YEAR 2014
The sky over Busan hung low and heavy, a sheet of bruised-grey clouds swallowing the sun whole. The drizzle was fine, almost delicate—like the sea itself was sighing—but Min-jae didn't flinch. He sat on the damp stone ledge near the water, gaze locked on the restless waves as though they might whisper the answers he'd been chasing. The cold clung to him, but he wore it like armor.
Then, without warning, the rain stopped. He didn't notice at first—until a faint floral scent drifted over him, carried on the salt air. Blinking, he looked up to find a pink umbrella tilted above his head, its owner's outline glowing faintly against the washed-out horizon.
Ga-young stood there in a soft blue coat, droplets beading on the fabric. Her hair was damp, cheeks kissed pink from the wind. When their eyes met, her lips curved into that familiar, warm smile. Without asking, she lowered herself beside him, the umbrella shifting to cover them both.
"I found you… finally," she breathed, as if she'd been running through the rain for miles.
Min-jae's voice was quiet, cool. "What are you doing here?"
She tilted her head, a playful spark dancing in her eyes. "That's my line," she countered with a light giggle. "You're freezing. Want a hug?"
His gaze flicked away to the ocean again, jaw tightening. "I'm not interested."
The umbrella wavered for a moment, and her smile softened—just enough for him to notice if he'd been looking.
She suddenly exhaled, closing the umbrella and letting the soft drizzle fall over them both, the droplets mingling with the weight in the air.
"I know how it feels," she said, her voice low, almost fragile. She paused, as if wrestling with whether to say more. "It's suffocating, frustrating, exhausting even—trying so hard to make the people you love see you're doing your best, but all they notice are your flaws. It almost feels… forced," she admitted with a weary chuckle.
Min-jae, caught off guard by her openness, finally turned to look at her, his curiosity piqued.
"It's like you're never enough," Ga-young continued, her gaze locking with his. "Like no matter how much you give, how much you change, it's never enough. Your family becomes strangers, or worse… enemies. You don't know who to trust anymore."
Min-jae's eyes flickered with a mixture of pain and something softer—recognition, perhaps. For a long moment, neither spoke, the rain tapping a gentle rhythm around them.
Then, Ga-young reached out, her hand brushing against his, tentative but steady.
"But maybe," she whispered, "maybe it's not about proving yourself to them. Maybe it's about finding the people who do see you — who hold you when you can't stand, who accept your flaws like they're part of your story, not the whole thing."
Silence...
"How much do you think you really know me?" Min-jae's voice was low, edged with a challenge.
Ga-young looked up, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Well enough to see through you when others can't." Her eyes held steady, unwavering. "Min-jae, you can't carry all of this alone."
He didn't answer, silence stretching between them like a fragile thread.
"You have my shoulder to lean on," she added gently, hope threading her words.
Min-jae let out a dry, sarcastic chuckle. "Ga-young—"
She cut him off, voice firm but tender. "I'm not too little for you to rely on. I'm mature—more than you think. I've been through a lot. You can trust me."
For a heartbeat, Min-jae's guarded walls cracked. A smile—the kind Ga-young had never seen before—curved his lips. It caught her breath, left her momentarily mesmerized.
Then, with a teasing grin, he ruffled her hair softly. "Hey! Kid, you really want me to trust you now?"
Without thinking, Ga-young wrapped her arms around him, surprising herself more than him.
"Yes! Trust me completely. I would never hurt you," she whispered fiercely.
Min-jae stiffened, shocked by the sudden closeness, but beneath it all, warmth blossomed—a feeling long buried. A broad, genuine smile spread across his face. For the first time, he felt the stirrings of trust.
Back to Present
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Ga-young groaned, slapping the alarm clock with a sluggish hand.
"Another day to question my existence," she muttered, a heavy sigh escaping her lips.
Before she could settle into the morning gloom, a sharp knock broke through the silence. The door swung open abruptly, and Mrs. Choi stepped in, fully dressed and buzzing with energy.
Ga-young stared at her mother, eyebrows raised. "Why?"
Mrs. Choi twirled playfully in front of the mirror. "I'm going on a trip with my friends. How do I look?"
Ga-young smirked, watching the younger woman she called mother strike a pose. "You don't look a day over thirty."
Mrs. Choi glanced at her reflection, a pleased smile spreading across her face.
Suddenly, Ga-young sprang from the bed and wrapped her arms around her mother from behind. "Very, very pretty," she whispered warmly.
Mrs. Choi nodded, returning the hug before stepping back. "I won't be back until Wednesday. Can you survive?"
"Mother—"
"I know, I know," interrupted Mr. Choi's voice from the hallway, "You're twenty-eight, but I've never seen you cook."
Ga-young rolled her eyes but smiled. "I'll be fine. Just have fun."
Mrs. Choi's eyes softened but her tone remained firm. "Don't leave the door open. Always lock up when you're inside."
"Got it, Mother. Don't keep your friends waiting." Ga-young gently nudged her out of the room.
"Fine, I made soup—make sure you eat breakfast before you leave," Mrs. Choi called over her shoulder.
As the door clicked shut, Ga-young collapsed back onto her bed, exhaling deeply.
I just have to survive, she thought, staring at the ceiling. Just six months. I can do this.