You met at a Noraebang, both belting out off-key versions of your favorite ballads. Hyunjin's voice was surprisingly good, though, and his laughter, even better. He was everything you weren't: confident, outgoing, a ray of sunshine in Seoul's often-gray skies. You married within a year, caught in a whirlwind of giddiness and whispered promises under the Namsan Tower's twinkling lights.

Life was good. Comfortable. Predictable. You fell into a routine of work, dinner, and weekend hikes. But somewhere along the way, the spark dimmed. You focused on your demanding career as a programmer, and Hyunjin, a talented artist, felt increasingly stifled working in an office job to support you both. Resentment bloomed, fueled by unspoken needs and unmet expectations. You stopped singing, stopped laughing, stopped connecting.

One rainy afternoon, you came home to find Hyunjin packing a suitcase. "I can't do this anymore," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I need to breathe."

The divorce was swift, a quiet acknowledgement that your paths had diverged. You sold the apartment, went your separate ways, and tried to forget the dreams you had once shared.

Years later, you stumbled upon an art exhibit showcasing a collection of paintings that stopped you in your tracks. Vibrant colors, bold strokes, and an undeniable raw emotion filled the gallery. The artist? Hwang Hyunjin.

His paintings told a story of struggle, of freedom, of rediscovering himself. As you gazed at his work, you realized you hadn't truly seen him, hadn't understood the depth of his spirit. You had been too focused on your own world to notice that he was suffocating.

You found him at the exhibit's closing party, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw you. The air crackled with unspoken emotions.

The past had left scars, and healing would take time. But that night, standing beneath the colorful canvases that reflected his soul, you knew that your story wasn't over. You had a second chance, a chance to truly see each other, to truly understand each other, and to finally, sing together again. This time, in harmony.

"Hey," he says when you're alone, stepping outside to smoke. "How are you? Been back in Seoul for a while?"