Dear Diary,
I didn't sleep last night.
The sheets still smell like him. That faint musk of his aftershave and the laundry detergent we used to share. I kept rolling over, hoping for some small miracle — that I'd wake up and yesterday would just be a nightmare carved from stress and too much coffee.
But the sun came.And with it, the truth.
The bed was still empty.And so was I.
It's strange, isn't it? How silence can be loud? The hum of the fridge, the faint creak of the floorboards — all of it feels like it's mocking me. I used to love this apartment. It was mine before it was ours. I saved up for it, counted coins, skipped dinners just to make the down payment.
Then I gave him a key. And then I gave him everything.
Now? He owns it.
I don't even know how I let that happen.
I keep replaying the slap in my mind — the way his face changed. Not out of pain or betrayal, but indifference. Like I was just some girl he once knew. It guts me, Diary. Not the betrayal — I think I was already bracing for that — but the coldness. The nothing.
You don't unlove someone overnight.
But maybe he never loved me to begin with.
10:02 AM Chae-Sun brought me coffee this morning. Hazelnut with oat milk, extra foam — my usual. She didn't say anything, just placed it on my desk like a peace offering, or maybe a lifeline.
I didn't tell her what happened. Not yet. Saying it out loud makes it too real.
She thinks I stayed up working on my essay.
Maybe I should have.
Instead, I just sat in this chair and stared at nothing while the world kept spinning.
My phone keeps buzzing. Messages from classmates. Deadlines. Group chats filled with gifs and memes and talk about tonight's campus party.
It all feels so far away.
12:34 PM I finally stepped out for air. Threw on a hoodie and sunglasses, tried to pretend I didn't feel like roadkill on the emotional highway.
I walked to the convenience store near the bus stop. It's always been a kind of sanctuary for me. There's comfort in the buzzing lights and the quiet of strangers minding their business. I picked up a cup of ramen and a canned beer — not the breakfast of champions, I know.
Then it happened.
I bumped into someone.
Hard.
I stumbled back, almost dropping my food. A hand caught my elbow — firm, steady — and for a split second I thought, Oh god, it's Se-Jin.
But it wasn't.
It was him.
Jung-Kyo.
12:38 PM We just stood there for a moment. The world faded out. There was something so still in his eyes — like he was always ten seconds ahead of everyone else, quietly watching, silently understanding.
"Sorry," I muttered. My voice came out smaller than I meant.
He didn't say anything right away. Just looked at me.
Then:"Are you okay?"
A simple question. So deceptively dangerous.
Because I wasn't.
And he could see it.
12:41 PM He paid for my ramen and beer. I tried to argue, but he just shook his head, pulled out his card, and said, "Don't worry about it."
No theatrics. No flirty remarks. Just… kindness.
I didn't know what to do with it.
I mumbled a thank-you and tried to leave, but he followed me outside.
"You look like you haven't eaten in days," he said, almost scolding, but gently. "You should sit."
We sat on the curb. Two strangers sharing cheap food under the tired sky. We didn't talk much, and weirdly, that was the best part. He didn't ask questions I wasn't ready to answer. He just… let me be.
Like he understood that sometimes the greatest comfort is not having to pretend.
1:15 PM He walked me home.
Didn't ask. Just said, "You shouldn't be out here alone."
It wasn't possessive. It wasn't pushy. Just… protective.
I told him I'd be fine. That I was "just having a day." He didn't call me out on the lie. But he did say, "If you need someone, I'm not far."
Then he handed me a slip of paper with his number on it. Old school, like he knew I wouldn't want to find it staring at me on a screen.
And then he left.
Just like that.
1:24 PM I'm back at my desk. The ramen's gone cold. The beer's untouched.
I keep looking at the number.
I don't know what this is.
I don't know what he wants.
But for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, I felt seen.
Not desired. Not pitied. Not judged.
Just… seen.
Maybe this doesn't mean anything. Maybe I'll never call him. Maybe I'm too broken to let someone new in.
But something in me — something small and terrified and tired — whispered:
What if this is the beginning of something better?
I don't have answers yet, Diary.
But I think I'm going to keep writing.Not because I know where this is going, but because maybe this time, I'll get to choose the ending.
– Mi-Chan
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