâor at least, she seemed to. She still laughed at Ningningâs dumb puns, still shared her fries with Minjeong, still nudged Giselle whenever the room got too serious. But Minjeong could feel itâthe shift in the air, the unspoken tension between them all.
It finally broke one late afternoon.
They had just finished their last class, the sky bruised with rain clouds when Giselle asked, âCan we talk?â
Minjeong blinked. âYeah, sure.â
They ended up under the covered walkway, rain tapping gently against the pavement. Giselle looked nervous, hands tucked into her jacket pockets, her usual confidence nowhere to be seen.
âI donât wanna make things weird,â Giselle began, âbut I canât keep pretending anymore.â
Minjeongâs stomach sank. She already knew what was coming.
âI like you, Minjeong.â
The words came out shaky, vulnerable. âIâve liked you for a while now. I know itâs probably obvious, and maybe you donât feel the same, but I just⌠I needed you to know.â
Minjeongâs lips parted, but no words came out. The rain filled the silence between them, soft but relentless.
âGiselleâŚâ she finally whispered. âYouâre really important to me. You are. But Iââ She stopped. Her throat tightened around the truth she couldnât say. But I like someone else.
Giselle smiled, a little too quickly. âItâs okay. You donât have to say it. I just wanted to get it off my chest.â
She turned to leave, and Minjeongâs heart cracked at the sight of her retreating figureâbrave and breaking all at once.
For the next few days, things were off. Giselle started avoiding her, not completely, but enough to make it hurt. Ningning tried to lighten the mood, but the group didnât feel the same anymore.
It was raining againâSeoul seemed to have a cruel sense of timingâwhen Minjeong found herself alone in the cafĂŠ, staring at the untouched cup of coffee across from her. Giselle was supposed to meet her, but she hadnât shown up.
Minjeong looked up. Karina stood there, rain still clinging to her hair, eyes soft in the cafĂŠ light.
âSure,â Minjeong said, moving her bag aside.
Karina sat down, watching her quietly for a while before saying, âYouâve been quiet lately.â
âSo has everyone,â Minjeong replied, forcing a smile.
Karina leaned back, studying her. âDid something happen between you and Giselle?â
Minjeong hesitated. âShe told me something⌠and I didnât really know what to say.â
Karina nodded slowly. âShe likes you.â
Minjeong froze. âYou knew?â
Karinaâs lips curved faintly. âIt wasnât exactly subtle.â
They both laughed softly, but it didnât reach their eyes.
âMinjeong is too formal,â Karina said after a pause. âDo you have a nickname?â
âWinter,â she answered, hesitating.
âOkay then,â Karina said, voice low and steady. âWinter.â
The way she said itâlike she was testing the weight of itâmade something flutter in Minjeongâs chest.
âIâm actually glad you rejected Gigi,â Karina added, tracing the rim of her cup.
Minjeong blinked. âGlad?â
âYeah,â Karina said, looking up. âSheâs had a suitor for months now. Wonbin. Poor guyâs been trying so hard to win her heart, and it really broke him seeing her pine over you instead.â
âReally?â
âYeah,â Karina sighed. âGiselle can be a red flag when she knows what she wants.â
Minjeong didnât know what to say to that. The words lingered, heavy and strange.
She wanted to defend Giselleâbut somehow, hearing Karina speak so casually about it made her chest ache in a different way.
Then Karina said something that made Minjeong forget to breathe.
âSheâs not the only one whoâs been acting different, you know.â
Minjeongâs pulse quickened. âWhat do you mean?â
Karina tilted her head. âYou avoid my eyes when I talk. You stutter when I tease you. You donât do that with anyone else.â
Minjeongâs heart stopped.
She wanted to deny it, but Karinaâs gaze was steady, unflinching.
âIâm not judging,â Karina said, her voice gentle now. âI just want you to know you donât have to hide it.â
Hide what? The longing? The way her heart ached every time Karina smiled? The guilt that came with wanting someone she shouldnât?
Minjeong looked down, gripping her cup tightly. âItâs not that simple.â
Karina leaned closer, voice low. âIt never is.â
The rain outside turned heavier, thunder rolling faintly in the distance. For a second, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of themâtwo people standing on the edge of something neither could name.
Minjeong finally looked up, meeting Karinaâs eyes.
And thatâs when she knew.
Whatever this was, it was already too late to stop.
After that afternoon in the cafĂŠ, things changedâbut not in the way Winter expected.
Karina didnât pull away. If anything, she drew closer.
It started smallâtexting more often, lingering after class, walking her halfway to the dorm even when it was out of her way. They called it coincidence, but both of them knew better.
âMorning, Winter.â
Karina said it with that teasing lilt again, a smirk tugging at her lips.
âYou sound too cheerful for 8 a.m.,â Winter mumbled, hiding a smile behind her tumbler.
âI had coffee.â
âYou always have coffee.â
âThen maybe itâs because I saw you first thing today.â
Winter rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her, curving upward.
âSmooth, Yoo Karina.â
âI try,â Karina said, grinning.
They started sitting next to each other in lectures, whispering comments about professors, trading doodles on the corners of their notes. When Karina laughed, sheâd nudge Winterâs shoulder lightly, and Winter would pretend not to freeze every time.
To anyone else, it looked harmlessâtwo friends sharing easy comfort. But to Winter, every word felt like stepping closer to a line she shouldnât cross.
One afternoon, they stayed behind in the empty classroom to finish a project. Rain drummed softly against the windows, the golden light outside turning the room hazy.
Karina leaned back in her chair, stretching. âYou know, Winter, you get this focused face when youâre working.â
Winter glanced up. âThatâs supposed to be a compliment?â
âItâs supposed to be dangerous.â
Winter blinked. âDangerous?â
âYeah,â Karina said with a grin. âIt makes people stare too long.â
Winter bit her lip to stop a laugh. âThen stop staring.â
âCanât. You told me to be honest.â
It wasnât just banter anymore. The air between them pulsed, heavy with something unsaid. Karina looked at her the way people look at things theyâre afraid to lose.
Winter looked down, her voice barely above a whisper. âYou shouldnât say things like that.â
âWhy not?â Karina asked softly.
âBecause someone might take them seriously.â
Karinaâs smirk faltered for a heartbeatâthen she smiled again, slower this time. âMaybe thatâs the point.â
From then on, their friendship lived in that fragile in-between: stolen glances, lingering touches, words that meant too much.
Theyâd sit too close at lunch. Karina would rest her chin on Winterâs shoulder when she read. Sometimes, sheâd brush a strand of hair from her face and say it was âin the way,â when it clearly wasnât.
Every time, Winter told herself not to read into it.
Every time, she failed.
Because Karina made it easy to forget about boundariesâeasier still to cross them.
One night, as they walked out of the library, Karina held out her umbrella and said, âYou know, if I didnât know any better, Iâd think you like spending time with me.â
Winter smiled faintly. âMaybe I do.â
Karinaâs eyes softened. âThen Iâm lucky.â
Winter laughed quietly, but something in her chest ached. Because for once, it didnât feel like flirting anymore. It felt like the truth pretending to be a joke.
It happened on a Thursday.
The kind of day that felt too ordinary to hold something life-changing.
Winter and Karina were sitting on the steps outside the lecture hall, watching the sky burn orange. Theyâd been laughing about something stupidâsomething that didnât matterâwhen the laughter slowly faded, replaced by silence that stretched too long.
Winterâs heart was pounding so loud it felt like a warning.
She knew she was about to ruin something good.
âKarina,â she said quietly.
Karina hummed, her eyes still on the fading sun. âHmm?â
âDo you ever get tired of pretending?â
Karina turned to her, puzzled. âPretending what?â
Winter forced herself to meet her gaze. âThat thisâwhatever this isâdoesnât mean something.â
Karina froze. The world around them went still, the laughter of students in the distance fading into white noise.
Winter continued before she could lose her nerve. âI like you, Karina. Not in a âyouâre fun to be aroundâ kind of way. Iâactually like you.â
Karinaâs brows furrowed, her lips parting slightly in disbelief. âYouâre joking.â
âCome on, Winter.â She laughed, but it sounded brittle. âYou always tease back. You flirt. Thatâs just⌠what we do.â
Winterâs chest tightened. âYou think this is a joke to me?â
âI justââ Karina looked away, her voice softening. âYou donât mean it.â
That stung more than Winter expected.
She stood up, clutching her bag. âMaybe you just donât want me to mean it.â
Karina didnât respond. She didnât reach out. She just sat there, staring at the ground, her silence louder than any rejection could ever be.
Winter turned and walked away before her voice could break.
The next day, Karina found an envelope on her desk. Six folded pages, written in Winterâs neat, looping handwriting.
She hesitated before opening it.
The letter wasnât dramatic. It wasnât bitter. It was honest.
Winter wrote about the first time they met, about the cafĂŠ where Karina called her name like it meant something. She wrote about the way Karina laughed, how she memorized her favorite color without trying, how she hated herself for falling for someone whoâd never look at her the same way.
On the last page, the ink had smudged slightly, like sheâd hesitated before finishing it.
âYou donât have to feel the same. I just needed you to know it was real.â
Karina reread that line again and again, each word heavier than the last.
Outside, it started to rain. The kind of rain that blurred everything it touchedâink, paper, the edge between love and almost.
She sat there until the pages wrinkled under her fingers, realizing too late that some things arenât meant to be fixedâonly felt.
It took three days for Winter to talk to her again.
Three days of avoiding eye contact in the halls, of swallowing down every word that wanted to escape.
When she finally did, it was after classâjust the two of them, the room dim and quiet except for the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.
Karina looked up from her notes, startled. âWinter.â
Winterâs palms were clammy. âHey.â
They stared at each other for a moment, unsure which version of themselves they were supposed to be. The one before the confession, or the one after.
Winter broke the silence first. âDid you read it?â
Karina nodded slowly. âYeah.â
Karina exhaled, the kind that sounded like surrender. âIt was beautiful.â
âThatâs not what I asked.â
Karina smiled faintly, eyes soft. âYouâre brave, you know that?â
Winter swallowed hard. âThen let me be brave again.â
She took a step closer. âCan I court you?â
Karinaâs eyes widened. âWhat?â
âIâm not asking you to say you love me back. I just⌠want to show you what it could feel like. I want to try. Even if itâs just one chance.â
Karinaâs lips parted, words catching somewhere between yes and no. Finally, she looked down, cheeks tinged pink. âOkay.â
Karina nodded, voice small. âOkay.â
And just like that, Winterâs chest filled with something bright and reckless.
For a week, it felt like everything was right.
Winter brought her coffee in the mornings, waited after class, walked her to the gate. Karina smiled more often now, laughed at the smallest things. There were momentsâsmall onesâthat made it feel mutual.
Theyâd hold hands in public, their fingers intertwining like it was the most natural thing in the world. When they crossed streets, Karina would tug her closer without thinking.
They hugged oftenâbriefly at first, then longer each day. Winter could still remember the warmth of Karinaâs hair against her cheek, the way sheâd whisper âthank youâ after every little gesture.
There were times theyâd sit under the trees near the campus fountain, Karina resting her head on Winterâs shoulder as they shared earphones. It wasnât grand, but it was realâor at least, it felt that way.
One morning, Karina stopped replying to messages.
At lunch, she sat with Ningning and Giselle instead of Winter.
By Wednesday, she had started leaving class early. By Friday, she was a ghost in the hallwaysâalways just out of reach.
Winter tried not to notice, but even silence has a way of screaming when you care too much.
By the end of the week, she was sitting in the cafeteria with her head down when Yunjin slid into the seat beside her, Ryujin following quietly behind.
âMinjeong,â Yunjin said softly, âyou need to stop.â
Winter blinked. âStop what?â
Ryujin exchanged a glance with Yunjin before sighing. âThe courting. Whatever this is.â
Winterâs throat tightened. âShe didnât even say anything. She justâleft.â
âThatâs the point,â Yunjin murmured. âIf she wanted it, you wouldnât be the only one trying.â
Winter stared at the untouched drink in front of her, the straw sinking into melted ice. âI just thought⌠maybe she needed time.â
âOr maybe she already made up her mind,â Ryujin said quietly.
Winter didnât respond. The world felt heavier, like the air itself was pressing down on her.
Because deep down, she knew they were right.
It had only been a weekâbut love, even when itâs short, has a way of leaving a mark that doesnât fade easily.
Days bled into weeks, and somehow, life kept going.
The groupâWinter, Karina, Sullyoon, and Markâstill met for their project, still sat in their usual corner of the campus cafĂŠ. Same chairs, same playlist humming in the background, same sunlight dripping through the windows.
But it wasnât the same.
Karina sat across from her, neat as always, her laptop open, her eyes focused on the screen as if the world began and ended there. Not a glance. Not a word outside of the project. Not even the small smiles she used to throw across the table when their eyes met by accident.
âOkay,â Mark said, scrolling through his notes, âwe need to finish the survey results by next week.â
Winter nodded. âI already sorted the data.â
Karina typed quietly. No thank you. No acknowledgment. Just the faint click of her keyboard and the rustle of her hair when she moved.
Winter told herself she was fine with itâthat this was what Karina wanted, and she had to respect that. But every second of that silence scraped against her chest.
Sullyoon tried to fill it with small talk, with laughter that never quite reached either of them.
Mark, bless him, tried to pretend he didnât notice the invisible line drawn down the table.
But Winter noticed everything.
The way Karina would pass her a document without their fingers touching.
The way sheâd speak to Sullyoon or Mark with her usual warmth, only for her voice to cool when it was Winterâs turn.
The way sheâd leave first, alwaysâbefore Winter could gather the courage to say goodbye.
It was indifference, sharp and deliberate.
And it hurt more than any rejection ever could.
Winter stayed late one afternoon, long after the others had gone. The table still smelled faintly of Karinaâs perfume.
She stared at the empty seat across from her and whispered under her breath,
âI wish youâd just yelled at me instead.â
Because silence, she realized, didnât mean peace. It meant absence. It meant being erased slowly, politely.
When she finally stood to leave, she caught a glimpse of Karina by the vending machines outsideâlaughing at something Sullyoon said, her face soft and alive in a way it never was around Winter anymore.
Winter smiled bitterly to herself, clutching the strap of her bag tighter.
Karina looked happy. And that shouldâve been enough.
But it wasnât.
Not when Winter was still learning how to breathe through the ache of being treated like nothing happenedâ
when for her, it was everything.
She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and started walking toward the cafeteria, hoping the movement would drown out her thoughts.
The smell of coffee hit her before she even reached the counter.
She ordered her usual: iced Americano, half-melted ice, too bitter to finish.
It didnât matter. She just needed something to hold. Something to do with her hands when her heart wouldnât stay still.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Yunjin.
âYou good?â Winter typed, deleted, then typed again.
âYeah.â A lie that had begun to roll off her fingers too easily.
She sat down at an empty table, trying to focus on the noiseâthe clinking of spoons, the shuffle of trays, laughter bouncing from table to table. Ordinary life. Safe distance.
And then, like a cruel coincidence, she saw her.
Across the cafeteria, by the doors, framed in that familiar soft light. Hair tied back, lips parted in mid-laughter. For a second, Winterâs breath hitched. Maybeâjust maybeâKarina had come looking for her.
Yeji, with her easy confidence, her familiar grin, her eyes lighting up when she saw Karina.
Karinaâs expression softened immediatelyâsomething in her whole posture shifting. Her face opened in that rare, unguarded way that Winter had memorized once.
Without hesitation, Karina stepped forward and hugged Yeji.
Not a friendly pat-on-the-back kind of hug.
The kind that felt like home. The kind that said I missed you.
The sound of the cafeteria dulled around her, as if someone had pulled her out of the world and left her floating on the edge of it. The chatter blurred, the laughter turned distant. All she could hear was the faint ringing in her ears.
Karina said somethingâsomething light, something that made Yeji laugh again. That same laugh Winter had once worked so hard to hear.
And in that moment, every unanswered question collapsed into a single truth.
It was never confusion. Never mixed signals.
It was Yeji.
It had always been Yeji.
Winter stood abruptly, the chair legs scraping the floor. Nobody looked. Nobody cared. She was just another student leaving. Just another girl realizing sheâd been loving someone whoâd already chosen someone else.
Outside, the air was sharp and cool. The sky was gray again, the kind that promised rain.
She didnât cry.
Not there, not where anyone could see.
She just walkedâpast the hallway, past the empty benches, past the version of herself that still hoped.
When she finally reached her car, the first drop of rain hit the windshield. Then another. Then more, until everything blurred.
Winter sat there, motionless, watching it pour.
The world outside trembled and bent through the glass, and for the first time in a long while, she let herself feel it allâ
the loss, the ache, the quiet kind of grief that comes when someone moves on without you.
Inside the cafeteria, Karina was probably still smiling.
And that, Winter thought, was the cruelest kind of endingâ
the one where youâre the only one who realizes itâs already over.
The rumor started during lunch.
By the time Winter entered the cafeteria, it wasnât even a rumor anymore.
âKarinaâs transferring,â Sullyoon said, tone careful. âSheâs leaving for Ewha next week.â
Winter froze, her hand tightening around her tray. âWhat?â
âItâs official,â Ningning added quietly. âFull scholarship.â
Winter nodded slowly, the air leaving her lungs. âThatâs⌠good for her.â
She sat down, pretending to eat, pretending not to hear the whispers, pretending it didnât feel like the floor had just opened beneath her feet.
Then the noise around her dimmed. Heads turned toward the entrance.
She looked untouchable â the crisp uniform, the calm smile, her usual composure wrapped perfectly around her like armor. And beside her was Yeji, coffee in hand, eyes soft in the way that said everything Winter didnât want to see.
Someone joked, âYouâre really leaving us, huh?â
Karina smiled. âItâs about time.â
Yeji laughed beside her, nudging her shoulder. âI still canât believe you didnât tell me sooner.â
Karina turned toward her, eyes light. âNow you know.â
And before anyone could react, she leaned forward and kissed her.
It wasnât long. It wasnât showy. But it was enough.
Enough for the cafeteria to go quiet. Enough for Winterâs world to stop moving.
She didnât stay to see what happened after. The sound of her chair scraping against the floor echoed too loud as she stood and walked out. No one followed her.
Outside, Seoul was drenched in rain. The streets glowed silver and gold under the city lights, but Winter barely saw any of it. Her chest felt hollow. Every step hurt.
By the time she realized where her feet had taken her, she was at the old overpass near Hongdae â Karinaâs favorite spot. The city stretched below, endless and indifferent.
Winter sat on the bench, her hair dripping, her fingers trembling around the strap of her bag. Inside it were letters she never sent, pages filled with everything she couldnât say.
She was still trying to breathe when a familiar voice cut through the rain.
Winter turned. Karina was there â dry under an umbrella, as if the storm had spared her. Her face was unreadable.
âWhat are you doing here?â Winter asked, voice raw.
Karinaâs tone was calm, almost too calm. âYou always come here when youâre upset.â
Winter let out a breathy laugh. âYou still remember that?â
âI remember many things,â Karina said simply.
Winterâs voice hardened. âThen you probably remember how it felt to be honest with me.â
Karina didnât react. âI came to tell you goodbye.â
âGoodbye?â Winter repeated, laughing without humor. âYou already said goodbye when you kissed Yeji in front of everyone.â
âThat wasnât about you.â
Winterâs eyes widened. âThen what was it about?â
âIt was about me,â Karina said, steady and emotionless. âIâm moving on, Minjeong. Thatâs all it was.â
Winter stared at her. âYou couldâve told me.â
âI didnât think I owed you that,â Karina said flatly.
Something inside Winter cracked. âYou didnât owe me anything? After everything? After Iââ Her voice broke. âAfter I loved you?â
Karinaâs expression didnât change. âYou shouldnât have.â
Winter swallowed hard, her hands shaking. âSo thatâs it? Youâre leaving and Iâm supposed to justâwhatâpretend none of it mattered?â
Karina shifted her umbrella slightly, her gaze fixed somewhere past Winter. âIt mattered. But itâs over.â
Winter laughed bitterly. âYouâre unbelievable.â
âNo,â Winter said, stepping closer, her eyes wet. âYouâre afraid.â
Karinaâs jaw tightened. âAfraid of what?â
âOf feeling anything real,â Winter hissed. âYou push people away the second it stops being convenient for you. Giselle, Yeji, me. You only stay where itâs easy.â
Karinaâs eyes flickered, but her tone stayed cool. âIf thatâs what helps you sleep at night, fine.â
Winterâs voice cracked. âYouâre really this heartless?â
Karina exhaled quietly. âI just learned not to confuse intensity for love.â
Winterâs breath hitched. âYou said you liked me.â
âI did,â Karina said, and for a brief second, her eyes softened â but only slightly. âBut that doesnât mean I wanted to stay.â
Winterâs throat tightened. âWhy? Because Giselle got distant? Because Yeji was easier?â
âBecause you were too much,â Karina said finally, evenly. âToo loud. Too honest. Too everything I wasnât ready for.â
Winter blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. âSo you replaced me.â
âI moved on,â Karina corrected. âThereâs a difference.â
The silence between them was sharp, the rain falling heavier. Seoul glimmered around them â beautiful, uncaring.
âDo you even feel guilty?â Winter whispered.
Karinaâs expression didnât change. âNo.â
Winter let out a trembling laugh, half disbelief, half heartbreak. âYou really donât, huh?â
âIâm happy with Yeji,â Karina said, her tone final, unshaken.
And just like that, Winter stopped speaking. The words caught in her throat and never made it out.
For a long moment, she just looked at her â the girl she loved, standing there like the rain didnât touch her, like none of this ever meant anything.
Winterâs voice was barely a whisper when it came. âI hope she makes you quiet, too.â
Winter gave her one last look before turning away. âGoodbye, Karina.â
âGoodbye, Winter,â Karina said, calm and unbothered.
Winter walked off into the rain, shoulders trembling, the city lights blurring around her. The letter inside her coat pocket bled through with water, ink running like tears she refused to shed.
And that was how it ended â not with shouting, not with closure, but with indifference.
Because sometimes, love doesnât die. It just hardens in the chest of the one who no longer cares.