POV: Seo Ji-won
Day 7 – Saturday Evening into Night**
Setting: Ji-won's apartment, Metro Pulse office
I make it to my apartment and last exactly seventeen minutes before the panic sets in.
Seventeen minutes of sitting on my bed still wearing my jacket, staring at the stuffed character Min-jae bought me at Lotte World—a ridiculous plush thing with oversized eyes and a smile that now feels like an accusation.
Seventeen minutes of replaying the day. The gyro dropped where I almost confessed. The Magic Castle where I tried again. The car ride home where every moment of silence felt like a missed opportunity.
Seventeen minutes of knowing tomorrow we're supposed to "actually talk," and I still haven't figured out how to say: *I've been writing an article about losing you this entire time.*
My phone buzzes. Email notification. I grab it with desperate hope that it's something, anything, to distract me from the spiral.
It's Editor Kim. Of course it's Editor Kim.
Subject: "URGENT: Monday Deadline - Final Warning"
I open it with my hands that have started shaking.
*Ji-won,*
*I haven't received the 1,000 words I requested. Monday morning is now 36 hours away.*
*This is your final warning. If I don't have substantial material by 9 AM Monday, we're killing the piece. You'll be back on beauty content indefinitely, and we'll be having a serious conversation about your future at Metro Pulse.*
*I took a risk approving this pitch. Don't make me regret it.*
*I need to see BY MONDAY MORNING:*
*- 1,000 words minimum of the satirical article as pitched*
*- Clear examples of "nightmare girlfriend" behaviors*
*- Sharp, funny, shareable content*
*- Proof that you executed the experiment as described*
*This is not negotiable.*
*-Kim*
I read it three times, each time feeling worse.
36 hours. 1,000 words. Proof of execution.
I pull up my "Field Notes" document. Current word count: 847 words. Last entry: Day 2.
I've documented nothing since the tea house. Nothing about the library, the fish market, the sunrise, the double date, Lotte World. Nothing about falling for the person I'm supposed to be losing.
I open the "Real Notes" document. Current word count: 4,521 words. Detailed, honest, completely unpublishable accounts of every moment that actually mattered.
Two documents. Two versions of the same story. One that would save my career and destroy my relationship. One that would honor the truth and end my job.
I can't write either one right now.
I grab my keys and leave my apartment before I can overthink it. It's 8:47 PM on Saturday night—the Metro Pulse office will be mostly empty. Just the weekend skeleton crew and maybe a few workaholics trying to get ahead before Monday.
Perfect.
The subway to Gangnam is crowded with Saturday night energy—couples dressed for dates, groups heading to clubs, the whole city in weekend mode. I sit in the corner of the car, invisible in my theme park clothes, while everyone around me is living their uncomplicated lives.
The Metro Pulse office building is a glass tower that looks impressive during the day and lonely at night. The weekend security guard waves me through—he recognizes me from late nights before. The elevator ride to the 12th floor feels like ascending to my own execution.
The office is dark except for the emergency lighting and a few desks where people are working late. I don't make eye contact with anyone, just head straight to my desk and boot up my computer.
The cursor blinks in the "Field Notes" document, waiting.
I need to write 1,000 words. That's all. Just 1,000 words of the satirical piece Editor Kim approved. It doesn't have to be good—she said I could send a rough draft. I just need to prove I executed the experiment.
I started typing.
*Day 7: Subject (Min-jae) continues to exceed all expectations for tolerance of difficult behavior. Today's test: spontaneous plan changes and emotional manipulation.*
I deleted it immediately. It's not true. I changed the plans, not to test him, but because I was too cowardly to tell him the truth. And I didn't emotionally manipulate him—I just existed next to him, terrified and dishonest.
Try again.
*The experiment has yielded fascinating results about modern dating dynamics. Men, it turns out, are surprisingly resilient to behaviors traditionally labeled as "red flags." My subject has weathered: excessive texting, invasive questions, moving too fast emotionally, and still returns for more.*
That's closer to the satirical tone Editor Kim wants. Clinical but with an edge. I keep typing.
*Theory: Either modern men are more emotionally evolved than dating discourse suggests, or my subject is an anomaly. Further testing required.*
It sounds hollow. Fake. Because it is fake—I'm not conducting an experiment, I'm living a lie.
But I force myself to continue.
*Day 3: Subject arranged for a private library visit. Objectively romantic gesture, but possibly calculated to maintain interest. Difficult to assess genuine emotion vs. performance.*
*Day 5: Subject initiated late-night adventure to Noryangjin Fish Market. Another grand gesture. Pattern emerging: Subject deploys romanticism strategically to counteract my difficult behaviors.*
*Day 7: Amusement park date. Subject purchased stuffed animal—classic love-bombing tactic. Physical affection escalating. Subject may be attempting to "win" the relationship.*
I read it back. It's terrible. Cynical and reductive and completely misrepresenting what actually happened. Min-jae didn't arrange the library to "deploy romanticism strategically"—he did it because I mentioned loving books and he wanted to make me happy. The fish market wasn't a grand gesture—it was him sharing a private part of himself.
But this is what Editor Kim wants. This is the article I pitched.
I keep writing, forcing words onto the page even as they taste like betrayal.
*The "nightmare girlfriend" behaviors I've exhibited:*
*- Excessive communication (17 texts in 18 minutes)*
*- Boundary violations (asking to see phone, requesting personal information)*
*- Moving too fast emotionally (discussing marriage, meeting family)*
*- Creating conflict (manufacturing disagreements, being deliberately difficult)*
Except I stopped being deliberately difficult after Day 2. Everything since then has been me accidentally being real with someone who kept being real back.
*Results: Subject remains engaged despite red flag behaviors. Conclusion: Modern men may be more tolerant of "difficult" women than popular dating narratives suggest. Or: I'm terrible at being terrible.*
I reach 1,000 words at 10:23 PM. I read through what I've written—a thousand words of clinical observation, satirical commentary, and complete dishonesty about what actually happened.
It's publishable. It's exactly what Editor Kim asked for. It would save my job and my career trajectory.
It's also a betrayal of everything that actually happened between Min-jae and me.
My phone buzzes. Yu-jin.
**Yu-jin:** Did you tell him today?
**Me:** No.
**Yu-jin:** JI-WON.
**Me:** We're talking tomorrow. For real this time.
**Yu-jin:** Are you at the office? I can see you're in Gangnam.
**Me:** How—location sharing. Right. Yes, I'm at the office.
**Yu-jin:** Writing the article?
**Me:** Trying to.
**Yu-jin:** The real one or the fake one?
I stare at that message for a long time.
**Me:** I don't know anymore. Both feel impossible.
**Yu-jin:** Come home. You're spiraling and making bad decisions.
**Me:** I have to send something to Editor Kim by Monday morning or I lose my job.
**Yu-jin:** So write the true version. The one about trying to lose someone and failing because you fell for them instead. That's a better story anyway.
**Me:** That's not what she approved.
**Yu-jin:** But it's what actually happened. And isn't journalism supposed to be about truth?
I close my laptop without responding. Yu-jin's right, but right doesn't pay my rent or advance my career. I've spent two years at Metro Pulse writing content I don't believe in, waiting for a chance to prove I can do more. This was that chance—the article that would get me taken seriously.
Except I can't write it. Not honestly. Not without hurting Min-jae and destroying whatever we've built.
I reopened the laptop. Stare at the 1,000 words of satirical commentary I forced out. They're technically sufficient. Editor Kim asked for proof I executed the experiment—this proves it. She asked for satirical and shareable—this is both.
I could send it right now. Get it off my plate. Then tomorrow I tell Min-jae the truth, and whatever happens happens. At least my job would be secure.
My cursor hovers over the send button.
I think about Min-jae's face on the gyro drop, terrified but there because I said I needed to do something scary. I think about his hand in mine at the fish market, sharing soju and fears at 3 AM. I think about him saying "I'm falling for you" without saying the words, in every action and text and kiss on the forehead.
I close the document without sending it.
Instead, I opened a new document. Title: "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days - The Truth"
And I start writing.
*I was supposed to lose him. That was the assignment—date a guy for ten days while deliberately sabotaging the relationship, then write a satirical exposé about dating culture and deal-breakers. It was supposed to be funny, sharp, clickable content.*
*Instead, I'm sitting in my office at 11 PM on Day 7, unable to write the article I pitched because nothing about this has gone according to plan.*
*His name is Min-jae. I met him at a gallery opening where I spilled wine on his expensive shirt. I chose him as my article subject because he seemed perfect—attractive, confident, the kind of guy who'd make good material. I asked for his number planning to execute my experiment.*
*Day 1, we had coffee. I was supposed to start exhibiting "red flag" behaviors. Instead, we talked about wanting to be taken seriously, about the masks we wear, and I forgot I was supposed to be gathering material.*
*Day 2, I tried to be the nightmare girlfriend. I asked invasive questions, moved too fast emotionally, and violated boundaries. He responded with patience and grace. He set boundaries without being cruel. He stayed.*
*Day 3, he took me to an empty library because I mentioned loving books. It was the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me, and I couldn't even enjoy it properly because I was too busy feeling guilty.*
*Day 5, he texted me at midnight because he sensed I couldn't sleep. We went to a fish market at 3 AM and watched the sunrise, and he told me his deepest fears, and I told him mine. Except I didn't tell him the biggest fear—that when he finds out the truth, he'll never forgive me.*
*Day 7, we went to an amusement park. On the gyro drop, suspended 70 meters above Seoul, I tried to tell him the truth. But the words wouldn't come, and then we fell, and the moment passed.*
*I was supposed to lose him. Instead, I'm falling for him.*
*The article I was supposed to write would be satirical and sharp. It would make fun of dating culture and expose "red flag" behaviors and get thousands of shares. It would advance my career and prove I can write real content.*
*But it would also be a lie. And I don't know how to build a relationship on honesty while writing lies about it for public consumption.*
*Tomorrow, I have to tell him. Day 8. I have to confess that I started dating him for an article, that I've been documenting, that every moment we've shared has been shadowed by my deception.*
*He might forgive me. He might understand that I stopped treating him like a subject and started seeing him as a person. He might believe me when I say that everything after Day 2 was real.*
*Or he might not. He might see this whole week as a betrayal. He might walk away, and I'll lose both the article and the person.*
*I don't know which would hurt more.*
*This is the truth: I was supposed to lose him, but I lost myself instead. I lost my professional objectivity, my emotional distance, my certainty about what I want from my career versus what I want from my life.*
*I was supposed to expose modern dating's absurdities. Instead, I exposed my own—the absurdity of thinking you can manipulate someone without consequences, the absurdity of believing you can control emotions through journalism, the absurdity of starting something fake and being surprised when it becomes real.*
*Tomorrow, Day 8. I tell him everything. And then we find out if what we've built can survive the truth.*
I finish writing at 12:47 AM. Word count: 1,847 words.
It's honest, vulnerable, and completely unpublishable. Editor Kim would reject it immediately. It's not satirical. It's not shareable. It's just... true.
I save it in the "Real Notes" folder and close my laptop.
My phone buzzes. Min-jae.
Min-jae: Are you still awake?
Me: Unfortunately yes. Can't seem to turn my brain off.
Min-jae: Same. Too much thinking.
Me: About what?
Min-jae: Tomorrow. Our talk. Things I need to tell you.
My heart stops.
Me: Things you need to tell me?
Min-jae: Yeah. Important things. Honest things. Things I should have told you before now.
Me: Me too. I have things I need to tell you too.
Min-jae: Should I be nervous?
Me: I don't know. Should I?
Min-jae: Maybe we're both nervous about the same thing.
Me: What thing?
Min-jae: That we started this for the wrong reasons. But we're staying for the right ones.
I stare at that message for a full minute. Does he know? Has he known all along?
Me: Min-jae, what are you saying?
Min-jae: I'm saying I have a confession. And I'm guessing you do too. And tomorrow we both confess, and then we figure out what's real and what isn't.
Me: What if everything is real? Even the parts that started fake?
Min-jae: Then we're going to be okay.
Me: Promise?
Min-jae: I can't promise that. But I can promise I'll listen. Really listen. Whatever you need to tell me.
Me: Same. I'll listen too.
Min-jae: Tomorrow then. Day 8. Honesty day.
Me: Honesty day. I like that.
Min-jae: Goodnight, Ji-won. Sleep if you can. Tomorrow's going to be hard, but we'll get through it.
Me:How do you know?
Min-jae: Because I don't want to lose you. And I'm hoping you don't want to lose me.
Me: I don't. I really don't.
Min-jae: Then we'll figure it out. Goodnight.
**Me:** Goodnight.
I sit in the empty Metro Pulse office, surrounded by the dark cubicles and sleeping computers, and I realize that Min-jae knows. Maybe not the specifics—maybe not about the article—but he knows we're both hiding something. He knows tomorrow is the day we stop performing and start being honest.
And he's choosing to show up anyway.
I pack up my laptop and head home. The subway at 1 AM is sparse—just night shift workers and people stumbling home from clubs. I sit alone in the car and think about tomorrow.
Day 8. Honesty day.
I'll tell Min-jae about the article, about how I chose him as a subject, about Editor Kim and the deadline and the satirical piece I can't bring myself to write. I'll tell him I'm sorry. I'll tell him that somewhere around Day 3, it stopped being an assignment and became real.
And he'll tell me whatever he's been hiding. And we'll see if two people who started something dishonestly can transform it into something true.
At home, I open both documents one more time.
The satirical piece—1,000 words of clinical observation and betrayal.
The true piece—1,847 words of confession and vulnerability.
On Monday morning, I have to send one of them to Editor Kim.
Tomorrow, I have to tell Min-jae the truth.
I don't know which decision terrifies me more.
I fall asleep with my laptop still open, the cursor blinking between two impossible choices, and dream about gyro drops that never stop falling.