Tae-pyung carefully folded his clothes, placing each item neatly into his suitcase. It had been five long years since he chose—or rather, was compelled—to follow his mother's wishes and move to the United States to continue his studies. He had convinced himself, over and over, that this was the right path, even if deep down it didn't feel that way. He tried to find peace in the decision, clinging to the hope that perhaps one day he would understand why his mother believed it was best for him.
"I know what's best for you, son." she had said with conviction the day he boarded the plane.
Those words echoed in his mind, even now. For five years, he had thrown himself into his studies, pouring every ounce of energy into becoming the person his mother and grandfather envisioned. He excelled academically, met expectations, and did everything that was asked of him. But there was always a hollow feeling inside, a sense that he was living someone else's life.
His grandfather's words, spoken with authority, were another weight he carried, "Remember, Tae-pyung, everything you see here will one day be yours."
The sprawling estate, the successful architecture empire, and the expectations attached to the Lee family name—they were all laid out before him as both a promise and a burden. For years, he bore it without complaint. He was the dutiful grandson, the obedient son.
But now, at twenty-two, he was no longer a boy being told what to do. He was a man, ready to make his own choices. And his first choice was to leave it all behind. He needed to step away from the life that had been planned for him—a life he never asked for—and finally breathe on his own.
As he zipped up the last compartment of his suitcase, his eyes caught something on the nightstand; a small photograph he had kept safe all this time. He paused, reaching for it. It was slightly faded, but the image was still clear—a snapshot of a happier time, taken in a small ice cream shop in Korea.
It was their first photo together.
He sat down on the edge of his bed, holding the picture in his hands. His thumb gently traced the outline of her face, capturing her shy smile. Memories flooded back—her smile, her voice, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her random thoughts.
"Eon-jin..." he whispered softly, as if saying her name could bring her closer.
Five years. Five long years had passed since they last saw each other, and yet the feelings he had for her hadn't faded. If anything, they had grown stronger with time, becoming a constant in his heart. She was the one thing that remained untouched by the life he had been forced to live.
"I wonder..." he murmured, staring at the photo, "if you ever think about me, too."
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"Hello, Tae-woong ah. Yes, I'm on my way," Eon-jin said, holding her phone close as the bus sped along the road.
"I'm sorry, Eon-jin," Tae-woong replied on the other end, his tone slightly apologetic. "Something came up at home—just a small emergency. I'll be a bit late, but I'm all set and ready to go. Don't worry; I'll catch up."
"Oh, I see. That's okay," Eon-jin reassured him. "I hope everything's alright on your end. Just let me know when you're on your way. I'll keep you posted about where I am in the expo."
"Thanks, Eon-jin. Really sorry for this. You go ahead and enjoy the event. I'll get there as soon as I can."
After ending the call, Eon-jin sighed softly and glanced at her watch, then out the window. The early morning sunlight illuminated the trees and small shops they passed. "It's still early. He might make it in time," she thought, reassuring herself.
