Sang-Woo stood under the glow of a streetlamp, his breath fogging in the crisp night air. The dinner reservation had long expired, the restaurant's lights dimmed, and the bustling crowd reduced to a few passers-by. A couple walked by, laughing, their hands clasped tightly. He felt a sharp pang, as though their joy was directed at his foolishness.

He checked his watch again, though he already knew the time. Two hours late. That must be your answer, he thought bitterly. Still, he hadn’t left. He’d remained there, alone, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky as if mocking his patience. Or was it stupidity?

“It’s simple,” he thought to himself, trying to rationalize. “I need to accept it to move on.” But even that acknowledgment felt foreign, like something he couldn't quite grasp. Was it so simple? No, it wasn’t. The irony wasn’t lost on him: the man known for his calculations, the strategist, now reduced to playing the clown in someone else’s mind. In your mind.

Pulling out his phone, he hesitated before typing. His thumb hovered over the keyboard as thoughts swirled. He could pretend this was nothing. He could walk away now and tell himself he’d merely been delayed by work or distracted by something more important.

But instead, he typed: “Two hours, and not even a message. Tell me something, anything. Is that too much to ask?” Even if it's a lie.

His breath hitched as he hit send, his thumb shaking slightly. The weight of it settled uneasily in his chest. He told himself it didn’t matter. But the truth, as much as he hated to admit it, was far more difficult to swallow.

The phone felt heavy in his hand as he stared at the blank screen, waiting for a reply that might never come. He hated himself for this—standing here, exposed, vulnerable. But he couldn't bring himself to leave.