❛ ━ꜱᴄᴀʀʀᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴛᴡᴏ━ ❜ After their world went up in smoke following the heartbreaking loss of their child, Choi San and Jung Wooyoung's engagement shattered into pieces. Each day became a battle for survival in a sea of grief. Struggling to c...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
─•~❉ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ❉~•─
As I lay in bed, the echoes of those brief moments with San haunted me. Hongjoong had taken Hwa-Young to nursery, giving me space to sort through my tumultuous feelings. After the kiss we shared, I felt a surge of hope—a momentary glimpse into what could be a beautiful restart. But as the days passed, my initial comfort was replaced by a familiar, gnawing anxiety.
Being around San felt right, and every moment we shared seemed to draw me closer to him. Yet, the deeper my feelings grew, the more I feared the potential of repeating past mistakes. The fear of hurting him again due to my unresolved anxiety felt overwhelming. It was a vicious cycle, pulling me back to the start, to the pain of our initial breakup, even as part of me yearned for his closeness.
I found myself pulling away, a defense mechanism I hated but felt powerless to stop. I started to ignore his messages and calls, unable to face him and confess that my feelings were as intense and complicated as they had been back then. Each notification on my phone became a reminder of the distance I was letting grow between us, a distance I didn't genuinely want but felt compelled to maintain out of fear.
I looked at the messages on my phone again, holding my breath as tears threatened to spill over. I could almost hear his voice through the text, sense his concern and confusion. The screen blurred slightly as my eyes welled up, but I shut them tight, holding the tears at bay. I couldn't let myself break down, not when I was so unsure of how to move forward without causing more pain for both of us.
In this quiet room, with the dull light filtering through the curtains, I felt a profound loneliness—a stark contrast to the warmth and connection I had felt in San's presence just days ago. The isolation was self-imposed, a protective shell built from years of managing my anxiety and fears of inadequacy.
I needed to make a choice. Continuing down this path would only lead to more pain and potentially a permanent rift between us. But to face him, to open up about these swirling fears and hopes, would require a courage I wasn't sure I possessed. Yet, deep down, I knew that San deserved that honesty, and perhaps, this was the only way to truly heal and possibly rebuild what we had lost.
As I sat there, phone in hand, contemplating my next move, I realized that reaching out to him, being transparent about my fears, might not only bridge the distance between us but also help me confront the anxiety that had long dictated my life. It was a daunting thought, but maybe, just maybe, it was time to take that first step.
I couldn't bring myself to respond. Frozen, I stared at my phone, the weight of the impending conversation pressing down on me. Each deep breath felt heavier, tinged with the scent of fear and reluctance. Just as I mustered the strength to possibly turn off the device and delay the inevitable, it buzzed again.
"We gotta talk. You can't keep ignoring me. I'll be there."
San's message was direct, leaving no room for further avoidance. It wasn't just a request; it felt like a necessary ultimatum, a push towards a confrontation I felt unprepared for. The thought of seeing him, of having to explain the jumble of emotions that had led me to pull away after such a tender moment, filled me with a dread that was hard to articulate.
