The peace didn't last.
Mireya noticed it before she felt it.
A slight distance.
A pause that lingered too long.
A silence that didn't feel gentle anymore.
It started small.
Jae replied to her messages later than usual. Not cold. Just… delayed.
At work, he smiled as always—but his eyes seemed tired.
She told herself she was imagining things.
But old habits were difficult to silence.
"Are you okay?" Hana asked while folding linens.
"Yes," Mireya said too quickly.
Hana raised an eyebrow. "You said that like a lie."
Mireya sighed. "I think I'm overthinking."
Hana shook her head. "Or maybe you're noticing something real."
That scared Mireya more than overthinking ever had.
Later that day, Mireya watched Jae from across the corridor.
He was speaking to a senior staff member—a woman in her thirties, confident, well-dressed. They laughed quietly.
Something twisted in Mireya's chest.
Don't jump to conclusions, she told herself.
But fear didn't listen to logic.
That evening, Jae didn't walk her home.
"I have something to take care of," he said apologetically.
"Oh," Mireya replied. "Okay."
She smiled.
He smiled back.
But the silence between them followed her all the way home.
That night, Mireya didn't message him.
She waited.
Minutes turned into hours.
Nothing.
Her chest tightened.
Old thoughts crept in.
You opened up.
Now you're being pushed aside.
She pressed her hands together, grounding herself.
He said he would wait. He said he would listen.
But trust was fragile when fear was loud.
The next day, Jae arrived late.
Again.
When their eyes met, he looked like he wanted to say something—but didn't.
That hurt more than words.
At lunch, Mireya chose a different table.
Not out of anger.
Out of self-protection.
Jae noticed.
Of course he did.
During a quiet moment, he approached her.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asked softly.
Her heart raced.
She wanted to say yes.
She wanted to say everything.
Instead, she said, "No."
The lie tasted bitter.
He studied her carefully. "You don't sound okay."
She shrugged. "I'm fine."
He hesitated. "Can we talk later?"
"Maybe," she replied.
The word felt like a wall.
Hana found her near the storage room.
"You're pulling away," Hana said gently.
Mireya nodded. "I'm afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of being forgotten."
Hana sighed. "Then don't disappear. Say something."
"What if I'm wrong?"
"What if you're right?" Hana countered.
Mireya closed her eyes.
She was tired of running.
That evening, Mireya waited at the park bench.
She didn't know if Jae would come.
He did.
Breathing hard, like he'd rushed.
"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I should've explained sooner."
Her chest loosened slightly.
"Explain what?" she asked.
He sat beside her, hands clasped tightly.
"My mother is sick," he said quietly. "She collapsed two days ago."
Mireya froze.
"I've been going back and forth to the hospital," he continued. "I didn't want to worry you before I understood what was happening."
Guilt washed over her.
"I thought…" she stopped.
"I know," he said softly. "I felt you pulling away."
She swallowed hard. "I didn't want to assume. But I didn't want to be ignored either."
"I would never ignore you on purpose," he said. "I just didn't know how to balance everything."
Tears filled her eyes.
"I should've asked," she whispered.
"And I should've told you," he replied.
They sat quietly.
Then she spoke.
"I'm still learning how to stay instead of retreat."
He nodded. "And I'm learning how to let someone in, even when things are messy."
She looked at him. "Are you okay?"
He smiled weakly. "I will be."
She reached out and took his hand.
This time, he held on tightly.
Before leaving, Jae looked at her seriously.
"Promise me something."
"What?"
"If silence starts to scare you again—don't face it alone."
She nodded. "Promise me something too."
"Anything."
"Don't protect me from the truth. Let me choose whether I can handle it."
He nodded. "Deal."
As Mireya walked home, the night felt different.
Not lighter.
But honest.
And honesty, she realized, was stronger than fear.