POV: Kang Min-jae
Day 8 – Sunday Evening
Setting: Min-jae's apartment, Parents' house (phone call)
I spend all of Sunday preparing for a conversation I don't know how to have.
The plan is simple: Ji-won comes over at 6 PM. We ordered dinner. Somewhere between the food arriving and the sun setting over the Han River, we both confess whatever we've been hiding. We deal with the fallout. We figure out if what we've built can survive honesty.
Simple. Terrifying. Necessary.
At 4:37 PM, two hours before Ji-won is supposed to arrive, my mother calls.
"Min-jae-ya, I'm confirming next Sunday. Dinner at 6 PM. You and Ji-won. Don't forget."
"I won't forget, Eomma."
"Good. Your father is looking forward to meeting her. He's already planning questions."
My stomach tightens. "What kind of questions?"
"The normal kind. What she does, where she's from, whether she has good character. He wants to make sure you're not dating someone frivolous."
"Ji-won isn't frivolous."
"I didn't say she was. But your father worries. You know how he is about your choices."
I do know. My father has opinions about everything I do—my career, my apartment, my haircut. He'll definitely have opinions about Ji-won, assuming I'm still bringing her to dinner after tonight's conversation.
"Eomma, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
I walk to my window, looking out at the river. "How did you know Appa was the right person? When did you start dating?"
There's a pause. "That's a big question for a Sunday afternoon."
"I'm serious. How did you know?"
My mother is quiet for a moment, and I can picture her in their apartment, probably cooking dinner, considering how to answer.
"I didn't know at first," she finally says. "Your father was charming and handsome, but so were other men I dated. What made him different was that he saw me. Not the version I presented, but the actual me underneath. The anxious, ambitious, complicated me. And he chose that version."
"What if the version he saw wasn't the complete truth? What if you were hiding something?"
"Min-jae-ya, everyone hides things at the beginning. That's normal. The question is whether you're willing to reveal those things before they become betrayals."
"When is that? When do you know it's time to be completely honest?"
"When the thought of them finding out from someone else makes you physically ill. When keeping the secret hurts more than telling the truth would." Another pause. "Why are you asking me this? Is something wrong with Ji-won?"
"No. Maybe. I don't know yet."
"That's not reassuring."
"We're having a conversation tonight. An important one. And I'm not sure how it's going to go."
"Are you planning to hurt her?"
"No! I'm planning to be honest with her. About... something I should have told her before now."
My mother sighs. "Min-jae, whatever you did, tell her before Sunday. Don't bring her to meet your family if there are secrets between you. That's not fair to anyone."
"That's the plan. Tonight."
"Good. And Min-jae?"
"Yeah?"
"Remember that honesty without kindness is cruel. Whatever you need to tell her, say it with care."
After we hang up, I sit on my couch staring at my phone. My mother's right—I need to tell Ji-won before Sunday. Before she meets my family under false pretenses. Before this goes any further without full honesty.
Tonight. In two hours.
I shower and change clothes three times, finally settling on jeans and a soft gray sweater—comfortable but not too casual. I clean my already clean apartment. I ordered food from the Korean fusion restaurant Ji-won mentioned liking. I do everything except prepare what I'm actually going to say.
How do you confess that you started dating someone because of a bet?
*Hey, such a funny story—I actually asked you out because my colleague challenged me to maintain a relationship for ten days. But don't worry, it became real!*
No. That's terrible.
*I need to tell you something. It's going to sound bad, but I promise it's not as bad as it sounds.*
Worse. That's somehow worse.
*Remember when we met? Well, there was this bet...*
I'm still mentally rehearsing the terrible opening lines when my phone rings at 5:43 PM. Ji-won's name on the screen.
"Hi," I answered, trying to sound calm.
"Hi. So." She takes a breath. "I know I'm supposed to come over at 6, but something came up. Can we postpone?"
My heart sinks. "Postpone?"
"Just by a few hours. Or maybe tomorrow? I'm so sorry, I know we planned this, but there's a work thing and—"
"Are you avoiding the conversation?" I ask quietly.
Long pause. "Maybe. A little. Are you?"
"I was. Before you called. I've been rehearsing what to say for two hours and it all sounds terrible."
"Same. I've written seventeen different versions of my confession and deleted them all."
Despite the tension, I smile. "We're both disasters."
"Matching disasters. That's romantic, right?"
"Very romantic." I sit on my couch. "Ji-won, whatever you need to tell me, I'm ready to hear it. And whatever I need to tell you... it's not going to be easy, but it needs to be said."
"Can we do it tomorrow? I know that's delayed again, but I need tonight to get my thoughts together. To figure out how to say things without making them sound worse than they are."
"Tomorrow's Monday. I have the Luminé pitch at 2 PM."
"Oh. Right. That's huge. You shouldn't have relationship drama before that."
"So Tuesday?"
"Tuesday." She sounds relieved. "Tuesday we'll both confess everything. Deal?"
"Deal."
After we hung up, I sat in my clean apartment with dinner I over-ordered, feeling both relieved and disappointed. We postponed again. The confession that needs to happen keeps getting delayed.
But maybe that's okay. Maybe we both need one more day to find the right words.
My phone rings again immediately. My mother.
"I'm calling back because I forgot to mention—your father invited Tae-hyun's family to next Sunday's dinner. So it'll be all of us together. More casual that way, less pressure on Ji-won."
"Eomma, that's the opposite of less pressure."
"Nonsense. She already knows Tae-hyun and Mi-sun. Having familiar faces will help. This way it's just a friendly dinner, not a formal 'meet the parents' event."
Except it is a formal meet the parents event, disguised as a friendly dinner. But I don't argue.
"Fine. Sunday at 6. Friendly dinner. Got it."
"Perfect. Oh, and bring dessert. Something nice. Not a convenience store cake."
"I'll bring a nice dessert."
"And Min-jae? Whatever conversation you're having with Ji-won—do it soon. Before Sunday. I mean it."
"I will. Tuesday. We're both confessing on Tuesday."
"Both confessing?" My mother's voice sharpens. "She has something to tell you too?"
"Apparently."
"That's... interesting. Well. Tuesday then. Good luck to both of you."
The evening stretches ahead with nothing to fill it. I eat dinner alone—too much food for one person, dishes Ji-won would have liked. I try to work on the Luminé pitch, but it's as ready as it's going to be. All my revisions are complete. The campaign is solid, authentic, drawn from real experience.
Real experience built on a lie.
The irony is still overwhelming.
At 8 PM, unable to sit still, I call Tae-hyun.
"How's your Sunday?" he answers.
"Weird. Ji-won and I were supposed to have our honest conversation tonight, but she postponed."
"Postponed why?"
"She said she needs more time to figure out how to say things. Which I get because I also need more time. But Tae-hyun, we keep postponing and at some point, postponing becomes avoided."
"What are you afraid of?"
I walk to my window. Outside, Seoul's Sunday evening is quieter—less traffic than weekdays, families heading home from dinners, the city in its contemplative mode.
"I'm afraid that once I tell her about the bet, she'll never trust me again. That everything we've built will be retroactively poisoned by knowing it started dishonestly."
"But it did start dishonestly. That's not something you can change."
"I know. But somewhere along the way, it became real. I just don't know how to make her believe that."
Tae-hyun is quiet for a moment. "Can I tell you something? Mi-sun thinks Ji-won is hiding something too."
"What?"
"Woman's intuition or whatever. Mi-sun said something felt off at the Itaewon dinner. Like Ji-won was performing or holding something back. And when Yu-jin showed up, there was this whole energy between them—like Yu-jin was checking on her or monitoring something."
My stomach tightens. "You think she's hiding something as serious as the bet?"
"I don't know. But maybe that's why she keeps postponing the conversation. Maybe she's scared to confess too."
"What could she be hiding?"
"No idea. But Min-jae—what if you both confess on Tuesday and it turns out you both started this for the wrong reasons? Would that make it better or worse?"
I don't have an answer.
We talk for another twenty minutes—about tomorrow's pitch, about next Sunday's dinner, about whether two people can build something real on a foundation of lies. Tae-hyun is characteristically practical: "Foundations can be replaced. What matters is whether the house you built on top is worth saving."
After we hang up, I try to distract myself. I watch a movie I don't follow. I read articles I don't absorb. I reorganize my bookshelf for no reason.
At 10:47 PM, my phone buzzed. Ji-won.
Ji-won: Are you awake?
Me: Yeah. Can't sleep.
Ji-won: Same. Thinking too much.
Me: About Tuesday?
Ji-won: About everything. About how we got here. About what happens next.
Me: Wherever we got here, I'm glad we did.
Ji-won: Even if the getting here wasn't perfect?
Me: Nothing's perfect. But some things are real despite being imperfect. Maybe because they're imperfect.
Ji-won: That's very philosophical for 11 PM on a Sunday.
Me: I'm procrastinating sleep by having deep thoughts.
Ji-won: Same. I keep writing things and deleting them. Practicing my confession.
Me: Want to practice on me?
Ji-won: Not yet. I need to get it right first.
Me: There's no right way to confess something difficult. You just have to say it and hope the other person understands.
Ji-won: What if they don't understand?
Me: Then you explain until they do. Or you accept that understanding takes time.
Ji-won: Min-jae?
Me: Yeah?
Ji-won: Whatever you need to tell me on Tuesday—I'm going to try to understand. Even if it's hard to hear. I promise I'll try.
Me: Same. Whatever you need to tell me, I'll listen. Really listen.
Ji-won: Thank you.
Me: For what?
Ji-won: For being patient with me. With this. With all the postponing and avoidance. I know I keep delaying the conversation.
Me: I keep delaying it too. We're both scared.
Ji-won: Of the same thing?
Me: Maybe. Of losing something that matters before we've fully figured out what it is.
There's a long pause before she responds.
Ji-won: I don't want to lose you.
Me: I don't want to lose you either.
Ji-won: Then we won't. Tuesday we'll confess everything, and then we'll figure out how to move forward honestly.
Me: Deal.
Ji-won: Goodnight, Min-jae. Good luck with the pitch tomorrow. You're going to be amazing.
Me: Thank you. Goodnight, Ji-won.
I set down my phone and finally got ready for bed. Tomorrow is Monday—eight days since we met, three days left on the original bet timeline. Tomorrow I pitch authentic romance to James Woo while still keeping secrets from the person who taught me what authentic actually means.
Tuesday, we confess. Both of us, apparently. Whatever she's hiding, whatever I'm hiding, we put it all on the table and see if what we've built can survive exposure to truth.
I fall asleep thinking about my mother's words: *Honesty without kindness is cruel.*
Tuesday, I need to be honest and kind simultaneously. Tell Ji-won about the bet while making her understand it stopped being about the bet almost immediately. Confess my deception while proving my feelings are real.
I just hope real is enough.
In my dreams, I'm back at the gyro drop with Ji-won, suspended at the top, about to fall. But this time, instead of dropping, we just hang there—frozen in the moment before descent, neither rising nor falling, stuck in the space between what was and what could be.
And I wake up at 3 AM with the sudden, terrifying realization that Tuesday might not be about choosing between honesty and kindness.
It might be about whether honesty destroys everything no matter how kindly it's delivered.