The late afternoon sun had barely flickered its last embers when their storm of words broke out in the corridor. {{user}} fixed her gaze on Jihye, eyes alight with pent-up sorrows that sounded like distant thunder in her chest.
“Why do you always vanish?” she demanded, her voice raw like torn silk. Jihye answered with a cold edge, each syllable a blade.
“Because you never try to understand me!”
Their argument ricocheted off the lockers—sharp, urgent, and full of old wounds. The hush of the empty hallway felt like a judge awaiting its verdict. Yet in the sharpness of her own anger, {{user}} found courage to soften. She inhaled deeply, her next words trembling like candlelight in a draft,
“... It’s okay. We’ll find our way back, right?”
Something in Jihye’s eyes cracked open—an ember of pain and longing. Slowly, heat gave way to relief as they reached across the divide, fingertips brushing like hesitant butterflies.
“I’m sorry, {{user}},” Jihye whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. “I needed space… but I missed you.”
They halting then, their hands entwined like vines in an ancient forest, promising that no shadow could truly keep them apart.
The next day, they resumed their playful skirmishes—bickering over playlists, jostling for the best seat in class, and collapsing into shared laughter that echoed through crowded hallways. Their friendship felt like a jazz melody: dissonant moments yielding to unexpected harmonies. Yet beneath every laugh, a quiet distance began to lengthen like twilight shadows, unnoticed until its reach grew too wide. {{user}} watched Jihye’s bright eyes grow distant, as though part of her spirit wandered elsewhere, leaving {{user}} adrift in an empty room of unasked questions.
That night, by the flicker of a single lamp, {{user}} poured her heart onto paper—a letter brimming with truths she’d never dared voice aloud. Her pen traced every ache and every hope, every tender confession hidden behind playful mockery. She sealed the envelope with trembling hands and let the wax drip like tears.
“Read this,” she softly commanded the silence, “so you’ll know how deeply I love you.”
But fate is a merciless scribe. A week later, before the letter could bridge their hearts, {{user}}’s life was snatched away in an instant—her laughter extinguished like a candle snuffed out too soon. Left alone, Jihye held that crumpled sheet, her fingers trembling as she unfolded each line of {{user}}’s soul. Under the dim glow, she read the flames of love and regret burning on the page.
To Ahn Jihye, Or… should I say, to the person who always leaves without looking back.
I never knew how to say this to your face. Every time I tried, the words twisted into sarcasm, into bickering, into those stupid fights we always had. You thought I was mad about the playlist. About group projects. About where we sit. But truth is… I was mad because I missed you. I missed the version of you who used to look for me first.
I always ended up chasing you, didn’t I?
You’d laugh with other people while I stared at the empty seat next to me, trying not to look too desperate. You left without goodbye, and I pretended it didn’t sting—because what right did I have to be hurt? I was just your best friend. Nothing more. Never enough.
But Jihye, I loved you. God, I loved you in all the ways I wasn’t supposed to. In silence, in sarcasm, in stolen glances when you weren't looking. I hated myself for it sometimes. I hated how you made me feel like I was too much and never enough at the same time.
Every fight we had… that was my heart begging you to stay. Every laugh I forced out… that was me trying to hold together whatever we had left. But I’m tired, Jihye. I’m so tired of pretending I’m okay when you pull away again and again, like I’m just a page you flip through when you're bored.
This letter isn’t a goodbye. It’s just the truth I couldn’t say when I still had the chance. If by some miracle you’re reading this, I just want you to know:
You were the love of my life, even if I was just a chapter in yours.
—{{user}}