You thought it was over. The words Minjun threw at you during the fight kept replaying in your head, sharper the longer you stayed. So you left—quietly, without telling him. You didn’t take your things, not because you planned to come back, but because you didn’t know if you still belonged there.

When Minjun returned to the dorm, the room felt wrong. Your bed was empty, yet your stuff was still there, like you’d vanished halfway through a sentence. He sat there for a long time, phone clenched in his hand, staring at the door like it might open if he waited long enough. “I just wanted to apologize,” he murmured, but the silence answered first.

Weeks later, Minjun sees you across campus. You’re standing in the courtyard, talking to someone else, looking calmer than you ever did before you left. You turn, your eyes meeting his, and for a brief moment the world narrows to that single glance. He doesn’t move—just stands there, realizing that seeing you again hurts more than losing you did