It's been two years.
Two years since Mina walked out the door, her silence louder than any fight they'd ever had. Two years since Chaeyoung found herself staring at a pair of empty slippers by the door, trying to remember the sound of Mina's voice when she used to say, "I'm home."
She never said goodbye. Not really. Just that things were changing. That she needed time. That she needed to find herself. And then she was gone.
The apartment still smelled faintly of her. Vanilla and soft florals—Mina's scent had always been quiet, like her. The kind of presence that wrapped around Chaeyoung slowly, until she realized she didn't know how to breathe without it.
The records were still there. The jazz ones Mina loved playing on rainy days. Chaeyoung never touched them, never moved them. The needle hadn't touched the vinyl in years, and yet every time it rained, she sat in the same corner of the couch, waiting for music that would never play.
Her friends told her to move on.
"She's not coming back, Chaeng."
"You need closure."
But closure wasn't something you could buy or find tucked inside an old memory. It wasn't in the hundreds of unsent messages, or the nights Chaeyoung spent walking the streets of Seoul thinking she might see Mina turn a corner.
Closure, for her, was a myth. A word people used to pretend endings didn't hurt.
It's a Wednesday when she sees her again.
Chaeyoung's fingers tighten around the coffee cup in her hand as she stands in line at a quiet café near the Han River. The same café they used to sneak away to when fame felt suffocating and love felt real.
Mina walks in, hair longer now, smile softer. She's not alone. There's someone beside her—a woman Chaeyoung doesn't recognize, but instantly understands.
They're laughing. Close.
Mina hasn't seen her yet.
Chaeyoung should leave. Every part of her screams to walk out, disappear like a ghost.
But she doesn't.
Mina turns. Their eyes meet.
It's not dramatic. No gasps. No music swells. Just a flicker of recognition in Mina's gaze, and something else—an ache? Or regret? But it passes too quickly to hold on to.
She offers a small smile. The kind you give to a stranger who once meant something.
And then she turns back to the woman beside her. Just like that.
Chaeyoung doesn't cry. Not here.
