The air felt thick as Chaeyoung stood frozen, her gaze locked on Jisoo’s. She didn’t know what to feel—relief, surprise, or the bittersweet pang of seeing someone you once thought you’d never see again. Part of her wanted to turn and run, to shield herself from the memories that Jisoo’s presence brought back. But her feet wouldn’t move.
Jisoo finally broke the silence, stepping forward with that familiar, quiet smile, the one that used to make Chaeyoung feel like everything would be okay.
“Hi, Chaeyoung,” she said, her voice calm, steady.
“Hi.” Chaeyoung’s voice came out softer than she expected, and she tried to compose herself, still reeling from the shock of seeing her again. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
Jisoo’s smile turned a bit sad. “I didn’t know if I would. But I heard about your exhibit… and I wanted to see it. To see you.”
They stood there, surrounded by the hum of voices and the dim lighting of the gallery, both acutely aware of the strange, fragile tension between them. Jisoo’s gaze swept around the room, taking in the artwork that hung on the walls, all pieces of Chaeyoung’s soul laid bare for the world to see.
“This one,” Jisoo said, gesturing to a painting of a figure wrapped in dark blues and purples, her face half-hidden but unmistakably Jisoo’s. Chaeyoung had painted it late one night, drawn by an impulse she couldn’t ignore, pouring her lingering feelings into every brushstroke.
Chaeyoung’s heart skipped a beat, embarrassed and vulnerable. “It’s… you.”
Jisoo studied the painting, her eyes softening as she took in the details—the way her form blended into the darkness, as if part of the shadows, and the faint glimmer of light on her face. “I thought so. You captured… something I can’t explain,” she murmured, her voice thoughtful. “It’s beautiful, Chaeyoung.”
“Thank you.” Chaeyoung took a shaky breath, not sure what to say or where this conversation would lead. The silence between them felt heavier now, laden with the weight of everything they’d left unspoken.
“I’ve missed this part of you,” Jisoo said quietly, her eyes meeting Chaeyoung’s. “Your art—it’s like seeing a part of you I always knew was there, but maybe didn’t appreciate enough.”
The sincerity in her voice made Chaeyoung’s throat tighten. She had imagined this moment so many times, what it would feel like to see Jisoo again, to hear her voice. She had imagined feeling anger or regret, but all she felt was a quiet, aching sadness mixed with relief. She had missed Jisoo too—more than she cared to admit.
They wandered to a quieter corner, away from the crowd, and for a moment it was just the two of them, suspended in a bubble of their own history.
“I had a hard time, after you left,” Chaeyoung admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “For a long time, I didn’t want to believe we were really over. It took everything to accept it—to try and move on.” She glanced at Jisoo, the vulnerability in her eyes impossible to hide. “Even now, sometimes… I still wonder. About us. About what might have happened if things were different.”
Jisoo’s face softened, a flicker of understanding crossing her features. “Me too,” she said. “I tried to convince myself that it was for the best, that we both needed to grow in our own ways. But there were nights… there were so many times I’d wonder if I’d made the right choice. I missed you more than I could handle.”
Hearing Jisoo admit this felt both like a balm and a wound. Chaeyoung had longed for Jisoo’s presence, her warmth, her laughter—but she had also forced herself to let go, to believe that their separation had been inevitable.
“Why did we end it?” Chaeyoung asked, her voice tinged with a hint of frustration. “I know it was mutual, but… sometimes I wonder if we gave up too soon, if we were just afraid.”
Jisoo hesitated, her eyes distant as if searching for the right words. “I think part of us was afraid. But I also think we didn’t know how to handle the weight of what we felt. Maybe we weren’t ready… or maybe we just needed time to become who we are now.”
Chaeyoung nodded, trying to process her emotions. There were so many memories, so many small moments they had shared that she still carried with her. And here they were, two people who once loved each other fiercely, now standing on the other side of that love, trying to make sense of the aftermath.
“I still care about you, you know,” Jisoo said, her gaze gentle. “That hasn’t changed.”
The words hit Chaeyoung with a force she hadn’t expected. She looked down, feeling the vulnerability settle heavy in her chest. “I care about you too, Jisoo. I always have.”
They fell silent again, both lost in their own thoughts, the reality of their feelings filling the space between them. It felt like closure, but also like something unfinished—a story that hadn’t yet reached its final chapter.
“What do we do now?” Chaeyoung asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of hope and fear.
Jisoo paused, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know. But maybe we don’t need to decide everything right now. Maybe we just… take it one step at a time, see where things lead.”
Chaeyoung nodded, her heart still conflicted but somehow lighter. She didn’t know what the future held for them—if they could ever truly rekindle what they had or if they were meant to remain a beautiful memory. But for the first time in a long time, she felt at peace with the uncertainty.
As they stood there, side by side, surrounded by her artwork and the echoes of their past, Chaeyoung felt a small glimmer of hope. Whatever happened next, she knew she would be okay. She had faced her past, had found her strength, and, perhaps most importantly, she had finally let herself feel again.
And maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something new.
