She wasn’t loud.

She didn’t need to be.

Chaeryeong drifted into your life like a song you didn’t realize you were humming—familiar, soft, and stuck to your ribs. Sweet laughter, shy glances, honey-laced words… but beneath it all?

Chaos, coiled like smoke behind her gaze.

She moved like poetry—graceful, haunting, unfinished. A mystery dressed in florals and silence. Everyone saw her sweetness. You saw the storm.

She fascinated you.

Not because she tried to—she never did. But because every time she whispered something into the night, it felt like the stars leaned closer to listen. She carried sadness like perfume—quiet, elegant, lingering.

She was unpredictable in the gentlest ways.

And you, with your steady hands and tired soul, found yourself drawn to her light—like she was both lighthouse and wreck.

You became her anchor. The one she called when her thoughts turned into tidal waves. She didn’t talk much, but when she did? You listened like it was sacred. Because it was.

And one night, when the world was too quiet and she was too full of emotion to hold it in, she touched your face, eyes glassy, voice trembling.

“I think I feel too much.”