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┈┈∘┈˃̶ＨＯＮＧＪＯＯＮＧ˂̶┈∘┈┈
" 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐝."
The silence of the past few days had been profound, the isolation almost palpable. Each day unfolded with a numbing sameness: sitting alone in the library or at lunch, depending on the hollow feeling that gripped my mood, which seemed perpetually sunk at the pit of my stomach. The impact of Seonghwa's father's restraining order reverberated beyond just our friendship—it had effectively severed the ties I had with everyone in our group. Yeosang, San, Wooyoung, and especially Seonghwa, my closest friend.
The weight of solitude pressed heavily on me as I shuffled through my daily routines. In class, the seats next to me, once filled with the vibrant energy of my friends, now stood starkly empty. There were no more shared whispers about an upcoming test, no light-hearted banter to ease the stress of schoolwork, just a suffocating quiet that followed me like a shadow.
Each day at lunch, I found a remote corner in the library, the quiet hum of hushed conversations and the rustling of book pages around me only accentuating my solitude. I would pull out a book, more for the company than any real desire to read. The words on the pages often blurred into a meaningless jumble, my thoughts relentlessly circling back to the events that had unfolded. How swiftly everything had changed, how suddenly I had become a pariah, cut off not by choice but by a decree that felt both arbitrary and cruel.
I missed them—my friends, our laughter, our shared dreams and frustrations. I missed Seonghwa the most. The memory of our last conversation, his pained acceptance of the situation, haunted me. I wondered how he was handling the distance, whether he felt the same gnawing emptiness that I did.
Sometimes, between classes or in the muted solitude of the library, I caught glimpses of them. They seemed to move on, their lives continuing without me, and each sighting was a fresh stab of pain. I saw Seonghwa occasionally, always from a distance. Our eyes would meet, a flicker of shared sadness passing between us before one of us looked away, the divide too wide and fraught with risk to bridge with even a small gesture.
The sense of loss was overwhelming, not just of friends but of a part of myself. The easy confidence with which I had navigated my days was shattered; in its place was a cautious, shadowed version of myself, always wary, always reminded of my place on the fringes.
As I busied myself wiping down the counters in the cafe, adjusting my glasses occasionally, the door chimed, signaling the arrival of a new customer. The day had been dragging, filled with the usual clatter of cups and the murmur of patrons, but my heart jolted when I looked up to see Seonghwa standing at the entrance. He paused briefly, his eyes searching the cafe before they settled on me. His presence unexpectedly stirred a mixture of emotions; the cafe suddenly felt too small, the air too thick.
