The Pojangmacha near the pier was a vibrant bubble of orange canvas, glowing defiantly against the ink-black backdrop of the Busan harbor. Inside, the air was thick—a suffocating mix of grilled seafood, the sharp sting of alcohol, and the rowdy, forced laughter of a reunion that felt several years too late.
Seo-yoon scanned the faces through the steam rising from the communal pots. Almost all her high school friends were there, their voices a chaotic chorus of "Welcome back!" and "Look at you!" But as she stepped further into the warm, yellow light, the air in her lungs seemed to vanish.
Standing at the far end of the wooden table was Min-ho.
"Seo-yoon-ah!" Ji-hye squealed, pulling her into a tight, fragrant hug. "You've been in China so long I thought you'd forgotten us! Look at you, you look so... sophisticated. Is this what a top-tier university does to a person?"
Seo-yoon forced a smile, but her gaze was a magnet, drawn irresistibly to the boy staring at her from the shadows. Min-ho was alone. The girl from the Seoul campus—the one whose laughter had echoed in the SNU plaza—wasn't here.
"Everyone, sit! Sit!" Ji-hye clapped, oblivious to the sudden drop in temperature. "Min-ho, don't just stand there like a statue. Move over, let Seo-yoon sit."
The group laughed, and Min-ho obeyed. He slid down, but he didn't sit right next to her. He left a jagged, empty seat between them, a physical manifestation of the months of silence.
"How are you?" Min-ho asked. His voice was lower than she remembered, stripped of the youthful arrogance he used to carry. He looked at her with an intensity that begged for a reaction.
Seo-yoon gripped her glass, her knuckles white. She had practiced her "Scriptwriter" poker face for weeks, but here, in the salt-damp air of her hometown, the mask felt heavy. "I'm fine," she said, her voice a clipped, professional blade.
"I didn't think you'd come," Min-ho whispered, leaning into the gap between them. "I've been trying to find the words to..."
"Maybe this isn't the place for words, Min-ho," she interrupted, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes were cold, reflecting the orange light like flint.
Ji-hye, sensing the tension, tried to pivot the conversation. "Alright, updates! Seo-yoon, tell us everything. How is Suzhou? Is it like the movies? Any handsome scholars?"
"It's beautiful," Seo-yoon said, and for the first time that night, her voice softened. "It's quiet. It's a place where you can actually hear yourself think. I'm really happy there."
"And Min-ho?" Ji-hye turned to him with a playful smirk. "I heard a rumor you were seeing someone at SNU. A girl named Ji-soo? Is she the reason you've been so quiet on the group chat?"
Seo-yoon felt a bitter, sharp chill. She watched his face, waiting for the truth she had already seen with her own eyes.
Min-ho didn't even flinch. He looked directly at Seo-yoon, his expression one of wounded innocence. "There's no one else," he said firmly. "That was just a misunderstanding. I've been... waiting."
The lie hung in the air, thick and ugly. Seo-yoon felt a surge of nausea. She looked down at her phone, which was lying on the rough wooden table. At that exact moment, the screen flickered to life.
A message from a contact she hadn't even realized she'd saved as more than just a classmate.
Yan-chen: Where are you, Seo-yoon?
The English words were simple, almost blunt, but they felt like a lifeline thrown into a stormy sea. While Min-ho sat next to her weaving a web of lies, the "Ice Prince" was back at the café, probably standing by the window, noticing her absence like a missing pillar in a building.
"Is everything okay?" Ji-hye asked, noticing Seo-yoon's sudden stillness.
Seo-yoon looked at the message, then at Min-ho's pleading eyes, and then back at the phone. The contrast was devastating. One man was hiding behind a facade; the other was asking for her location because the world didn't make sense to him when she wasn't in the frame.