Chaeyoung wandered down the bustling city streets, her mind adrift in memories she’d tried so hard to bury. Each step away from the café felt heavier, as if she was walking with all the weight of her past slung over her shoulders. Autumn leaves crunched underfoot, filling the quiet between her scattered thoughts with small, fragile sounds.
She hadn’t expected to see Jisoo today. In fact, she hadn’t expected to see her again at all, not like that—radiant and laughing with someone else, her life moving forward while Chaeyoung felt caught in place. The past flooded her mind, raw and bittersweet, tugging her back to when she and Jisoo were everything to each other.
They had met during the spring, in a small art gallery downtown. Chaeyoung had been there to showcase some of her sketches, nervous and anxious about her work on display. She remembered standing in the corner, tugging at the hem of her sleeve, avoiding the crowd, when Jisoo appeared beside her. She had looked at Chaeyoung’s art with an enthusiasm that caught Chaeyoung off guard.
“I love how you captured her eyes,” Jisoo had said, gesturing to a portrait Chaeyoung had done of her younger sister. “It’s like you can feel what she’s thinking, just by looking.”
Her voice had been warm, and her smile so genuine that Chaeyoung’s nerves had melted on the spot. They started talking about art, about their favorite painters and the stories behind each brushstroke. Jisoo had confessed she didn’t know much about technique, but she loved the way art made her feel. That night, they’d left the gallery together and found themselves at the very café Chaeyoung had just fled, talking until the early morning hours.
That night turned into countless others. Late-night talks stretched into mornings spent in the comfort of each other’s company. Jisoo was light and warmth—a sunbeam, Chaeyoung often thought. She had a way of filling the quiet spaces in Chaeyoung’s heart, the ones Chaeyoung herself hadn’t even known were empty. They had fallen in love gradually, like a slow burn, each day a little brighter than the last.
But love, Chaeyoung learned, was rarely as simple as wanting someone and being wanted back.
Chaeyoung had her own darkness, insecurities that flared up when she least expected them. She had a habit of retreating into herself when things became overwhelming, hiding her worries, her doubts. She often doubted she was enough for Jisoo, or for anyone really. Sometimes she felt like Jisoo was too good for her, too patient and kind, too willing to weather her storms.
When Jisoo would ask what was wrong, Chaeyoung would brush it off, offer a quiet smile, and tell her everything was fine. But Jisoo could always tell when something was off. She would ask again, gently pressing, and Chaeyoung would shut down even more, her words clumsy, her thoughts tangled. They started to argue, not over big things, but over small misunderstandings and miscommunications that grew larger each time they were left unspoken.
One rainy night, the tension finally broke. They had gone to the café, both quiet and tense, the warmth that usually connected them feeling brittle. Chaeyoung couldn’t remember what had started it—a small comment, a flash of worry in Jisoo’s eyes. But before she knew it, the words were spilling out, her doubts, her fears, her feeling that she was never enough. Jisoo had sat there, eyes wide, listening as Chaeyoung voiced everything she had bottled up.
"I don’t know why you even love me," Chaeyoung had whispered, her voice choked. "I don’t know if I’ll ever be good enough for you, or for anyone.”
Jisoo’s gaze had softened, her hand reaching out to cover Chaeyoung’s trembling fingers. “I don’t want perfect, Chaeyoung. I just want you. You don’t have to be anything more than that.”
But even as Jisoo said it, Chaeyoung could see the sadness in her eyes, the frustration. Jisoo had been trying so hard to reach her, to understand her, and Chaeyoung had been pushing her away without meaning to.
They sat in silence, the rain pattering softly against the windows, the distance between them palpable. And though they stayed together for a little while after that, something had shifted. Jisoo seemed quieter, a little more reserved, as if she was preparing herself to let go. Chaeyoung knew it, but she was too afraid to change, too caught up in her fears to see that she was losing the best thing she’d ever had.
The breakup itself was gentle, like the way leaves fell from a tree in autumn. They met at the café one last time, each of them avoiding the other’s eyes as they sipped their drinks, the silence stretching between them. Jisoo had been the first to speak, her voice quiet but steady.
“I think we need to let each other go, Chaeyoung,” she had said, her words soft but final.
Chaeyoung had felt her heart break, splintering into a thousand pieces, but she had nodded, unable to find any words that would change Jisoo’s mind. Deep down, she knew it was the right decision. They were both hurting, and staying together would only hurt them more.
But seeing Jisoo now, laughing with someone else, made her wonder if she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. Chaeyoung hadn’t realized how much she would miss her, hadn’t known just how deeply Jisoo had become a part of her. She had believed that with time, the ache would fade, that she’d find someone else who would fill the spaces Jisoo had left behind.
Yet here she was, feeling the same heartbreak, the same longing, like no time had passed at all.
Chaeyoung turned a corner, her feet carrying her down a quiet side street. She stopped in front of a shop window, her reflection staring back at her. She looked different than she had when she was with Jisoo—tired, as if the spark she once had was dimmer, the edges of her smile softer. She touched her reflection, her fingers tracing her face in the glass.
“Are you happier now, Chaeyoung?” she whispered, barely able to hear her own voice.
She wasn’t sure of the answer. She only knew that seeing Jisoo happy without her was a reminder of what she had lost, of the person she hadn’t been able to be for her.
But as she stood there, looking at herself, she realized that maybe this pain was something she needed to face, to confront instead of running away from. Maybe losing Jisoo was a part of her story, a chapter that she had to accept before she could truly move forward.
With one last glance at her reflection, Chaeyoung turned and walked away, her heart a little heavier but her mind somehow clearer. She knew she had a long road ahead, a journey that would force her to confront her own insecurities, her own fears. But maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of healing—of finding happiness on her own, without Jisoo, and learning to be okay with that.
