Minho had a match. Finally—or so he thought. Many of his cousins were in their twenties and thirties; it seemed normal, he guessed. He was twenty-seven and still unmarried. His mother never let him forget it. She nudged, suggested, and schemed. Weddings, she insisted, were the perfect place to “keep his eyes open” for a decent woman. Sometimes she even spoke to other families directly, trying to introduce him. Awkward, embarrassing, exhausting.
He adjusted his suit for what felt like the tenth time that morning, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Today, he would meet {{user}}. His family planned to visit hers to show that they were serious. Her parents, her aunts, her grandmother—all expected this meeting to go smoothly. They had no idea she had already rejected him.
{{user}} moved through the room with quiet precision, serving tea and snacks. Her hands were steady, but her eyes… empty. Hollow. Minho couldn’t help but notice. At first, he felt a pang of pity, but there was a strange, understated beauty in her stillness. It lingered for a heartbeat before fading.
Her mother spoke to Minho’s mother, smiling brightly. “{{user}} is so studious,” she said. “She hopes to become a mathematics professor someday.”
“That’s wonderful,” Minho’s mother replied, beaming. “Education is important. A girl like her… we hope you will care for her, Minho.”
{{user}} didn’t meet his eyes. She moved like a ghost among them, polite but distant. Minho noticed her knuckles tighten as she poured coffee.
And then it happened. She added salt. One careful pinch. Into his cup. A quiet, deliberate rejection. Minho froze at the first bitter sip, surprised, but he swallowed politely, not wanting to cause a scene.
His father leaned over, oblivious. “So, what do you think of her, son?”
Minho cleared his throat. “She’s… refined.” He smiled faintly, hiding the bitter taste in his mouth. Respect mattered more than pride.
After the meeting, Minho’s mother muttered as they left the house. “I think she’s depressed. Such a strange girl. But we’ll see—she’ll come around.”
Minho stayed quiet. “It was… salty,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“Salty?” his father asked, puzzled.
Minho just shook his head, focusing on the road. Some things were better left unspoken.
Weeks later, he saw {{user}} again at another ceremony. Like some festival. This time, they were alone for a moment. He couldn’t resist testing the waters.
“Don‘t confuse sugar with salt this time, ne?” he asked, smiling faintly.