Days slipped by like pages turning themselves.
And somewhere between dinners and soft blue nightlights, their marriage stopped feeling like an arrangement… and started feeling like something growing, alive.
Small touches became natural. His hand at her waist while passing by. A brush of fingers while passing a bowl. His hand automatically finding hers under the blanket at night. Cuddles that no longer needed permission.
At night, their bed turned into a space of whispered futures. Ji-hoon would lie on his side, propped on one elbow, talking endlessly. He would start with something practical, like CSAT preparation strategies, then drift into motivational speeches, then into completely random nonsense. Like,
"And if you top the class," he would mumble, half asleep, yawning, "I'll print your face on the restaurant menu… Best Psychologist Special…"
His voice would go on and on, sometimes drifting into half-formed plans.
She would lie there quietly, listening, watching his voice slow down, words tangling mid-sentence until soft snores replaced them.
He'd start confident and structured… then slowly begin rambling… then somewhere in the middle of a sentence, his words would fade. Like,
"…and then if we calculate tuition for the first semest—"
Silence.
She'd look at him. Asleep. Mid-conversation. Every night. She would smile and gently pull the blanket higher over his shoulder.
And every night, something inside her shifted. A little more.
Because he made sure she ate. He made sure she rested. He made sure she smiled at least once a day.
But more than that, he was building a road for her dream with his bare hands. He was researching everything.
CSAT patterns. Recommended books. Online preparatory courses. Volunteer opportunities in counseling centers. Application deadlines. Fee structures.
He gathered information like a man collecting bricks for a house he desperately wanted her to live in. He even started ordering books for her. Stacks slowly appeared in their room.
His eyes would shine when he spoke about the new updates he found, as if her dream had become his personal mission.
She listened quietly every time. And she saw it. She saw how serious he was. She saw how proud he looked every time he handed her something new.
But somewhere deep inside, London still lived. The scholarship letter she had once saved in drafts. The thought of walking through old stone corridors in a foreign land. The version of herself who left bravely and alone.
It still called to her sometimes.
But she didn't say it. And swallowed that ache.
Because he was trying. Because asking again for London would feel like rejecting his effort. Because he was giving his everything for her. Because he was choosing her dream as his mission.
So she nodded and accepted.
And every night, he would return home with something new.
"Hae-ina, look. I found a professor who specializes in trauma psychology."
"Hae-ina, this book is recommended for entrance prep."
"Hae-ina, we need to check application timelines carefully."
We. He always said we.
And that word both comforted her… and quietly broke her a little.
Because she wondered—
If he had said, "Go to London. I'll wait."
Would she have run? Or would she have chosen to stay anyway?
She didn't know. But one thing became clear. Her feelings for him were growing. And love… complicated dreams in ways ambition never could.
************
That morning, the house buzzed with its usual breakfast chaos.
Chopsticks clinked. Chairs scraped. The family gathered around the dining table.
Ji-hoon's father is discussing something about the business. His mother reminding Ensup to eat properly. His brother was half-listening, half-scrolling, while eating.
Ji-hoon came downstairs, expecting to see her at the table. When she wasn't there, he settled into his seat anyway, glancing toward the kitchen every few seconds.
He expected her to come out any second.
But she didn't. He finished his breakfast quietly.
Still no Hae-in.
From the kitchen, her voice floated out, soft, focused.
He pouted unconsciously. He glanced toward the doorway again.
Nothing.
His mother noticed the small shift in his expression but said nothing.
Ji-hoon wiped his lips with a tissue and stood up. "I'm done. I gotta go," he announced casually.
His mother nodded. "Drive safely."
And he nodded. But instead of heading toward the main door, he turned toward the kitchen.
His mother's eyes followed him. She noticed. She understood. But she stayed silent.
Inside the kitchen, Hae-in stood at the counter, neatly slicing and rolling kimbap, her movements slow but precise.
Beside her, So-hee was hurriedly packing Eunsup's lunchbox while chewing on a piece of kimbap herself.
"That's enough, Hae-in-ah," So-hee said with her mouth half full. "If you add more, he'll bring half of it back untouched."
Hae-in nodded with poilite smile.
Ji-hoon stood there for a second, just watching. Her hands moved carefully, pressing the rice evenly, arranging the fillings with quiet precision. A small strand of hair had fallen near her cheek.
He simply wanted to say goodbye. But for some reason, his courage was behaving like an unreliable WiFi signal.
So-hee noticed him first.
"You want something, sweetie?" she asked, teasing laced into every syllable.
Ji-hoon smiled, scratching the back of his neck. He glanced at Hae-in, who had just turned slightly.
"Ah… umm… noona," he said little confident, "Hyung is calling you. He can't find his watch."
So-hee raised one eyebrow. The lie was so thin and obvious.
"Really? How strange," she replied slowly, lips curling. "Let me check on him."
She walked past him, patting his shoulder lightly as if saying, At least try harder next time.
He grinned. Busted. But successful. As soon as she disappeared, he stepped closer.
Hae-in was still rolling kimbap, slicing neatly, pretending to focus.
He stood behind her now.
Close. Close enough to notice the faint scent of sesame oil and her shampoo mixing in the air.
"Hae-in-ah…" he called softly.
She glanced back slightly.
"Umm?"
He smiled, softer than usual. "Come to the restaurant around 11 a.m."
Her hands paused for half a second. She frowned a little. "Why?"
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Surprise."
Her brows knitted further. She clearly did not trust the word "surprise" when it came from him.
Before she could question him again—
He leaned in suddenly and pressed a quick kiss on her cheek.
Her eyes widened. Completely unprepared. And before her brain could catch up—
"11 a.m. I'm waiting," he whispered quickly.
Then he bolted. Actually ran. Out of the kitchen like a teenager who had just committed a heroic crime.
Hae-in stood frozen. One hand still holding the knife.
The other was resting on the kimbap roll.
Her cheeks warmed slowly. A small smile began forming despite her best effort to remain composed.
Her heart was doing dramatic gymnastics again.
And then—
So-hee returned.
Hae-in immediately lowered her head and resumed cutting kimbap with intense, unnecessary precision.
So-hee glanced at her face. Then at her slightly pink ears. Then back at her face.
"Got the goodbye kiss?" she asked casually.
Hae-in looked up, startled. "Ne?"
So-hee chuckled. "Nothing."
She went back to packing lunchboxes, humming suspiciously.
Hae-in bit her lower lip, trying to suppress her smile. But it lingered anyway.
11 a.m. A surprise.
And a stolen kiss that was replaying in her mind like a favorite scene she didn't want to admit she liked.
The kimbap rolls were neat. Her heartbeat was not.