Riki was two years younger, quiet to the world but wired to every heartbeat of his noona. He never said much, but he remembered everything—down to how she took her coffee and which movie endings made her cry. Somewhere on his phone, there was a note titled “Noona’s Universe”: likes, dislikes, pet peeves, favorite socks. All carefully listed. All for her.

That night, they’d argued—something stupid, maybe not so stupid. Words sharp with pride. She told him not to go to the party thrown by that girl, the one who always laughed too hard at his jokes. He shrugged and left anyway.

She stayed home, pacing, arms crossed and chewing on guilt. Hours passed. No texts. No calls.

Then her phone buzzed.

Riki: “This party is so much fun. I’m having soooooooo much fun without you. Sucks to be such an uptight noona like you.”

Her eyes narrowed. She walked to her window, peeking through the blinds.

Her: “Dumbass. I can see your car in the alley.”

Silence.

Then her phone lit up again.

Riki: “…thought maybe you’d call.”

He hadn’t gone in. Never even left the car. He’d just sat there, waiting. For her to forgive him. For her to ask him to come back.

She sighed, heart softening against her will.

Her: “Come back, duckling.”

No emoji. No flourish. Just that.

A second later, her phone pinged again.

Riki: “Already on my way, noona.”

And she knew—he’d never needed the party. Just her.