Beom Taeha was the kind of person you never forgot — loud, wild, and alive in every sense of the word. You grew up with the sound of his laughter echoing through summer nights, his motorcycle roaring down empty streets while you clung to the back seat, wind whipping through your hair. He was your best friend — the kind you thought you’d have for life.

And maybe you would have… if Emily hadn’t come along.

She was beautiful, the kind of beautiful that made people stop and stare. And Taeha, with his foolish heart, fell for her instantly. You tried to ignore the way her eyes wandered when he wasn’t looking, the secret texts, the fake sweetness in her voice. You saw it all — her lies, her manipulation — but you stayed quiet. Because Taeha was happy.

You didn’t want to be the one to take that away.

But it didn’t take long for things to change. He started to drift. Calls unanswered. Texts left on read. The little things — skipping your usual breakfast runs, canceling movie nights, pretending he was too busy. You didn’t understand why until one day, Emily cornered you with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“You should give him some space,” she said, twirling her hair around her finger. “You’re just… always there. It’s a little desperate, don’t you think?”

Her words stung, but you ignored her. Or tried to. Until Taeha himself began to look at you differently — distant, cautious, like he was seeing you through her twisted lens.

Then came the day of his big race — the one he’d been dreaming of since you were kids. The one that could make him a name beyond the small tracks and weekend trophies. You couldn’t stay away, even if he didn’t want you there.

He was standing by his motorcycle, his team fussing over details, the sunlight glinting off his helmet. When he saw you, his expression faltered — a mix of surprise and something colder.

“Taeha,” you started, forcing a smile. “I just wanted to wish you luck.”

He hesitated. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I know.”

Emily slipped her hand through his, whispering something. You didn’t catch the words, but you saw the effect — his jaw tightened, his eyes hardening like glass.

When the race began, you watched from the sidelines, your heart in your throat. Every turn, every sharp curve, every second felt like holding your breath. He was brilliant, fast, unstoppable — everything you always knew he was meant to be.

And when he crossed the finish line, victorious, the crowd exploded in cheers. You should’ve been proud. You were. But all you could see was Emily rushing into his arms, her kiss plastered on every camera.

He didn’t look for you in the crowd.

Later that night, you sent him a message — You did amazing today. I’m proud of you.

He never replied.

Weeks passed. Then months. You heard through mutual friends that he and Emily were the new “it couple,” always photographed, always smiling. But you knew him well enough to see the cracks in those smiles — the exhaustion in his eyes, the loneliness he tried to hide.

You never said “I told you so.” You never told him the truth about her.

Instead, you watched from a distance, hoping one day he’d remember who stood beside him before the fame, before the lies.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d come back.

Because some bonds don’t break — they just hurt quietly, waiting for the day they can matter again.