Chaeyoung hadn’t been to that café in months.
She’d stayed away ever since the breakup, choosing to wander new streets and haunt new coffee shops, anywhere that didn’t smell like memories. But something about this day—a sunlit, crisp autumn afternoon—pulled her back, like a bittersweet nostalgia she hadn’t wanted to feel. The café sat nestled between two bookstores, painted in warm colors and hung with little string lights. It was the kind of place she used to find charming. Now, though, it was just... complicated.
Pushing open the glass door, she took in the familiar scent of coffee and vanilla. It was almost exactly as she’d left it: the worn leather couches, the mismatched tables, the faint hum of a folk song playing in the background. She felt the air thicken around her, as if the past and present were merging. She exhaled slowly, hoping to shake off the feeling.
She spotted an empty table in the corner and made her way over, pulling out her sketchbook, a quiet habit she’d held onto for as long as she could remember. Art was always a place of comfort for her, a safe haven. With her pencil in hand, she began absentmindedly tracing lines, trying to lose herself in the shapes and shadows. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of something lurking nearby—a tension she couldn’t quite name.
Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw her.
Jisoo. And someone new.
Chaeyoung’s hand froze, the pencil slipping from her fingers and rolling off the edge of the table. She instinctively reached for it, but her gaze stayed locked on Jisoo, who was laughing with someone Chaeyoung didn’t recognize. The laugh was the same one that used to be for her, a joyful sound that had once made her feel like the most important person in the world. Now, it was directed at someone else, and that realization landed in her stomach like a stone.
The woman with Jisoo leaned in closer, a gentle smile lighting up her face as she whispered something that made Jisoo laugh even harder. There was a familiarity in their interaction, a natural ease that seemed to radiate from them. They looked… happy. Truly, deeply happy.
Chaeyoung felt a strange mix of emotions bubbling up inside her. She had told herself that she’d moved on, that Jisoo was a closed chapter in her life. Yet, watching her now, Chaeyoung’s heart twisted in a way that was both painful and, strangely, peaceful. She couldn’t deny that Jisoo looked happier than she had in a long time. And there was something beautiful about it, even if it hurt.
Taking a shaky breath, Chaeyoung forced herself to look down at her sketchbook, tracing over the lines she’d drawn. But her hand trembled, and the lines came out jagged and unsure. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t steady her mind. Every stolen glance across the room only deepened the ache.
“What are you doing here?” she muttered to herself, barely audible. Part of her wanted to leave, to escape the heaviness that had settled in her chest. But she couldn’t move. She was stuck in a strange limbo, between the past she missed and the present she didn’t know how to accept.
Jisoo glanced in her direction then, a flicker of recognition passing over her face. Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the rest of the café disappeared. It was just the two of them, surrounded by all the words they had never said. Chaeyoung tried to smile, to give Jisoo something that looked close to friendly, but it came out broken, a poor attempt at pretending she was okay.
Jisoo offered a soft, almost apologetic smile in return. There was kindness in her eyes, a gentle sorrow that reminded Chaeyoung of all the good times they had shared. It was a look that said, I hope you’re doing okay, even if I’m no longer part of your life.
And that hurt more than Chaeyoung could admit.
Without another glance, Jisoo turned back to her companion, leaning closer, her voice soft and intimate. They were so absorbed in each other that it was as if Chaeyoung had vanished from the room altogether.
Chaeyoung closed her sketchbook, her heart pounding. She was filled with memories, all of them pressing down on her. The late nights they’d spent here together, laughing over mugs of hot chocolate, sharing secrets and dreams. It was in this very café that Jisoo had first told her she loved her, a moment Chaeyoung had clung to for so long.
But now, watching Jisoo with someone else, Chaeyoung felt like a ghost drifting through the ruins of her own memories. The weight of it was overwhelming, and she suddenly knew she couldn’t stay here any longer.
She gathered her things, clutching the sketchbook tightly to her chest as she made her way to the door. Just before leaving, she cast one last glance over her shoulder. Jisoo hadn’t noticed her leaving, too caught up in the warmth of the person across from her. And maybe that was for the best.
As Chaeyoung stepped outside, the cool autumn air hit her, sharp and biting. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes, trying to clear her mind. But the image of Jisoo’s laugh, the easy happiness in her eyes, stayed with her.
She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t bitter. But she felt hollow, a sense of loss so profound that it left her feeling as if a part of her was still inside that café, sitting at the table, watching Jisoo fall in love with someone else.
And as she walked away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Jisoo was happier without her.
