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Haewon admitted that she had imagined the moment of reunion many times.
Maybe it would be at the coffee shop downstairs from her office—she’d be holding her Americano, turn around, and bump into a familiar embrace. Maybe it would be at some industry cocktail party, Jinsol wearing a perfectly tailored suit, raising her glass toward her from across the room. Maybe even at a hospital—on a late night when she had a 38-degree fever, that person would happen to be on duty, even though Jinsol wasn’t a doctor.
But reality never follows the script.
Her company’s new project required an external design team, and the project manager sent by the partner firm turned out to be Jinsol. Haewon was drawing a flowchart on the whiteboard when a colleague called out a name that pierced her eardrum like a needle.
Bae Jinsol.
She turned around.
The other woman stood at the doorway, wearing a gray sweater, sleeves casually pushed up to her forearms, hair a bit shorter than it was two years ago, but her eyes still bright and warm.
“Haewon unnie.” Jinsol spoke first, with a smile that Haewon knew all too well. It wasn’t try to be polite, nor was it flirtatious. It was simply, genuinely, a kind of business smile.
Haewon’s fingers tightened slightly around the marker.
“Long time no see.”
Four words, so calm that even she admired herself.
---
The meeting lasted two hours.
Jinsol sat across the table, next to her assistant.
Haewon kept her eyes fixed on the presentation slides, speaking only when necessary. She knew that if she looked at Jinsol too many times, she would start noticing details she shouldn’t—whether there was a ring on her ring finger, whether the fine lines around her eyes had multiplied, whether the way she smiled at others was any different from the way she smiled at her.
Her colleague Jiwoo sitting next to her, elbowed her and whispered. “You don’t look so good today.”
“Three nights in a row of staying up late. Of course I look terrible.” Haewon lied.
After the meeting, Jinsol didn’t leave immediately. She chatted briefly with Haewon’s department head, exchanged business cards with a few other team members. While Jinsol was talking to Kyujin, Haewon quietly gathered her things to leave.
“Haewon unnie.”
That voice came from behind.
Haewon stopped and turned around.
Jinsol was already standing in front of her. In that moment, the height difference became painfully obvious. Haewon had to look up slightly to read her expression. She used to hate this angle because it made it too easy to expose the emotions in her eyes.
“Do you have a moment to talk?” Jinsol asked.
“About the project?”
“Yes, about the project.”
They went to the coffee shop downstairs from the office.
The place was mostly empty. Haewon ordered iced Americano, Jinsol ordered hot latte. While waiting for their coffee, they sat in silence, like two not-very-familiar new colleagues.
“Been doing okay?” Jinsol broke the silence first.
“Pretty good.” Haewon looked at the table. “You?”
“Same old, busy.”
More silence.
Once the coffee arrived, Jinsol started talking business. She spoke professionally, exactly how a qualified project manager should. Haewon listened, nodding occasionally, asking a question or two, but her attention kept drifting uncontrollably to Jinsol’s fingers. The hand holding the coffee cup had no ring. She remembered the warmth of those hands, remembered them on her waist, in her hair, gently stroking her back when she was at her most vulnerable.
“Haewon unnie?”
“Yeah.” She snapped back. “Are you done?”
Jinsol laughed. There was something helpless in that laugh, and something else Haewon couldn’t quite read.
“That’s all. Anything you want to add?”
“No.”
“Then... I should go. Another meeting coming up.”
Jinsol slung her canvas tote over her shoulder—a faded yellow bag with worn edges. Haewon noticed a small plush charm hanging from it, a white rabbit that didn’t seem like Jinsol’s style.
“Oh, by the way.” Jinsol suddenly turned around. “That pot of mint you had... is it still alive?”
Haewon hadn’t expected that question.
They’d bought that mint plant when they lived together. Jinsol said Haewon worked too hard and having something green around might lift her spirits. After the breakup, when Haewon moved out, she took it with her.
“It died. Didn’t take good care of it during the move.”
Jinsol’s face flickered for a moment, but she quickly nodded. “I should get going then.”
Haewon sat there, watching her walk out of the coffee shop. The ice in her cup slowly melted.
---
Three weeks into the project, frequent coordination meetings forced them to see each other regularly.
Jinsol handled design-side coordination, Haewon handled brand-side approvals. Between them were a group chat for the project, two progress meetings per week, and countless rounds of revisions.
Haewon realized she couldn’t treat Jinsol as just another partner contact.
Not because Jinsol was unprofessional. On the contrary, she was too professional. She never overstepped, never said anything ambiguous, treated Haewon no differently than anyone else.
That was the hardest part.
If Jinsol had acted deliberately distant or overly warm, Haewon could have found a way to cope. But she didn’t, she just existed.
It left Haewon with no leverage.
One night when they worked late, Jinsol gave her a ride home.
It wasn’t meant to be a thing. The bus from the office went directly to Haewon’s place, but that night she’d missed the last one. Jinsol said it was on her way and offered to drive her. Haewon wanted to say no, but what came out was “Thanks.”
The car was quiet. The heater was set just right. An old English song played on the stereo, volume low, like background white noise.
Haewon sat in the passenger seat, feeling a little breathless.
“You changed your car." She said.
“Yeah. The old one was getting too worn. Got this last year.”
The old car was one they’d picked out together. Jinsol had just landed her first real job and needed a budget car. Haewon spent two whole weekends with her test-driving before they settled on that white used Honda. Jinsol took meticulous care of it—washed it herself every three months, wiped down the interior until it was spotless.
“What happened to the old one?” she asked.
“Sold it.”
Two words. No extra explanation.
Haewon stared at the moving city lights outside the window, neon reflections streaking across the glass in colored lines. She wanted to ask, "Did you really sell it without a second thought?" But she didn’t. Because she already knew the answer. Jinsol was never one to cling to the past. After the breakup, her clothes, their photos, everything related to Haewon... she probably got rid of it all cleanly.
Unlike her, she still kept that sweatshirt Jinsol gave her, folded at the bottom of her closet, never worn, never thrown away.
The car stopped outside Haewon’s apartment building.
“Here we are.” Jinsol said.
“Thank you.”
Haewon unbuckled her seatbelt, hand on the door handle, but didn’t push it open immediately.
“Haewon unnie.” Jinsol turned to look at her. “You...” she hesitated. “Have you been eating on time?”
Haewon’s heart clenched violently.
The question was too familiar. Back when they lived together, Jinsol texted her this every single day at noon. Sometimes Haewon got too busy and forgot to eat, and Jinsol would order delivery straight to her office, with a sticky note attached.
“Yes, I’ve been doing fine.” Haewon said.
She pushed the door open.
“Jinsol.” She stood outside, bending down to look at the woman still inside. “For project matters, just email me from now on. No need to make a special trip.”
Jinsol’s expression shifted. “Okay, take care.”
Haewon closed the car door and walked into the apartment lobby without looking back.
Only after the elevator doors closed did she slowly slide down against the metal wall, burying her face in her knees.
Two years have passed, and her resistance to Jinsol hasn’t gotten any stronger at all.
---
By the second month of the project, Haewon was working overtime almost every day.
Her old insomnia had returned. She’d lie on that single bed, her mind full of Jinsol. She remembered when they first got together—Jinsol didn’t know how to kiss yet, her lips bumping against Haewon’s teeth, both of them laughing. She remembered the first time Jinsol slept over in her apartment, waking up to find Jinsol had stolen the entire blanket and curled up against the edge of the bed. She remembered countless ordinary nights, they curled up on the couch, Jinsol four years younger but always the one holding her.
Those memories were too specific. Too painfully specific.
Haewon wasn’t someone who liked to show vulnerability. At work, she had a reputation for being strict. At a company dinner a while back, an intern who’d only been there three months said she seemed like the type with no interest in dating.
Haewon didn’t deny it. She just didn’t say that it wasn’t a lack of interest, it was that she didn’t dare try again.
The reason for breaking up with Jinsol was simple. Haewon felt she couldn’t give Jinsol the future she deserved.
Back then, Jinsol had been out of school for two years, working as a junior designer at a small firm. She worked late every night, her salary was low, she lived in a cramped studio apartment. Haewon had been working nearly five years, had a stable income, and some savings. Jinsol said she wanted to move in together, wanted to turn a corner of the living room into a little plant nursery, wanted to adopt a cat, wanted to save up for an apartment, wanted to grow old with Haewon.
When Jinsol said these things, her eyes had a light in them—that kind of young, innocent, utterly unguarded light.
Haewon was afraid of that light going out.
She knew her own flaws: she became consumed by work, went silent for entire days when in a bad mood, needed a lot of alone time, didn’t know how to express love. Jinsol was the kind of person who needed a lot of reciprocity—not unreasonably so, but she gave so much that she hoped to receive something back. Jinsol remembered Haewon’s menstrual cycle, left a kiss on her forehead before leaving in the morning, did silly things to make her laugh when she was stressed.
But all of that made Haewon feel guilty, because she was never sure she was doing enough.
She tried. She learned to text Jinsol encouragement when she worked late, learned to hug her proactively when she was sad, learned to say “I like you too” more often. But after every effort, she felt like it still wasn’t enough.
One night, after they’d made love. Jinsol lay beside her, asked. “Will you always be by my side?”
The question made Haewon freeze. She wanted to say yes, but she wasn’t sure. Not unsure of her own feelings—unsure whether she was capable of making Jinsol consistently happy.
She didn’t answer.
That silence became the first crack.
In the days that followed, they started fighting. Haewon forgot their anniversary, Jinsol brought friends over for dinner without telling her first, and they disagreed about a movie. No big fights, but each one was exhausting. Jinsol would apologize first, then get upset about the same thing again a few days later. Haewon would try to change, but she could never quite meet Jinsol’s expectations.
Haewon was the one who ended it.
It was an ordinary weekday. Jinsol had bought Haewon’s favorite cake and waited for her outside her office. Haewon worked late. When she came out, Jinsol was sitting on a planter box, the cake box on her lap, having fallen asleep waiting.
Haewon stood there for a long time.
Then she walked over, crouched down, and gently woke her up.
Jinsol opened her eyes, saw her, and smiled. “You’re done? Come on, eat the cake, I bought—”
“Jinsol.” Haewon cut her off. “Let’s break up.”
Jinsol’s smile froze.
She didn’t ask why. Didn’t cry, didn’t make a scene. She handed the cake box to Haewon.
“You should still eat it.” Then stood up and brushed the dust off her pants.
It was drizzling that night. The streetlights stretched Jinsol’s shadow long behind her. She took a few steps, stopped, and turned back to look at Haewon.
“Haewon unnie, do you really not want to try… together?”
Haewon stood there, holding the cake box, feeling like every word was being squeezed out of her throat.
“I don’t want to wear you out.”
Jinsol didn’t say anything else. She turned and walked into the rain without an umbrella.
Haewon watched her disappear around the corner, then sat down on the planter box and opened the cake box. The cake was still warm, with a smiley face drawn in chocolate syrup on top. She ate the entire cake, one bite at a time. Cream stuck in her throat, sweet to the point of bitterness.
She didn’t cry.
But in the two years that followed, she never ate cake again.
---
A week before the project ended, Jiwoo asked Haewon to dinner.
Lily had been in Jinsol’s cohort at university and knew both of them well. They met at a Japanese restaurant near Haewon’s office, sat at the counter, watching the chef slice sashimi in front of them.
“So you and Jinsol have been working together pretty smoothly?” Lily picked up a piece of salmon.
“Fine. No issues on the work front.”
Lily nodded. “She’s been in a good place lately.”
“Has she.”
“She’s seeing someone new. Been together... almost six months, I think?”
Haewon’s chopsticks paused.
Just a pause. Then they resumed moving, mixing wasabi into soy sauce.
“What’s she like?” Haewon asked.
Lily thought for a moment. “Really beautiful. Younger than her, still in grad school, studying illustration. Nice smile. I hear she’s very affectionate. Jinsol seems pretty smitten.”
Haewon nodded, put a piece of sashimi in her mouth, chewed for a long time before swallowing.
She didn’t eat much that night, but showed no sign of anything being wrong. She chatted with Lily about work, about life, about recent news. She laughed just as loudly at the funny parts.
Walking out of the restaurant, the night air had a hint of early autumn chill. Haewon stood at the curb waiting for the bus and saw a couple kissing under a streetlamp—the girl on her tiptoes, the boy bending down. A pretty picture.
She looked away. Took out her phone and opened her chat with Jinsol.
The last exchange was a month ago, Jinsol had sent her a document, she’d replied “Received.” Scrolling further back, there were more work-related messages.
Haewon turned off her phone and tucked it into her coat pocket.
The bus came. She got on, swiped her card, walked to the last row and sat by the window. Outside, neon lights reflected off the wet asphalt after the rain, drawing long streaks across the road like a faded oil painting.
She thought this was probably the ending.
She’d spent two years learning to live alone, thinking time would fade everything, thinking that when she saw Jinsol again she’d be able to face it calmly. And she could. She could communicate normally in work meetings, sit across from her in coffee shops, say thank you politely when Jinsol drove her home.
But she couldn’t, upon hearing that Jinsol had a new girlfriend, make her heart not hurt.
---
The day of the final project presentation, Jinsol didn’t show up. Instead, a young male colleague came, saying Jinsol had taken the day off and he would present on her behalf.
After the presentation, Haewon walked over to him and asked casually. “Is Manager Bae not feeling well?”
The colleague shook his head. “I think her girlfriend was sick, so she took the day to go to the hospital with her.”
Haewon nodded. "Thanks for your hard work." And turned back to her desk.
She swiveled her chair toward her computer, opened her email, and saw a message from Jinsol sent at 2 AM. It was brief—a few reminders about post-project transition items, followed by a line under her signature: “Thank you for your hard work these past couple of months.”
She typed and deleted several times. She wanted to write back. “Same to you. Wishing you all the best.” But in the end she typed received and hit send.
Outside the window, the sky was overcast. It looked like rain.
Haewon looked at her own reflection in the glass and suddenly remembered an afternoon long ago. She and Jinsol had just started dating not too long before. They were cooped up in Haewon’s apartment, and it was also raining outside. Jinsol hugged her from behind.
“Unnie, what do you want to do in the future?”
“Work hard, save enough to retire.”
“And then?”
Haewon thought. “Find a quiet place, get a cat, grow some flowers.”
“What about me?” Jinsol laughed. “I’m not in your plans?”
Haewon didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to answer. She had never dared to put anyone in her future plans—not because she didn’t want to, but because she was afraid that if that person left midway, she wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Only later did she realize that this fear was itself a form of avoidance. She hadn’t been the one left behind. She had been the one who chose to leave.
She thought ending things was protecting Jinsol. Thought Jinsol would meet someone better.
And now, Jinsol had met that person.
Haewon should be happy.
And she was happy.
It’s just that inside that happiness, there was a very deep, very private kind of regret.
---
By the time work ended, the rain was coming down hard.
Haewon stood under the awning of her office building, staring at the wall of water. Her phone buzzed with a message from Jinsol.
“I heard about the final presentation. Thank you for your cooperation. Hope we can work together again sometime.”
Very professional, and polite.
Haewon put her phone back in her pocket, took a deep breath, and walked into the rain.
She didn’t have an umbrella. The rain hit her face making her hunch her shoulders. She kept her head down and quickened her pace. Passing by a coffee shop, she glanced through the window and saw a customer getting ready to leave.
Her peripheral vision caught a familiar silhouette.
Jinsol sat by the window, across from a young woman. Jinsol looked at her with such tenderness. It was a tenderness Haewon had seen countless times before, but seeing it now still felt like someone pressing on the softest part of her chest.
Haewon looked away.
She kept walking. The rain fell harder, but she didn’t stop or speed up. She just walked down that street, across the intersection, past the bus stop, to her apartment building.
She remembered the rabbit plush on Jinsol’s old canvas tote.
It hadn’t been Jinsol’s style. It belonged to her girlfriend.
She remembered something Jinsol had said.
It was a month after their breakup. Jinsol had sent her a very long message. Haewon had forgotten most of it, except for the last line, which had accidentally lodged itself in her memory.
“Unnie, I hope you’re doing well. If you’re not, I’ll be very sad.”
She hadn’t replied to that message.
The water poured over her head. It ran down her face, dripping off her chin.
She couldn’t tell if it was water or something else.
But Haewon told herself it was just water.
It had to be just water.