She inhaled slowly, eyes lowering.
"I wanted to be a psychologist," she said. The words were quiet, but they held weight; years of quiet longing folded into one sentence.
His brows softened.
"Psychologist?" he repeated, almost reverently.
She nodded faintly.
"I wanted to study people's minds. Understand pain. Help others untangle things they can't say out loud." A small, ironic smile touched her lips. "Maybe because I never had someone who really listened to me."
His heart clenched harder at that.
"It wasn't just a random idea," she continued slowly. "It was something I discovered about myself… when I was going through a huge mental struggle because of my current job."
He stayed completely still.
"I really needed help," she admitted. "Emotionally. But I had none."
Her fingers tightened together on the table.
"I tried talking to my family. So many times I prepared myself to say it… But every time, responsibilities came in between. Their worries. Their expectations. Something always stopped me." She gave a small, empty smile. "So I couldn't say it to them."
He felt his chest tighten.
"And then… I secretly consulted a psychiatrist," she said quietly. "I took medication. I went to therapy."
His breath caught in ache.
"It helped. At some point, it did," she continued. "But not completely. Because I couldn't fully open up. I don't know why… maybe habit. Maybe fear." She paused. "And sometimes I felt like they weren't truly understanding my pain. There was knowledge… but something felt missing. Maybe emotion. Empathy."
She blinked away the thin gloss in her eyes.
"Some wounds are still there, buried inside me," she whispered. "But during that time… I realized something. I could understand others. People who were struggling like me."
Her voice steadied slightly.
"When I met such people dealing with anxiety, burnout, pressure… I could feel them. I knew what to say. And when I spoke to them, they felt relieved. Heard." A faint warmth touched her expression. "That's when I became interested in psychology. I wanted to become the kind of person I needed back then."
Ji-hoon swallowed hard.
"But switching fields wasn't easy," she continued. "I needed a proper education. Degrees. More years of study. And with my student loan… it wasn't possible. So I planned to pursue it after clearing it."
She exhaled slowly.
"When I finally cleared it six months ago. I thought… now I can start over. Study again. Build something that feels like mine."
Her lips curved into a fragile smile.
"But it didn't happen."
Silence stretched between them.
Ji-hoon's guilt pressed heavier now, because he could see it clearly; this wasn't just a career choice. It was survival. Healing.
She looked at him and smiled faintly. "What are you thinking?"
He met her eyes.
"How can I make your dream come true?" he asked honestly.
She chuckled softly. "It's not that easy now."
"Why not?" he said immediately. "You can. I'll support you." His voice carried that familiar confidence again. "Tell me. Where do you want to study? When do you want to start? How much are the fees?"
She looked at him with a straight face. "University of Oxford. London. Four years. On scholarship."
He froze.
"London?" he gasped.
She nodded, trying to suppress her smile.
"I mean… can't you study from Busan? Or Seoul?" he asked quickly, as if offering practical alternatives would shrink the distance.
She shook her head.
"No. I want to study in London. It's my dream. And they offer a full scholarship for the course. So it's going to be free. If I study in Korea, it won't be free. Also, it's expensive."
He blinked.
London? Four years? Foreign country? Four years away from him?
His thoughts spiraled before he could control them.
Four years without her. Four years of an empty side of the bed. Oh God… why were her dreams so big?
She watched him carefully, reading every flicker of emotion on his face.
"I know what you're thinking," she said gently. "That's why I said it's hard now. If this marriage hadn't happened… maybe there were possibilities."
He looked at her then, torn. Part of him wanted to say yes immediately. To prove he wasn't the cage she feared.
Another part... selfish, scared... wanted to pull her closer and refuse the distance entirely.
She chuckled at his obvious internal battle. "Let's eat," she said lightly. "The food is getting cold."
He blinked, as if pulled back from somewhere far away.
"Yeah," he murmured.
They returned to their plates. Quiet settled between them, not heavy, but thoughtful.
They shared food. Passed dishes. Their fingers brushed once or twice. Small glances met and quickly slipped away.
But both of them were lost.
She wondered if she had asked for too much. And he wondered if loving someone meant learning to let them go, even if just for a while.
And somewhere between the clinking of chopsticks and cooling soup, the question remained unspoken:
Would love hold them together across oceans… Or was this going to be the first test of how strong it truly was?
After dinner, the drive back home was quiet.
Streetlights passed in slow golden streaks across the windshield. The soft hum of the engine filled the silence neither of them broke.
Hae-in leaned her head lightly against the window, watching the city blur past. Her reflection looked calm, but her eyes were distant.
Ji-hoon drove, hands steady on the steering wheel. But inside, he was anything but steady.
Her words replayed again and again. Psychologist. London. Four years.
Four years.
He swallowed.
Would he be able to do it? Would he be able to let her go?
The thought alone made his chest tighten painfully.
Even imagining the house without her, no quiet footsteps, no soft voice in the kitchen, no late-night dinners. It felt unbearable. He had only just begun to have her beside him. How could he willingly send her across the world?
And yet…
If she stayed because of him, what if she slowly resents him?
If her dream faded again because of this marriage… would he be able to see that same quiet hurt in her eyes every day?
He couldn't survive that either. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.
Even if he gathered the courage, what about his family? Would they agree to send their newly married daughter-in-law alone to London for four years? Would they see it as ambition… or irresponsibility?
If they refused, it would hurt her.
And if she was hurt…
He exhaled sharply.
He couldn't bear that.
But his heart, selfish, greedy, whispered something ugly:
If she goes, what if she changes? What if she finds a bigger world? Better people? What if she realizes she doesn't need you?
The thought struck deeper than he expected. He glanced at her briefly.
She was still looking outside, unaware of the storm inside him.
Love, he was realizing, was not just about holding someone close. It was about deciding whether you were strong enough to let them grow, even if growth meant distance.
Ji-hoon stared ahead, jaw tight, mind exhausted from running in circles with no answer.
He loves her. That was clear. But was his love big enough to survive oceans? Or was it small enough to cage her?
He didn't know yet. And that uncertainty scared him more than London ever could.