Whispers Among Pages || Jeon Wonwoo

Chapter 4: An Empty Chair

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The day stretched long and slow, the kind that made time feel heavier with every passing minute. Wonwoo shifted in his bed, the familiar ache in his shoulder reminding him that recovery wasn't a passive process. He reached for his book—a habit he'd developed to fill the quiet hours—but even the familiar comfort of words wasn't enough to distract him today.

She hadn't come.

He had waited in the library the evening before, their usual corner empty except for him. The armchair opposite sat untouched, its presence an echo of their last conversation. Mr. Lee had glanced at him curiously but said nothing, letting the silence speak for itself.

Now, in the stillness of his hospital room, Wonwoo found himself restless. It wasn't as though they had made plans—Jiyeon wasn't obligated to be there. She was a nurse, after all, with a schedule as unpredictable as the lives she cared for. And yet, her absence left an unexpected hollowness he couldn't shake.

The knock on his door startled him. He sat up, expecting her, only to see a different nurse step inside.

"Good morning, Mr. Jeon," she said brightly, checking his chart. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fine," Wonwoo replied automatically, his voice clipped.

The nurse didn't seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm. She adjusted his IV, asked a few perfunctory questions, and left with a cheerful wave. The door clicked shut behind her, and the quiet returned, heavier than before.

Wonwoo sighed, running a hand through his hair. He stared at the closed book on his bedside table, the words inside suddenly feeling distant and unimportant. His gaze drifted to the notebook beside it, the one Jiyeon had written in.

Reaching for it, he flipped to the page she had filled. Her handwriting was neat, but there was a certain flow to it, like the thoughts had spilled out faster than she could control. He read the words again, letting them settle over him.

"Healing is messy. It doesn't happen all at once, and it's never as clean as we hope it will be. But it's still worth trying for. Even when it feels impossible, even when you feel stuck, the process matters. You matter."

Her words had stayed with him since she'd written them. He hadn't told her then, but they'd resonated in a way he hadn't expected, like a quiet affirmation he hadn't realized he needed.

With a sigh, Wonwoo closed the notebook and leaned back against his pillow. He wasn't sure why her absence bothered him so much—perhaps because she had become a bright spot in his otherwise monotonous days. Or perhaps because, for the first time in a long while, he felt seen, truly seen, in her presence.

The day passed slowly, each hour dragging into the next. The library, normally a place of solace, didn't call to him this time. Without her there, it felt different—less inviting, less alive.

By evening, Wonwoo found himself staring out the window of his room, the city lights twinkling in the distance. He wondered where she was, if she was okay, if she had needed the same solace she so often offered to others.

He didn't know when he'd see her again, but he held onto the thought that their story, whatever it was, wasn't finished yet. And so, he waited, holding onto her words like a lifeline, hoping that tomorrow might bring her back to the quiet corner of the library where their connection had begun.

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