you had always known sunghoon came from a world that wasn’t meant to touch yours. the first time you saw him, he’d been wearing that soft beige sweater and a smile that looked too kind for someone who had everything. he was from one of the richest families in town, the kind whose last name carried weight — while you were just a girl who worked double shifts at a convenience store and still had to count coins before buying bus fare.

but somehow, he fell for you anyway.

he was the one who walked you home every night, even when his driver waited by the corner with the car engine running. he was the one who held your cold hands and slipped them into his coat pockets whenever you shivered. he never made you feel small. when he laughed, when he whispered your name, when he kissed your forehead — it felt like maybe love could erase the distance between worlds.

but you were wrong.

that night, you came home late. your apron still smelled like fried food and cleaning detergent, your hair tied messily under your cap. the street was dark, only the flickering lamp above your small apartment door lighting the way. and that’s where you saw him — not sunghoon, but his father.

he was waiting for you, dressed in a long black coat that looked too expensive for this neighborhood. his eyes were sharp, voice cold.

“you must be her,” he said simply.

you froze.

he didn’t raise his voice, didn’t even sound angry. but every word came with weight, heavy enough to crush your chest. “i’ll be direct,” he said. “end your relationship with my son.”

you tried to speak — to say something, anything — but he continued, “i know your situation. your family depends on you, doesn’t it? i can make things… very difficult for them. or i can make things easier. that depends on you.”

the air felt thinner with every word. your hands trembled as you clutched your bag.

“please,” you whispered, your throat burning. “we love each other—”

“love?” he repeated, like it was a dirty word. “my son is naïve, but he’ll move on. you, on the other hand… you won’t recover from what could happen if you don’t listen.”

and just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with your heart breaking louder than your breathing.

that night, you cried until the sun came up. you thought about how sunghoon looked at you like you were the whole sky. how he always said he didn’t care about money, about what his family thought. but this wasn’t about him. this was about you — and how powerless you were.

so, the next day, you met him one last time. you didn’t tell him the truth. you didn’t tell him about his father’s threats or the way your mother had been sick, or how you couldn’t risk losing your home. you just looked at him, eyes swollen from crying, and said the words you swore would never leave your mouth.

“i don’t love you anymore.”

he froze, eyes wide, confusion and hurt flooding his face. “what? what are you talking about?”

you forced yourself to look away. “i’m tired of this, sunghoon. i can’t do this anymore.”

“no,” he whispered, stepping closer. “you’re lying.”

you felt your chest crack open, but you didn’t let it show. you took a deep breath and walked away.

you blocked his number. deleted every photo. you even avoided the streets where he used to wait for you after work. every night, you’d cry into your pillow, whispering apologies into the dark, hoping somehow he’d hear them.

and sunghoon — he kept trying. for weeks, he left messages you never read, flowers you never picked up. but eventually, even he stopped.

still, sometimes, when you passed by that coffee shop you used to go to together, you’d imagine him sitting there — the same soft beige sweater, the same tender eyes, still looking for you in the crowd.

and every time, you’d walk faster, pretending not to feel the ache that never really left. because loving him had been the best thing that ever happened to you — and losing him was the price you paid to keep your family safe.

you never saw him again after that night. but in your heart, he never stopped waiting.