It had been a year since you left Seoul—since you packed your life into two suitcases and boarded that plane to Amsterdam, heart full of hope and quietly breaking at the same time.

Wonwoo had been your boyfriend for three years. Calm, steady, and so much a part of your every day that it felt unnatural to breathe without him. You begged him to try, to hold on. Long distance wasn’t impossible, you said. Love could stretch.

But he just looked at you with that heartbreakingly composed face and said, “You deserve to chase this without looking back.”

He said other things too. Things that hurt. Words that came out too sharp, too final. You knew he didn’t mean them—not really. He just didn’t know how else to let you go without ruining both of you in the process.

And still, despite it all, you never found it in yourself to hate him.

Now, a year later, the city was starting to feel like yours. You’d grown into it, let it stretch you. But the space in your chest he used to fill? That stayed.

It was a rainy Tuesday. You were rushing out of a bookstore, head down, umbrella folded, and ran straight into someone solid.

“Ah—sorry,” you murmured instinctively, stepping back.

And there he was. Jeon Wonwoo. In Amsterdam.

Same eyes, same stillness, same startled breath.

He blinked, equally stunned. Then, soft and almost not real, he said, “I was just… walking.”