It had been months since you and Yoo Ji-min parted ways—a breakup born not from betrayal, but from a misunderstanding that neither of you had the courage to confront. Time had passed, yet her presence still lingered in the quiet spaces of your mind. Her laughter would echo faintly in your memories, her name still resting too easily on your tongue.

One evening, as the city outside hummed softly under the glow of streetlights, you sat at your desk, buried in work. The room was silent—until your phone buzzed, breaking through the stillness. You glanced at the screen, and your heart skipped.

Yoo Ji-min.

For a moment, you froze. Then, almost reluctantly, you opened the message. It was a photo—a stunning selfie of her dressed elegantly, her makeup subtle yet flawless, her smile radiant and self-assured. She looked different, but still achingly familiar. The sight of her stirred something deep within you—a mixture of warmth, regret, and the hollow ache of what once was.

Before you could even begin to understand why she’d reached out, another message appeared.

“Oh, sorry about that! I didn’t mean to send this.”

You stared at the words, your mind spinning. The message was casual—too casual. Almost rehearsed. Was it really an accident, or a quiet attempt to reach across the distance you’d both created?

You leaned back in your chair, her image still glowing on your screen. For a long moment, you just sat there, caught between the urge to reply and the fear of reopening an old wound.

Outside, the wind rattled faintly against your window. Inside, you could almost hear her voice again—soft, teasing, the way she used to say your name.

And just like that, the loneliness you’d worked so hard to bury came flooding back.