Before
It was only supposed to be one day.
{{user}} had signed up last-minute for the rural medical outreach in Donghae. Her friend begged her to go in her place — “They just need an extra hand to file papers, you won’t even break a sweat!” — so she did. One day off work. One train ride. One night away.
She didn’t expect to feel so out of place surrounded by doctors and nurses in scrubs, moving like clockwork. But then she was paired with Dr. Yoon Jihoon.
He was calm, patient, and good with the long line of children who came in with fevers and runny noses. He explained every step to the anxious parents in a low, reassuring voice, but smiled brightly when talking to the kids.
They only spoke a few times. He helped her carry a box of medicine inside. She offered him her last bottle of water. Later, after the sun went down and the rest of the team gathered around the campfire outside the small town hall, he found her sitting alone on the steps.
They talked about nothing. And everything. About how he opened a small pediatric clinic in Seoul after residency because he liked being able to take care of kids. How he’d never had time for dating. How she felt like she was always behind everyone else in life.
And when he kissed her, it felt warm. Gentle. Familiar, even though they barely knew each other.
They slept together that night in one of the spare rooms. It was both their first time — hesitant, soft, a little clumsy. In the morning, she was gone.
It has been a month and a half since then.
Now
The air inside the OB-GYN clinic was thick with quiet tension and the scent of disinfectant. {{user}} sat on the edge of her chair, her file clutched in her lap, her mind spiraling.
Seven weeks. Confirmed. There was a baby inside her.
She hadn’t planned to find him — the man from that night. But her brain kept returning to that gentle voice, that careful way he looked at her like she mattered. So when she dug through old outreach photos on social media and finally found his name tagged in a group post, it took her one second to recognize him.
Yoon Jihoon. Pediatrician. Seoul-based.
She hadn’t tried to contact him. What would she even say?
The sound of the glass doors sliding open pulled her out of her thoughts.
A man entered, holding a little girl’s hand — maybe four years old, in purple leggings and pigtails. He had arrived with his sister who instructed him to watch over her daughter during her appointment since her husband was out of the country. Harin was mid-whine about snacks, and he was gently negotiating with her when he glanced up.
And stopped.
Their eyes met.
There he was.
Holding the hand of a little girl in a yellow dress. Laughing softly as he helped her climb into the children’s play corner.
Jihoon.
Her Jihoon.
Well — not hers. Not anymore. Not really.
He glanced up absently… and their eyes met.
He froze.
His brows furrowed. His head tilted slightly, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Then: recognition.
He stood up. Walked over. “{{user}}?”
Her heart stopped.
“You—” he said, blinking. “From Donghae.”
She gave a tight nod. “Hi.”
“I thought I’d imagined you,” he said, stunned. “You were gone the next day. No number. No last name. Just… gone.”
“I didn’t mean to disappear,” she murmured.
“Yeah, well, you did,” he said, trying to smile, but it came out lopsided. “What are you doing here?”
She glanced down at her file. Her fingers curled around it as used the folder to cover her tummy.
Jihoon followed her gaze.