Chaeyoung barely remembered the weeks after the breakup. Days bled into each other, turning into a blur of sleepless nights and missed meals, with only her art to keep her tethered to reality. She poured every feeling into her sketches, filling page after page with quick, jagged lines and dark colors. Her work became her outlet, her therapy, and, at times, her only comfort.
But the breakup lingered in her mind, replaying itself in fragments and scenes she couldn’t stop.
It had happened gently, yes, but the hurt still ran deep. The way Jisoo had looked at her during their final moments together was imprinted in her memory, her eyes sad yet resigned. It was as if she had already begun to let go long before she’d said the words, I think we need to let each other go. Chaeyoung could remember the softness in her voice, how each word had felt like a deliberate cut, and how, despite everything, there had been kindness in Jisoo’s expression. That only made it worse.
She thought back to the nights that had led them to that moment, the quiet arguments and the spaces where she knew she could have done better but never did. Jisoo had tried to reach her time and time again, asking gentle questions whenever Chaeyoung withdrew into her own world. Is everything okay? Are you alright? Can I help you? But Chaeyoung had always brushed her off, telling her that she was fine, even when she wasn’t. She didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want to drag Jisoo into her own insecurities and fears.
But, of course, Jisoo had wanted to be there for her, had longed to understand her in every way. "I just want you to trust me, Chaeyoung," she had said one night, her voice barely a whisper, like a secret she was afraid to admit. "I want to be the person you come to, the one you lean on."
Chaeyoung had tried. She had tried so hard to let Jisoo in, to tell her about the fears she carried with her. But every time she opened her mouth, the words tangled and twisted, turning into something that didn’t make sense. And she would see the disappointment in Jisoo’s eyes, feel the weight of her own failure settling in her chest. It was as if she was trying to reach out through a wall of glass, watching Jisoo on the other side, so close yet always just out of reach.
There were moments when Chaeyoung wished she could go back, to tell herself to hold on tighter, to take that extra step toward Jisoo instead of retreating. But it was too late. They had reached a breaking point, and in the end, Jisoo had been the one to call it. She had been the strong one, the one brave enough to let go when it was clear that Chaeyoung wasn’t ready to fight for them.
The morning after the breakup, Chaeyoung had woken up to an emptiness that felt vast, as if Jisoo had taken a part of her with her. Their shared routines, the way they’d text each other goodnight, the laughter that had once filled her apartment—all of it was gone, leaving a silence that echoed around her. She found herself walking to the café out of habit, only to stop short at the door, remembering that Jisoo wouldn’t be there.
Days turned into weeks, and Chaeyoung’s friends started reaching out, worried by the sudden change in her. Lisa had shown up unannounced one evening, dragging her out for drinks, but Chaeyoung had barely touched her glass. Jennie had tried to get her to talk, but Chaeyoung had brushed her off, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” Jennie had said gently, squeezing her hand. “You both need time to figure things out. To heal.”
To heal. The words rang hollow to Chaeyoung, who didn’t know where to begin. She didn’t know how to heal when she felt so broken. Each day was a reminder of the things she had lost, of the love she had pushed away without meaning to.
One evening, she found herself alone in her apartment, surrounded by sketches she didn’t remember drawing. One in particular caught her eye—a rough, unfinished portrait of Jisoo, her eyes soft and kind, a faint smile on her lips. Chaeyoung felt a lump form in her throat as she traced the lines, her hand trembling. This was the Jisoo she remembered, the one who had loved her with a patience that seemed infinite, the one who had given her everything until she had nothing left to give.
Chaeyoung had known, deep down, that Jisoo was struggling. She remembered the way Jisoo had stopped asking her questions, stopped reaching out, as if she was slowly pulling away to protect herself. At the time, Chaeyoung had been too wrapped up in her own pain to notice. She had thought that Jisoo was just giving her space, that she was understanding in a way only Jisoo could be. But now, looking back, she saw that it had been Jisoo’s way of letting go, of preparing herself for the goodbye she had known was coming.
With a sigh, Chaeyoung sat back, staring at the half-finished portrait. She felt the ache in her chest deepen, knowing that no amount of sketches or memories could bring Jisoo back. The person she had been with Jisoo, the happiness they had shared, felt like a distant dream now.
In the quiet of her apartment, Chaeyoung finally allowed herself to cry. She let the tears fall, each one a release of the emotions she had been holding back for so long. It was the first time since the breakup that she truly faced the depth of her loss, the emptiness that Jisoo had left behind.
Through the tears, she realized something that frightened her: she didn’t just miss Jisoo. She missed the person she had been with her, the version of herself that felt loved and cherished, the one who had believed, even if only for a moment, that she was enough.
The next morning, Chaeyoung woke up with swollen eyes and an ache that felt both lighter and heavier. She knew she couldn’t keep going on like this, trapped in the cycle of regret and self-doubt. She had to find a way to move forward, to understand why she had pushed Jisoo away in the first place.
Maybe she had lost Jisoo for good, but if there was one thing she could take from this, it was a chance to grow. To learn to love herself the way Jisoo had once loved her, to heal the parts of her that felt so broken. It wouldn’t be easy. The journey ahead felt daunting, uncertain, and lonely.
But somewhere in the back of her mind, she could still hear Jisoo’s voice, soft and reassuring: You don’t have to be perfect. I just want you.
And maybe, just maybe, it was time for Chaeyoung to try to believe that for herself.
With a shaky breath, she picked up her sketchbook and opened it to a fresh page. For the first time in a long while, she began to draw not from memory or regret, but from hope—hope that someday, she might feel whole again.
