Seoul, 10:34 AM — One Week Later
Yuna hadn't left her apartment in three days.
The curtains were drawn shut, dust collecting on the wooden blinds. Half-written pages lay scattered across the hardwood floor like white petals after a storm. The air reeked of burnt coffee and days-old ramen. Her laptop blinked softly in the corner of the room, stuck on the same blank Word document titled: The Unwritten Confession.
She hadn't written a single word.
Not since that night.
Not since she stood at the threshold of her own silence and chose not to open the door.
The screen of her phone glowed on the bed beside her.99 Missed Calls – Lee Jiho.She didn't dare delete them. But she also couldn't listen to the voicemails.Her thumb hovered. Shaking, uncertain.Again, she pressed "play."Again, she stopped at the sound of his voice.
"Yuna… Please. Just—open the door."
She clicked off the audio, her chest tight. She curled deeper into her blanket, cocooning herself from a world she no longer felt part of.
Elsewhere, across the Han River — 11:00 AM
Jiho leaned over the sink of his part-time café job, scrubbing dishes so aggressively that the plates rattled. Water splashed his apron, but he didn't care.
His face was tired, his eyes bloodshot, and his phone sat beside the register — no new notifications.
Still no reply.
"Yah," the café owner grumbled, glancing at him from the counter. "Don't break the damn plates. They're worth more than your tuition."
Jiho muttered an apology and turned back to the sink. But inside, his mind replayed every second of that night, the one that had collapsed between them like a burned-out bridge.
He had been standing outside her apartment. He had called, messaged, begged. He thought she'd at least peek through the door.But nothing.
And then — just silence.
Back at Yuna's apartment — 12:18 PM
The sudden buzz of the intercom jolted Yuna upright.
She shuffled across the mess — stepping over scattered drafts, her laptop charger cord, an empty Soju bottle — and pressed the receiver.
"Who is it?"
A long pause. Then—
"Yuna... It's Jisoo."
Her neighbor.
Yuna blinked in surprise. "Oh. Uh… gimme a second."
She opened the door a crack. Jisoo, a petite undergrad majoring in architecture with a wild mane of curly hair, held out a plastic bag.
"I brought food. You looked like death the last time I saw you."
Yuna blinked at her, touched but unsure how to respond. She hadn't seen anyone in days. She wasn't even sure how she looked anymore.
"Thanks… but I'm not hungry."
"You look like a forgotten ghost story," Jisoo said, pushing past her into the apartment. "This place smells like heartbreak."
Yuna flinched at the word.
"Was it the guy from your lockscreen? The one who called you ninety-nine times?"
She didn't answer. She simply sat on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest.
Jisoo softened. "You don't have to tell me everything. But if he's not trash, maybe don't let it rot like this."
Yuna's fingers traced the spines of her stacked notebooks beside her. "He's not trash," she whispered. "He's… the only thing I ever got right. And I still ruined it."
Flashback: Two weeks before the fall
They had fought in front of a bar in Hongdae.
It was supposed to be a celebratory night — Jiho had finally submitted his short film entry, and Yuna had published her first piece on a national web portal.
But the night spiraled.
"I waited outside your class for forty minutes," Jiho had said, frustrated. "You said you'd be out by six."
"I got pulled into a seminar. You could've gone in—"
"You didn't reply to my texts, Yuna. You just disappear into your world and expect me to wait like I'm nothing."
That hurt. Her world was the only thing she'd had before him. And the only thing she'd have after.
"I didn't ask you to wait," she had snapped. "Why do you always turn things into guilt trips?"
Jiho's jaw clenched. "Because I never know what I mean to you."
The silence that followed was louder than their shouting.
And when they parted that night, neither said goodbye. Only the cold, empty buzz of a phone not answered later.
Present – 3:00 PM, Campus Library
Jiho sat at the back corner of the library, not bothering to hide the fact he wasn't studying. He was watching old videos on his phone. One clip, shaky and vertical, showed Yuna laughing in a bookstore, trying to hide behind a poetry collection.
"You're so dramatic," her voice in the video teased.
"And you're secretly soft," Jiho's voice had replied from behind the camera.
He smiled bitterly. The memory felt like it belonged to someone else.
He didn't notice someone walk up beside him until a loud voice said—
"You're still stalking your ex?"
Jiho jumped.
Seungmin, his roommate, plopped into the seat across from him, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. "Dude, this isn't healthy."
Jiho tucked his phone away.
"Don't start."
Seungmin leaned in. "You ever think she didn't open the door because she wasn't alone?"
Jiho's stomach turned. "What?"
"I mean, you're not the only guy out there, Ji. And girls like her — smart, broody, complicated — they keep a list."
"Shut up."
"I'm just saying… maybe stop torturing yourself and move on."
But Jiho didn't respond. His hands were clenched under the table, his mind spinning with an image he hadn't let himself imagine.
Was someone else there that night? Was that why she didn't pick up?
He left the library without saying another word.
6:42 PM – The Crosswalk Accident
Yuna hadn't eaten the food Jisoo left. She hadn't slept either.
Her thoughts were swirling, her body running on adrenaline and regret. On impulse, she threw on a coat and stepped out, hoodie pulled low over her face.
She wasn't sure where she was going — until her legs brought her to the street near the bridge they used to walk across on late-night dates.
The memory hurt.The wind stung her face.
She pulled out her phone. Jiho's name stared back at her.Still unread. Still raw.
What if he really never calls again?
As she stood waiting for the crosswalk light, her hand trembling near her screen — a notification buzzed.
Seungmin: bro she was probably with someone else that night
It wasn't meant for her.
But somehow, the text showed up on her screen.
Confused, she read it again — and then again.
Her foot moved without thinking. The light was still red.
A loud honk blared, tires screeched, someone screamed—
She froze in the crosswalk as a bike swerved, clipping her shoulder hard enough to throw her sideways into the curb.
Pain shot through her arm.
The cyclist yelled, but she didn't hear it. Her mind was stuck on the message.
"She was probably with someone else..."
8:05 PM – ER Waiting Room
Jiho's phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
He picked up.
"Hello?"
"Is this Lee Jiho?""Yes?""This is Seoul Medical Center. Your number was listed as an emergency contact. Seo Yuna's been admitted after a minor road incident."
His heart dropped.
He didn't even remember running. All he knew was that the world was spinning by the time he reached the hospital desk.
"Yuna Seo," he gasped. "Room—?"
"She's fine," the nurse said calmly. "Just a dislocated shoulder and some bruises. She's resting."
When he walked into the sterile white room, her eyes were closed, her hair tangled, her face pale.
And yet, her phone lay beside her, the screen dimmed on the same last message:
"I'm outside. Just one minute. Please."