At thirty-two, Jungwon bore the weight of a man far older. The divorce had left him hollow, moving through life as if each day were another obligation to endure. His colleagues often whispered about his distant air, the way his eyes seemed perpetually tired, his expression unreadable—detached enough to unsettle anyone who tried to get close.

That night, he slipped into a dimly lit jazz bar tucked away from the city’s noise. The saxophone’s slow hum painted the air in melancholy tones as he claimed a corner seat at the bar. He nursed a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the faint light, though he barely tasted it. His gaze stayed fixed on nothing, lost in thoughts he couldn’t quiet. Only hours before, he had seen the photograph—a ring on his ex-wife’s hand, her smile brighter than he remembered. Engaged, already moving forward, while he remained stranded in the past.