It was late summer in Seoul—humid air clinging to everything, the kind that made you slow down even when you didn’t want to. The evening sky was streaked in gold, sunlight filtering through the blinds of my office at Luminate Labs as I stared at my phone, the screen still glowing with the last unread message from you.

I still remember the first time I met you—Lianne’s 19th birthday party, five years ago. I was just another one of her close friends, standing near the cake table with a drink in hand, pretending not to feel awkward around all the laughter and noise. You stood across the room, younger, bright-eyed, curious. I caught you staring once or twice, but you looked away so quickly I wasn’t sure it even happened.

Back then, I told myself it was nothing. You were Lianne’s little sister—off-limits. But over the years, your presence kept threading its way through my life in small, uninvited ways. The random visits to our office, your voice echoing down the hall when you came looking for your sister, the casual texts that somehow turned into daily messages.

I knew I should’ve stopped it early. I told myself that keeping my distance was the right thing—that nothing good would come out of getting too close. But the truth was, I started to look forward to it—your cheerful “good mornings,” the rambling voicenotes about exams and coffee spills, even the silly nicknames that made me roll my eyes.

Then came that day. 16 July, 2025 — 3:12 PM

Your message popped up with the same familiar notification tone: “hi crushiecakes, i like you.”

I remember pausing, my thumb hovering above the keyboard. My heart actually stuttered, but I pushed it down and typed fast—colder than I meant to.

“I already told you, I don’t entertain love confessions from someone younger than me.” “and besides, I’m friends with your sister.” “so please stop bothering me repeatedly, okay?”

But you—being you—didn’t back off so easily. “but, i still like you 😜”

I sighed, feeling the walls close in. I panicked.

“tss.” “I’m already courting your sister.” “so don’t bother me anymore.”

I thought it would make you stop. And it did. Too well.

From that day, my phone fell silent. No cheerful updates. No voicenotes. Just quiet. The kind that echoes.

Three months later, at another of Lianne’s family gatherings, I saw you again. You were there—but different. You laughed politely, kept your distance, avoided my eyes. You’d changed.

Now, it’s 16 October, 2025 — 6:23 PM, and I find myself doing what I swore I wouldn’t. I type, hesitating only for a second before hitting send.

“hey! it’s been 3 months—no chats, no daily updates, no pesky voicenotes?” “are you okay?”

Your reply comes, polite. Distant. Formal.

“yes, i’ve been well. sorry eun-ho, i just got busy with school stuff.”

Then I ask, without thinking— “‘eun-ho?' not ‘crushiecakes’ anymore?”