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"Mom, you can't be serious! Please, let’s discuss this rationally!” There wasn’t a single thing about this entire situation that was rational; wasn’t a single thing near the realm of logical, either. Why was her mother refusing to see it? Instead, her mother was ignoring her, dragging Soo behind her as if her daughter were once again a small, disobedient child. “Mom!”
Her mother's fingers clutch her wrist tightly in an unusually harsh grip, and she can’t help but wince at the pressure. Soo has no doubt there will be finger-shaped bruises blooming on the tender skin soon. She tries to wrench herself free, but her mother only tightens her hold. Soo resorts to dragging her shoes—heels of a conservative height, thrust into her hands before they had left their apartment—against the asphalt when her pleas continue to fall on deaf ears, hoping it will make her mother angry enough that she'd stop.
Stop everything.
It takes Soo stumbling and nearly tripping as her heels catch on the cracks and bumps for her mother to finally come to an abrupt halt, twisting around to face her daughter with hardened eyes that soften as they take her in. "Soo, please stop fighting! I'm doing this for you."
Why can’t you see that? her mother’s tired, sad eyes seem to plead. There are bags under those eyes. It’s easy to see that she’s exhausted, a tightness in her features as if she battling an invisible pain, and her face so pale. For the first time Soo actually thinks her mother looks her age and guilt immediately floods her, warring with her determination to not go through with this.
Maybe she should be a good daughter and honor the insane arrangement her mother had agreed to.
Soo has to resist the temptation to stomp her foot like a child at the thought, but she suddenly feels the odd urge to act childish—as if clinging to juvenile actions would be a prime example as to why marriage shouldn't be an option for her. Not yet, and not without a man of her own choosing. "I'm eighteen and I don't want to be married. Especially to an old guy that I don't even know. I mean, this is practically archaic."
Her mother releases a sigh of exasperation as she shakes her head, but Soo can see her soften at the words. It’s a victory—a small one, but a victory nonetheless. She prays her mother will see reason now, that an inch will give way to a mile and she’d announce that the agreement was over and they’d turn around. But she doesn't budge. "He's only a year older than you, Soo. In university, top of his class,” she makes sure to add, like that will sweeten the deal. It doesn’t. “And I want you taken care of,” her mother continues. “This family, they're extremely well off, and you’ll want for no—"
"I don't care how rich they are," Soo interrupts, spitting the words out. "I don't care how old he is or if he’s the smartest or dumbest guy of his class, either. I don't want to marry a guy who is a stranger. And I can take care of myself."
"Can you?" The smile on her mother’s lips is cheerless.
"Of course," Soo chirps, grinning widely. "I can take care of the both of us without marrying any guy."
Her wrist is relinquished from her mother’s hold, dropping limply to her side. But her mother reaches out to cup Soo’s face in her gentle hands, asking her once more to go through with this. For her.
And there’s something in her tone, a desperation, that makes Soo swallow down further protests. She looks away from her mother’s beseeching gaze and shifts under the intensity of it, unable to even silently mouth a denial. There’s a blister forming on the back of her ankle from her shoe rubbing against the skin, the sharp pain reminding her that this isn’t some terrible nightmare she could jolt awake from. If she agrees, her life will never be the same; her life could very well not be her own.
She meets her mother’s eyes, “Okay.”
This girl, whoever she is, should be marrying Yo.
Not him.
And that's exactly what So had told his father when his engagement to a girl he’d never heard one word of was announced at their weekly family dinner. His father had shot that down instantly, as if the very idea was preposterous. The girl would marry So, end of discussion. So had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t point out that this hadn’t been a discussion of any sort. Yo had worn a pleased smirk and Jung had slumped in his seat with a loud sigh of relief, as if he’d narrowly avoided being the chosen sacrifice.
As if he’d ever be an option, So had scoffed. At sixteen, the baby of the family could barely remember to bathe daily, his life—more carefree than his older brothers’ had ever been—revolving around basketball and video game sessions that lasted for hours.
The only person at the table as vehemently against the idea as So happened to be his mother, but it wasn't because of him being forced into marriage.
It was who he would be his wife.
"You're not bringing that woman's daughter into this family," his mother had seethed across the long table, punctuating the end of her sentence by slamming her glass down. So had been surprised it hadn’t shattered from the force of it. “I forbid it!”
But his father was undeterred by his wife’s display, adamant that he wanted this girl as a daughter-in-law, and favored So to be the groom.
"If you marry that girl, you're no longer my son," his mother had whispered in his ear after dinner, red lips twisted in a cruel snarl when she pulled back, her matching nails cutting into the skin of his wrist.
So hadn't even laid eyes on the girl, didn’t even know her name yet, and he already felt hatred twisting his gut.
Now that he’s finally seeing her, he doesn’t quite know what to say or do. It’s not her looks that throw him off, though she’s pretty enough when her long hair isn’t shielding her face from his gaze.
It’s the scowl on her face as his father greets her mother, cool eyes that pointedly ignore his when they’re properly introduced, and it’s not like he thought the girl would be falling all over him, but the vitriol aimed at him when she deems him worthy enough of a perusal wasn’t something he’d planned on.
It was funny that the only thing he had in common with his future wife—Soo—was how against this arrangement they were.
Her mother’s complexion is a sickly pallor, her forehead visibly clammy, and it concerns Soo. Perhaps it doesn’t concern her as much as it should, because her wedding is in a week, and it seems every minute that passes it becomes harder for her to breathe, like her chest is collapsing under an invisible weight. Her mother’s health should hold more importance, but Soo can’t think of anything else.
Soo has to ask, can’t give her complete consent if she’s going into this blind.
“Why do you want me to go through with this?”
The hand that reaches up to cup her face is shaky. “I’m afraid the truth will make you even more against it.”
Soo’s lips twitch as she considers the answer. “Probably,” she concedes. “But it’s not like my ignorance is all that blissful in this case,” Soo points out, holding her mother’s other hand. “I’d rather know the whole truth.”
But after her mother grudgingly shares it with her, Soo feels more than the pressure crushing her chest. She feels sick. Her stomach churns, and she can’t accept this. She can’t, and it was wrong of them to ask this of her and the man she was marrying.
She’d never been a rebellious child, just stubborn and willful. When her mother had begged her to focus on her studies so she’d be able to be accepted into a nice university, Soo had applied to cosmetology school. It was her passion, and eventually her mother had reluctantly given her blessing, telling Soo she’d support the decision.
She thinks of how her mother had worked tirelessly every day for years, so they—especially Soo—could live in relative comfort. Her mother had mourned the loss of two men, in her own way, and Soo had never known. Never had any idea, because her mother was masterful at hiding pain.
How could Soo possibly deny her mother this one request, when it had always been her mother who had encouraged her through every nonsensical phase and whim?
The remaining days till her marriage pass by in a blur, and the only person she lets in on it is Chae Ryung, who diligently attempts to make Soo see the positives. Her best friend proceeds to run out after naming two things—that he was handsome and from a rich family— and she only knew the first because Soo had begrudgingly divulged the detail after endless prodding.
“At least your dress is gorgeous,” her best friend comments, lightly running her hand down the material. “Hey! That’s another positive.”
And it was. Ivory lace and an open back, it had made Soo appear mature and elegant when on a whim she’d decided to try it on when passing by a bridal shop a few days earlier. She was aware that So wouldn’t care how she looked, because he didn’t care about her. That was fine, because she had chosen it for herself. It had made her feel lovely, and the fact that she’d be wearing it of her own volition made it lovelier.
Too bad, she muses, that it’ll be wasted on my wedding day.
Soo had been fairly pretty the day they had been introduced, but despite the familiar aloofness of her features, she’s stunning on their wedding day. He’s taken aback by it, hopes no one notices his reaction until his eyes shift over to his best friend by his side. Baek Ah has a slight smirk on his lips, his eyebrows arched in an accusatory manner, as if to say, “You didn’t say she was pretty.” He gives a roll of his eyes in reply.
His father ends up walking her down the aisle, and she doesn’t bother masking how uncomfortable that makes her, her small hand curled into a fist where it rests in the crook of his elbow. He doesn’t miss how she smiles only once during the ceremony and it’s a fleeting one, gifted solely to her mother.
Her voice is monotone, utterly detached, as she recites her vows. So wonders briefly if he looks as dead behind the eyes when he repeats his.
Her hand trembles as he slides the ring on her dainty finger, and maybe the trembling is why she ends up dropping his.
He bends down to catch it before it can roll away, and the disgruntled expression that passes over his new wife’s face causes him to choke down a laugh. It’s the most excitement their small crowd gets, as Soo’s face is wiped clean of any emotion after successfully placing the ring on his finger.
He barely brushes his lips against hers as she steels herself, obviously trying to not cringe away from his touch. She stays that way through all the awkward congratulations, even when her mother asks him to take care of her daughter.
The whole affair seems ludicrous, the mood more fitting for a funeral than a wedding. And maybe that was the fitting part, he supposed.
“Can I speak to you?” a familiar voice asks, and his eyes widen as the owner of it grasps above his elbow to drag him away. “Just for a moment, I promise,” she turns to Soo, a devious glint in her eye. “I wouldn’t want to steal him away from the new bride.”
He can’t believe she possesses the brazenness to be here, wonders how she got an invitation to what his family had deemed an intimate affair to colleagues and close friends. His eyes roam the room searchingly before landing on his older brother and mother smirking over at him. As if the fact that he was facing an unhappy marriage to a girl he barely knew wasn’t enough, they seemed to want to make his life a living hell. “I’m sorry, Yeon Hwa, I’ll have to take a rain check, I have someone to talk to.” He pats her hand before shrugging it off, and he doesn’t miss the bitter smile before he walks off.
He hears her introducing herself to Soo as a friend of his, but the implication that she is more is there, and Soo would have to be the densest person in existence to miss it.
Later, after he’s told his father to order Yo and his mother to back off, for Soo’s sake if not for his own, he finds her outside. She’s alone, her narrow shoulders hunched, and he’s dumbstruck by the tears he sees spilling over her cheeks when she looks up. He had known she’d feel slighted, but he had also thought sadness was a little dramatic considering their predicament. It’s not like he was under any illusion that she was unattached, even if the thought causes a strange quickening of his pulse.
“You invited your girlfriend to our wedding?” And he understands now. The tears aren’t ones of despair or sadness—they are of humiliation and rage. She stalks over to him, digging a finger into his chest, pressing harder with each word, “I get that you must have some deluded fantasy that I want to be married to you and you can treat me however you like, but let me make it clear: I don’t and you can’t. But if you ever embarrass me like this again, I’ll make sure you regret ever agreeing to this.”
He scoffs, it’s all he can do, because he can’t recall the last time someone outside of his family had spoken to him that way. He certainly hadn’t thought his wife would. But there’s an odd sense of pride—in her—flowing through him, knowing the girl he married does have some backbone. “Is that supposed to be a threat? I already regret agreeing to this,” he says after it’s clear she’s said her piece, before she leaves him standing outside alone. He doesn’t bother clarifying that Yeon Hwa was his ex-girlfriend, that he hadn’t invited her at all.
It was probably best Soo thought that, anyway.
His apartment isn’t the huge, upscale bachelor pad she’d envisioned a rich boy like him living in. It’s spacious enough, though, and she figured his father paid for it either way. She makes a beeline for the bathroom after he motions that it’s down the hallway, clicking the lock and crumbling to the cold tiles.
She cries as silently as she can, her beautiful dress now making her feel trapped and suffocated, cinching her waist painfully as she gasps and hiccups. She nearly rips the fabric in her haste to rid herself of it.
She frowns at the girl staring back at her with puffy, bloodshot eyes in the mirror, turns on the faucet to let cold water run over her face. She can feel a headache building behind her eyelids, the skin sore, and when she practices smiling, her lips wobble. “I want to go home,” she whispers under her breath at her reflection.
She’s not going home, not back to her mother, she knows that. She sneaks into the bedroom across from his when she’s sure he’s out for the night, breathing a sigh of relief when she locks that door behind her, too. The room is sparse, fairly unwelcoming, but it’s the closest thing to a safe haven she has. She wakes up with a start after falling into a fitful sleep when she realizes her suitcase is still in the living room.
I’ll just get it tomorrow, she decides after contemplating the risk of darting out and running into him.
The first month of her farce of a marriage passes fairly uneventfully. They don’t eat meals together; don’t engage in conversation. As far as she’s concerned, they had so little in common that she doubted they could have a conversation if they wanted to. So (who she can’t bring herself to think of as her husband, yet) is a workaholic, completely absorbed in his studies and learning the ins and outs of his father’s business. If she were the least bit interested or terribly bored, she might ask him how he could focus so well, or if he actually enjoyed studying?
Soo doubted he would answer her even if she did ask. She goes to school with Chae Ryung, goes out drinking each night with friends, calls her mother and eases her worries as she trudges home after it has turned dark. Every night, without fail, she checks to make sure he’s already settled down before she plops onto his couch in front of the television.
And somehow she ends up in the spare bedroom every morning, unsure if she was so out of it the night before that she can’t remember making her way under the blanket that’s always covering her when she wakes. She doesn’t like considering the alternative, wonders why he’d even bother carrying her to bed. She laughs off the idea every morning, spitting out toothpaste as she tells her reflection she’s crazy for thinking So carried her to bed.
The family dinners are easily the most tortuous part of this union. She’d been desperate for an excuse to bail out each week, but after not attending the first Friday night, So’s father had called her personally to ask her to please come the next week. She hadn’t known how to say no; unsure if a denial had even been an option. So’s mother makes it more than clear she loathes her (the feeling is quite mutual), his brothers amused by her in a patronizing sort of way, and Soo does her best to keep her eyes on the food in front of her. She can’t dodge So’s father’s questions, or his too kind, friendly smiles. It makes her uncomfortable, this man trying to act like her father, considering the situation. When she slips one night and yawns loudly, So’s mother snickers about how tiring it must be learning how to shape eyebrows, Soo’s decidedly had enough.
Her faces burns—in anger or embarrassment, she’s not certain—as So’s father simply glares as Yo and Jung chuckle at her expense, and So predictably stays silent. It’s not like she expects him to stick up for her, doesn’t need him to, but his silence only irritates her more.
And if she’s being honest with herself, she knows he belittles what will be her profession, too. That he belittles her—that his whole family likely does with the exception of his father—but she’s proud of herself, of who she was going to be. That was how her mother had raised her. “At least I love what I’m going to do,” she yells when they are back in his apartment, taking out her anger on him since taking it out on his mother was impossible. “At least I know where my passion lies. I bet everything you do is to please your father or gain your mother’s approval.”
For the first time since she’d met him, she sees a flicker of vulnerability, then more than a fraction of hurt when she says, “My mom loves me unconditionally.” It’s a low blow, she’s aware, and she has to force herself to not apologize later.
“I’m going out,” Soo announces one night, and before he can even lift his tired eyes from his textbook to reply, she’s closing the door behind her. She’d been coming home earlier lately, even made dinner a few nights. She’d always make enough for the both of them; though they’d never sat down to eat together. He recognized this new development for what it simply was—some type of unspoken truce to live in relative peace. He doubted they’d ever experience any marital bliss, so he figured he could settle for it. She’d made her way to bed on her own most nights, and where he should feel pleased, he sort of misses the familiar weight and warmth of her in his arms as he carried her to bed.
He remembers how annoyed he’d been the first night, her mouth hanging open as he muttered under his breath about her drooling on his sofa. He’d learned quickly that Soo slept like the dead, and sometimes, after a few weeks of carrying her to bed when she refused to wake, swatting away the hands shaking her gently, he’d watch her. Sometimes he’d smooth the creases that would appear on her forehead when she seemed to be having a bad dream with his thumb, and she’d relax at the touch. There was something about soothing her distress, even if she was unaware, that made him feel ridiculously proud. He found himself thinking she was cute one night as he tucked her in.
He’d always anticipated her confronting him about it each morning, but it never happened. Now, he’d be mortified if she did. He already felt like a creep. He’d wanted to ask her how she managed to wake herself up in the morning, when he realized she had to set her alarm three times to get up properly.
The only bad thing about this truce was how accustomed he was to her being home more, how the solitude he’d once reveled and thrived in was becoming lonely. He ends up going to Baek Ah’s in desperation to distract himself, trying to not think about where Soo could be at that very moment. What she could be doing. Who she could be doing it with.
“When you called and said you were coming over, I thought it was to hang out,” Baek Ah whines teasingly, and So glances up from his laptop. “Not coming over so I could watch you type an essay. Was Soo bothering you or something?”
“She went out,” he says without thinking, instantly regretting it.
“Oh, really? That’s interesting.” There’s a sly grin on his best friend’s lips as he looks down at him, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
So’s fingertips hover above the keyboard as he glares up at Baek Ah. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing. I’m just trying to figure out what’s funnier. You being so jealous that you’re upset by her going out? Or, you coming here in hopes she’ll come home to an empty apartment and wonder where you are?”
It ends up being him who comes home to their empty apartment at one in the morning, and he’s not disappointed, just concerned.
That’s why he leaves a voicemail and texts her. Because that’s what a responsible, concerned (not disappointed) person would do. It’s a rational response to the situation.
“Sorry,” she apologizes in the morning when she comes home, the sun already up, after they’re both showered and dressed for the day. “I just stayed at Chae Ryung’s since her place was closer and I didn’t see your messages until this morning.”
“You just called So your husband,” Chae Ryung points out with a grin, sipping her drink as the man trying to chat them up walked off to find more willing partners.
“What?” She wouldn’t, she hadn’t…she had. Soo’s sure she’s not the first woman to turn down the unwanted attention of a man by admitting she had a husband at home. Only it’d been a slip up, not a rehearsed rejection. She’d only recently begun thinking of So as her husband, but she’d never verbalized it.
Maybe it was the alcohol.
“Stop over-thinking it,” her best friend demands. But Soo can’t not over-think it, because she’d said it without thought. “Oh God, here, let’s get you another drink before you have a panic attack.”
Soo barely manages to unlock the apartment in her drunken stupor, stumbling to the couch. She wakes up in her bed, with a headache and a pang in her chest when she sees water on the table beside her bed.
She wondered if So would even bother being kind to her if he knew why his father wanted him to marry her, if he knew what her mother was to his father in the past. Even though their marriage was a mess, and not really a marriage at all, she liked So. And now their parents had created an even bigger mess, hoping that their children could live the lives they’d never had a chance to. To create the happiness they never got to live out.
It was absolutely foolish, Soo had decided that before she’d married So.
But she didn’t want to be miserable any longer, to live pitying herself and their situation. She’d always made do with whatever she had, always learned from her mother to be resilient and search for a way to be content, so she confronts her husband that night.
“I want a truce,” she says, sitting down in the seat across from him as he eats the meal she made, fingers reaching out to nervously twist her napkin. She can feel his eyes on her, the shock at the proposal, but can’t bring herself to look at him. “I know we’re never going to like this situation one-hundred percent; that we’ll always resent that we were cornered and had no real choice. But we can be friends,” she stresses the word, almost like she’s trying to convince herself as much as him. “I’d like to be friends.”
She lifts her eyes to see him smiling at her, and he nods. “Okay.”
“It’s good you’re making the best of this situation,” Myung Hee replies when Soo is visiting and shares the conversation she’d had with So. So had used the opportunity to ask how her day was, and she’d returned it. It’d been nice, and for the first time in months, she’d felt like she could breathe again. “Very mature of you both,” her cousin adds, smiling softly. “I wanted to talk about your mother.”
She reels back in shock at the words, baffled. “Mom?”
“I don’t mean to worry you,” Myung Hee grabs the hand Soo has twisting the napkin. “It’s just she’s had a bad…cold. I think you might want to visit her this weekend if you have a chance.”
“Of course,” Soo murmurs distractedly, recalling how her mother had deflected every time she’d inquired about her health, had told her not to worry and not rush to visit.
His hair keeps falling into his eyes as he’s reading one of his textbooks, and after the third time, she reaches out to brush it away. She isn’t sure who’s more stunned by her action, but she’d like nothing more than to flee the room—better yet, the apartment. Instead she retracts her hand quickly, like one would from an animal about to attack, clasping her fingers together.
They didn’t touch. It was an unspoken agreement between them, no matter how friendly or domestic they’d become.
So clears his throat, the first one to break the unbearably awkward silence. “Do you want to cut it for me?”
“W-what?” she stammers at the offer.
“It’s getting a little long. I usually have it cut by now,” he tells her, and then his lips curve in a small grin. “Though maybe I shouldn’t trust you around me with sharp objects, you might take advantage of my vulnerability.”
She thinks the way he narrows his eyes is playful, that his words are teasing, but she can’t be sure.
“Soo, I’m just joking.” One of his hands settles over her folded ones, squeezes them both once, and she nearly startles at the touch. “I trust you. I know you’re good at what you do. But you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
She finds herself agreeing, tells him to wet his hair as she gets her supplies.
“What, you’re not going to wash it for me? Your husband doesn’t get a special treatment?”
She knows he’s teasing now, but it doesn’t stop her cheeks from flushing at the suggestive look on his face. “Shut up and do what I say, or I won’t cut it at all,” she mutters, but his grin just grows wider.
Soo’s crying when he comes home, so violently that each sob sounds like it is being ripped out of her chest. It’s instinct, the way he automatically rushes over to embrace her, and maybe it’s instinct that makes her push him away just as quickly.
It stings, realizing she doesn’t find any comfort in his touch (in him).
“My mother is sick. I’m not letting her be alone right now,” she croaks after she calms down, her breath still stuttering in hiccups. “Not with her health deteriorating like it is.”
A few months ago, he would have been ecstatic that she was going home. He wouldn’t be cruel enough to take pleasure in the reason, but the idea of having his space all to himself again would be freeing.
Now, as he looks around the empty bedroom she’s left behind, as bare as it was before she’d moved in, the only thing left a whiff of her flowery perfume, he can’t help but feel the same.
Empty.
“Did you know Soo’s mom was sick?”
His father sighs. “I’ve kept tabs on her since she broke off our relationship.”
He must look horrified by the admission, because his father looks willing to explain.
“You wouldn’t understand. I needed to know how she was doing. I knew when she married, when Soo was born, when her husband died. I went to her when I was told she was dying, with the proposal. She refused immediately, but eventually agreed. I was hoping you both would grow to care for one another.”
“You took away our choice. Soo’s choice,” is the only words So can choke out, wondering if Soo knew. He couldn’t be angry for himself any more, but he could be angry for her.
“It looks like you did,” his father murmurs with a smile.
“What?”
“It looks like you’ve grown to care for her.”
She doesn’t look like the vibrant Soo he’s grown familiar with—her face is bare of any makeup, no bright colors or winged eyeliner, her long hair secured with a white ribbon at the nape of her neck. Her complexion is washed out, a wan smile on her dry, cracked lips. The Soo he’s grown to know takes pride in her appearance, and knowing she’s not taking care of herself makes him concerned. “Thanks for coming.”
It’s just them now, the rest of the crowd scattering. “Of course,” he replies, fingers clenching around the stem of the flower in his hand. Her eyes travel down to it, and she swallows, eyes filling to the brim with tears. If he’d known it would make her cry more, he’d have refused it when his father asked him to take it.
“My mom’s favorite flower is—I mean, was,” she swallows again, a few tears spilling over, “peonies.”
She lets him hug her this time, returns it, and for a second he allows himself to selfishly hope that this is something more than grief, the way she clutches the fabric of his jacket and weeps freely into his chest. She felt thinner, more delicate, like a dandelion that could be blown away at the smallest gust of wind.
“Come home,” he whispers as he wipes her tears, and she shakes her head instantly at the request. “Please, Soo. I don’t like the thought of you being alone right now.”
I’ll take care of you.
“So, I…” she struggles with the words, looking down at her feet before she meets his eyes again. “Okay.”
So kisses her when they get home.
She isn’t sure that was his intention.
But he kisses her and for a second it’s like they’re in slow motion, and she’s frozen, unable to process anything or respond to the insistent press of his lips upon hers, her pulse pounding in her ears drowning out everything. Then she’s pushing him away, choking out, “I can’t.”
She isn’t lying; she truly can’t bring herself to kiss him back. Not now.
He looks so hurt that she apologizes. But why now? Why? She doesn’t have the courage to ask, her heart still racing.
“I agreed to go along with all of this because it was my mother’s wish,” she tells him instead, not bothering to wipe the tear that managed to escape. “Why did you?”
He swallows a few times, his jaw tightening as he gathers the words. “It was like you said, that day. I just did it because my father told me to. It wasn’t an option for me.” He’s talking about the day she’d practically boasted her mother loved her while his mother…
She feels the shame over her cruel words that day all over again, how she’d flung them at him in anger. All in desperation to defend herself, because she’d always thought he looked down upon her. “I’m sorry I said those things. It was wrong of me.”
He waves her off, standing up and walking to her door, and it must be a trick of the light that makes his eyes appear to gleam with unshed tears when he pauses and turns to her. “They were true, and I probably deserved worse after the way I never defended you. Soo, I…I—“
Her breath hitches in her throat, because she almost thinks he’s going to say three words she never imagined coming out of his mouth. Not directed at her.
He sighs. “I never told you, but you looked lovely on our wedding day. Goodnight.”
Lovely. She remembered thinking how lovely the dress was.
She pushes the heels of her hands into her eyes, willing herself not to cry.
“I have the papers,” she announces softly a few days later after knocking on his bedroom door. She’d never even been in his bedroom before this moment, which strikes her as ironic.
“Papers?”
“The divorce papers,” she elaborates, tilting her head as she watches him process her words.
“’Divorce papers?’” he echoes, features and tone devoid of emotion.
She can’t read him, which isn’t what she had expected. She thought he’d be delighted, that he’d happily sign them since they no longer had any reason to stay together. She cared for So now, knew he cared for her, but it would be a silly for them to continue on with this charade of a marriage.
“If you’re worried about me taking care of myself,” she begins, recalling her mother’s worries, how that had been the root of this, “don’t. I’m okay. I’m—going to be okay.”
“If you love her, you can’t hold onto her,” Baek Ah advises with a small, sympathetic smile. “You have to sign those papers.”
You have to let go.
But how could you let go of someone you never really had?
Then again, it was impossible to really hold onto someone that you never had. He wasn’t letting go of her as much as giving Soo the choice she’d always deserved. She’d chosen. And he didn’t want a piece of paper legally binding them together; he wanted her to love him.
He signs the papers, and with his signature he can’t help but feel he’s giving away a piece of himself.
Soo sees him from afar only once. Chae Ryung and Myung Hee are taking her out to celebrate her twenty-third birthday, and Soo does a double take when her eyes glance on a familiar face.
It is him. He’s laughing with another guy who she recognizes as his best friend.
She thinks of him more often than she’d ever admit, randomly finds herself wondering how he’s doing every now and then. How they haven’t run into each other before this moment is either a miracle or a testament to how well he can avoid her, considering she’d never actively avoided him since he’d signed the papers.
She thinks of that kiss sometimes, too. Regrets not asking why he’d done it. Compares the guys Chae Ryung convinces her to go on dates with to him at times, finds similarities in certain gestures.
Did he do the same? Soo pondered. Did he go on dates without a thought of her? Had he remarried already? It had been nearly four whole years since their divorce was finalized.
“Soo, what’s wrong?” Chae Ryung’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts, and her cheeks heat up when she realizes she’s been staring. So must feel her eyes, because his head swivels in her direction only a second before she quickly turns away.
She doesn’t know if he keeps looking, or if he even knows it’s her. Either way, he never crosses the distance to find out.
She tries not to feel disappointed by that, taking a large gulp of the alcohol her best friend had placed in front of her. She remains unsuccessful.
He doesn’t recognize her at first. The girl he remembered had long hair that had been dyed a chocolate brown that matched the color of her eyes.
This young woman has short, black hair that frames her face perfectly, with wispy bangs that the autumn wind rustles. It’s her laugh he recognizes, which he supposes is odd considering how rarely he’d had the pleasure of hearing it years ago.
She has the same petite, delicate frame.
But then she turns, and he isn’t sure. Listens to her voice again, unconsciously moving towards her as she speaks.
“Soo?”
She whirls around in shock at his voice, and it’s her. Her face is thinner and more mature now, more solemn, but lovely all the same. He nearly steps back at the smile she graces him with, unexpected and warm. “So?”
He nods, unable to control the smile that breaks across his face.
She bows and says a quick goodbye to whoever she’d been speaking to, still smiling up at him. “Want to walk?” she offers, pointing to a park a small distance away. He’s trying to find the right words when her elbow bumps against his. “How have you been?”
“Ah. Good.” He’s been waiting for this moment—for this chance he’d left up to fate, as Baek Ah liked to say—for years, and it just figures he’s too tongue-tied to take advantage of it.
“That’s good,” she murmurs, grinning up at him. The haircut truly suits her, he decides, curling his fingers into a fist so he won’t brush the longer strands of her bangs out of her eyes. He’s transported back to that time she’d cut his hair, how intimate that moment had been for him, how he’d realized the true extent of his feelings then. “Your family, too? They’re good?”
“They’re okay,” he replies, not wanting to bore her with the details. Yo had taken over their father’s position in the business instead of him and Jung was still deciding his major after changing it twice. His mother was angry, as usual. “My father passed away,” he shares, and her eyes widen.
“Oh, no! I’m so sorry. When?”
They sit on a bench in the park, the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees and the sound of children playing calming him. He tells her his father died a few months after their divorce, a heart attack. “I think he might have lost the will to live after your…” he trails off, unable to finish the sentence.
Soo takes a deep breath, gazing off into the distance before meeting his eyes. “They really did love each other.”
“Yeah,” he swallows. But he’s always secretly—selfishly—thankful they never were able to be together. He’d thank his lucky stars, or fate, or whatever that they didn’t, if he believed in them. Because he wouldn’t be here, right now, looking at the girl he’d fallen for. She’s smiling at him like one would an old friend who’s finally come home, and he’d promised himself if he ever got a second chance, he wouldn’t let her walk away without confessing.
“There’s so many things I want to apologize for,” he starts, then stops. “I don’t really know where to begin.”
“Please don’t. I don’t like dwelling on the past, and we were…God, we were kids. I know I’m talking like we’re fifty but, nineteen feels like a lifetime ago, now,” she laughs, and he grins at the sound of it. “How about we start over?” she suggests.
“I’d like that,” he answers, inhales the crisp air, glances down as inconspicuously as he can to see her ring finger bare. Knows he should probably wait, get to know her again. He hasn’t even asked her how she’s been all these years. She could be dating someone, probably is.
But he’s spent six years loving the girl she was. The right time seems inconsequential now that he’s in front of her again, without any resentment between them. A fresh start, he thinks. “Will you go on a date with me?”
It’s a warm summer day when Soo goes to her mother’s grave. Her mother is still the first person she shares things with.
She’d come here when she’d bought her salon, when Myung Hee found out she was pregnant, and now she comes here to tell her mom about the ring on her finger.
It had been a strange mixture of emotions, saying yes to So. But she knew he loved her. She loved him.
And there’s a single peony, beginning to wilt, sitting on top of her mother’s grave, and Soo’s smile turns watery at the sight of it. He’d come to ask permission, and she looks down at the ring on her finger once more, kneeling on the ground. She figured her mom already knew what she was going to share, wondering if she was smiling down on both of them, glad they had found happiness where they thought they never would.
“Mom, I made the right choice, didn’t I?”
There’s a small breeze, almost like a caress, and Soo has her answer.