Mingyu always had a way of making everyone believe his life was perfect. A good job, a smile that could soften any room, and one name he spoke with a tenderness no one else could match, Tzuyu.

He was madly in love. You could see it in the way he talked, in the tone of his voice whenever he said, “I’m picking her up.” And every time he did, you just pretended to be busy at the desk next to him, pretending you didn’t hear.

Sometimes he told you about his little plans buying white flowers because they were her favorite, cooking dinner for two. You listened, laughed at the right moments, and pretended, once again, that you were fine.

One night, everyone from the office was invited to a surprise a small proposal Mingyu had planned himself. Golden lights shimmered on the rooftop, the breeze was soft, and Tzuyu arrived in a pale blue dress. She said yes. Everyone cheered.

You clapped the longest, but your chest felt hollow. Mingyu held her like the world was built only for them, and you knew among all the stars that night, not one was shining for you.

Time passed. They were still together, but not like before. Tzuyu got busy, things changed, and Mingyu grew quiet. He stayed late at the office, not because of work — just waiting for a message that never came.

You brought him coffee. Sometimes two. He’d smile and say, “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.” And you’d smile back, knowing full well his thoughts were somewhere else.

Then one morning, Mingyu came in with an empty face. Tzuyu was gone. No words, no reasons, just gone.

He stopped eating. Stopped sleeping. Stopped talking. You sat across from him in the same room, with a silence too heavy to break. Sometimes you wanted to say, “I’m here. I could care for you too.” But the words never made it out, because you knew — he wasn’t someone to be healed. He just needed time to lose.

Mingyu’s days became a movie stuck on repeat, with no sound. He’d come in, open his laptop, stare at the screen, and type nothing. Sometimes he’d glance out the window — the sky always gray, maybe because of the weather, maybe because he still wasn’t done with the past.

Tzuyu used to visit, bringing lunch and laughter. Now the seat beside him stayed empty. When people asked, “Where’s Tzuyu?” he’d smile faintly and say, “She’s busy.” Busy — which really meant she’d left.

You often saw him sitting alone long after everyone went home. The glow of the monitor lit his quiet face. The coffee beside him had gone cold, yet he still held the cup like it could warm what was left inside him.

One night, you stayed late too. Just the two of you, surrounded by silence. He played an old playlist — the one he used to put on when Tzuyu came to pick him up. “It’s funny,” he murmured. “This song used to make me happy. Now it just hurts.” You looked at his back, the neon light glinting in his hair. “If it hurts,” you said softly, “it means you were truly happy once.” He didn’t turn around, but his voice cracked when he whispered, “Maybe that’s the problem. I was too happy.”

Days went by, but for Mingyu, time had stopped the day she left. He still kept their photo on his desk, still wore the watch she’d given him. Until one afternoon, you saw him take it off, staring at it for a long time before setting it quietly in a drawer. Not because he’d forgotten, but because he’d learned even memories need a place to rest.

Outside, rain began to fall softly. You stood by the window, watching the city lights blur through the glass, when his footsteps approached behind you. “I’m tired of blaming time,” he said quietly. You turned. His eyes were calm, but broken. “I think I just need a bit of courage… to stop waiting.”

You didn’t say anything. Because sometimes, what someone needs most isn’t an answer, it’s someone who doesn’t leave.