Unwritten Chords Of Love

The Sound of Silence

The days that followed that afternoon with Minji were filled with a quiet kind of peace. Hanni had found herself more centered, more comfortable in her own skin than she had been in a long time. Maybe it was the closure—or at least the understanding—that had come from that conversation. Or maybe it was the realization that love, whatever it was, didn't have to be complicated or one-sided to be real. It could exist in many forms, subtle and unspoken, like the music she poured into her guitar.

But as much as Hanni was beginning to embrace the clarity she had gained, there were still moments when the past tugged at her, moments when the pull of what had been—what she had wanted to be—felt heavy. It was hard to completely shake the past, even with all the growth. The way she had once felt about Minji, the way she had let herself be swept up in that intensity, still lingered like a song stuck in her head. And, at times, she found herself wondering whether she could ever truly move forward, or if the echoes of her feelings for Minji would always linger in the background.

But those thoughts were fleeting now. Hanni had learned that the key to moving forward wasn't to outrun the past, but to carry it with her in a way that no longer held her back. And that was exactly what she was doing.

It was a late afternoon when Hanni met Jiwoo at the café again. She'd been meeting Jiwoo more often lately, sometimes just to talk about music, sometimes to share a laugh, and sometimes—like today—just to sit in silence and enjoy each other's company. There was something grounding about being around her friend, something that reminded Hanni of the steadiness that was always there, even when things felt uncertain.

Jiwoo was already waiting for her when Hanni arrived, leaning back in her chair, a half-empty cup of coffee in front of her. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and she had that same thoughtful look on her face that Hanni had come to recognize as her "I'm thinking about something deep" face.

"Hey," Hanni greeted her, sliding into the seat across from her. "You look like you're in deep thought."

Jiwoo grinned, shaking her head. "Maybe I am. I was just thinking about how much things have changed in such a short time. I mean, last year we were both kind of lost in different ways. And now it feels like we've both got a better handle on who we are. I think that's pretty amazing."

Hanni smiled, feeling a little shy under the praise. "It feels like things are different, for sure. I'm not the same person I was last year, but it feels like a good thing, you know? Like, I've learned a lot, not just about love or relationships, but about what I really want for myself."

Jiwoo's eyes softened, and she leaned forward. "I'm proud of you, Hanni. You've come a long way, and I know it hasn't been easy. I know you were in a pretty complicated place, but you've figured things out, and you're starting to own who you are."

"I'm still figuring it out," Hanni replied honestly. "But yeah, I think I'm getting there."

For a moment, they both fell into a comfortable silence, the hum of the café and the soft clink of coffee cups around them filling the space. Hanni's fingers absently traced the edge of her guitar case. She'd brought it with her again—this time with the intention of writing, of putting her thoughts into music.

But there was something else tugging at her heart, something that had been quietly stirring since her last conversation with Minji. A thought that wouldn't leave her alone.

"What if I'm not meant to be with her?" Hanni blurted out, her voice more tentative than she intended.

Jiwoo didn't flinch. She just nodded, her gaze steady. "What do you mean?"

Hanni hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I mean... what if the way I felt about Minji wasn't... the right kind of love? What if I was just looking for something to fix me, or something to make me feel like I wasn't alone? I don't know. It's confusing."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of Hanni's uncertainty. She could feel her pulse quicken, as though speaking the thought aloud made it more real. She had always been afraid to confront that particular question, the one about whether her feelings for Minji had been something deeper—or just something she needed.

Jiwoo sat back, folding her arms and studying Hanni thoughtfully. "You know, I think that's something only you can answer. It's not about what anyone else thinks. But I'll say this: you're right to question it. Love doesn't always look how we expect it to. Sometimes we think we need someone to fill a gap or fix something broken inside us, but that's not real love. Real love is about wanting to share a connection, wanting to give, not just take. And if it wasn't that way for you with Minji, then maybe it's not meant to be."

Hanni swallowed hard, the weight of Jiwoo's words hitting her harder than she had anticipated. She hadn't wanted to think about it this way—about whether her feelings had been out of some unspoken need rather than a true connection. But Jiwoo was right. Maybe it wasn't love the way she had imagined it. Maybe it was something else.

"I think you're right," Hanni said, her voice small. "Maybe I was so caught up in the idea of her, in the idea of what I wanted love to be, that I didn't see it clearly. And now, looking back, I don't know if what I felt for her was really love... or just me trying to fill a space."

Jiwoo smiled gently. "It's okay to feel that way. It doesn't make your feelings less valid. It just means you're learning. And that's a good thing."

Hanni nodded, the weight on her chest slowly lifting. It felt like something inside her had shifted, like a door had quietly opened, allowing her to see the situation for what it truly was. She wasn't broken, and she didn't need to be fixed by someone else. She was whole on her own. And love—true love—wouldn't be about filling a void. It would be about sharing something real, something mutual.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable rhythm, Jiwoo and Hanni talking about everything and nothing, the soft hum of the café and the gentle strumming of Hanni's guitar accompanying their conversation. By the time they parted ways, Hanni felt lighter, as if the confusion she'd been carrying for months had finally started to clear.

---

Later that night, back in her room, Hanni pulled out her guitar once more, feeling a quiet resolve settle over her. She began to play, her fingers moving effortlessly over the strings, as the words started to come. This song felt different. It didn't feel like a song for Minji or anyone else. It was a song for herself—about acceptance, about understanding that love could be many things, but it always started with the person you were.

As the melody took shape, Hanni smiled softly. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was finally singing her own song. A song of growth, of finding herself—not just through others, but for herself.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the beginning of a new chapter.