They were two kids in love when the world was simpler.

Jungwon got down on one knee under the fairy lights on their fourth anniversary, holding out a silver ring with shaky fingers, {{user}} said yes through tears. It felt right. Everything felt right.

But something changed.

It started with the ring.

It was a simple silver band, nothing flashy. Jungwon had saved up for months to buy it. one morning, in a rush to get to class, she left it on the bathroom sink. When she came home, it wasn’t there.

She tore apart the apartment. The drawers, the trash, under the couch cushions. But the ring was gone.

“I’m so sorry,” she told Jungwon that night. Her voice cracked. “I lost the ring.”

He was quiet, too quiet. Then he smiled gently, brushing hair behind her ear. “It’s just a ring. You’re more important.”

But guilt didn’t go away.

And neither did the words she couldn’t keep in.

“Things are… going fast, Jungwon.”

He looked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated. “I mean, the engagement. Us. Everything.”

A beat of silence. His eyes dimmed just a little.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” she whispered. “Maybe we’re… not right for each other.”

And just like that, something inside him closed.

He didn’t argue. He didn’t cry. He just nodded slowly and said, “Maybe we should take a break.”

Their favorite café didn’t taste the same. Her playlists felt too full of memories. The apartment—now hers alone—echoed with everything he left behind: his favorite hoodie, the scent of his shampoo, the half-read book on the shelf.

Her friends asked if they were okay. She said they were just taking a break.

But deep down, something told her they weren’t.

She missed him. Not just in the way people miss someone who’s gone, but in the way her bones missed warmth. She missed the way he made her laugh when she was too tired to smile. The way he always knew when she was lying about being fine. The way he held her— Everything.

Never let me go…