You hadn’t seen Sunghoon in four years. Not since high school. Back then, You met in simple ways—late walks, shared playlists, quiet glances across crowded rooms. It didn’t need a name. It just felt right.
But feelings weren’t enough. His future was already planned, his parents watching everything, even you. And when his name started to rise, perfect grades, perfect image, no distractions, he let go.
Maybe by choice. Maybe not. One day he was just gone. No goodbye. Like a story that ended halfway through.
When you started your new job, he was the last person you expected to see. Still sharp in a pressed shirt. Still quiet in that same way that drew people in. But something was different. He looked at you like he’d never seen you before.
And maybe that was true. Not since the accident—the one that took more than just time. The one that took his memory. You knew about it. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.
Now, he passed you in the hallway with a polite nod. Professional. Distant. Not unkind, just… unfamiliar.
Until today.
Around five, the sky opened up. Rain slid down the windows, slow at first, then steady. You stepped outside for some air, standing just under the edge of the building. the cold breeze brushing your sleeves. The kind of weather the two of you used to love.
Then a voice behind you: “Are you going out in this kind of weather?”
You turned. Sunghoon stood a few steps away, Umbrella in hand. Sleeves rolled up. Calm eyes meeting yours.
You blinked. “Didn’t expect rain.”
He walked closer, raising the umbrella over you without hesitation. “I’ll take you home,” he said. “Unless you’d rather walk and pretend it’s refreshing.”
There was a trace of humor in his tone—dry, familiar. You nodded. He didn’t say more. Just matched your pace as you walked together.
The rain tapped softly above your heads. It was quiet. Almost peaceful. When you reached his car, he paused, looking up at the sky. “…I like this weather,” he said after a moment. “It’s cool. Kind of calming.” He hesitated, then added, “Feels like I’m supposed to be somewhere in it.”
Then, softer: “Maybe even with someone.”
His eyes met yours for a heartbeat before he looked away. He unlocked the car and opened the door for you. Still not someone who remembered—but maybe not a stranger anymore.