If yesterday felt like the beginning of a spiral… today feels like gravity remembered my name.
I stand in front of my closet staring at clothes that suddenly all look too loud, too fitted, too obvious. The aqua blouse hangs obediently where I left it, shimmering in the low morning light, confident in a way I'm not.
"Still not for today," I whisper.
I reach for something loose, black, soft, draping more than shaping. Something a person wears when she doesn't want to take up air or attention. Something a person wears to hide flaws and fade into the background.
I button it slowly, avoiding the mirror until the end.
When I finally look, my reflection smiles with absolutely no cooperation from the muscles in my face.
"You're fine," I tell her.
She knows I'm lying.
But she lets me keep the lie.
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The studio is alive, humming, oblivious.
People move with purpose. Scripts shuffle. Someone laughs too loudly near the props cage. Coffee cups clink like the soundtrack to ambition.
I hold my matcha like a shield. I've taken one sip. It tastes muted, like someone turned the flavor down to low.
I straighten my shoulders, and step inside.
Immediately, the world shifts.
Because he sees me first.
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Liu Jingyi is across the stage, speaking to the lighting director. When he notices me, his posture changes almost imperceptibly, straightening, then softening, then… hesitating.
He approaches, slow, careful.
"Good morning… Su-bin."
The way he says my name, gentle, but cautious, pinches something in my chest.
I offer a thin smile.
It feels like stretching skin over a wound.
"Morning."
His gaze lingers longer than yesterday… but still not as long as before. Still not long enough for me to believe what I want him to believe.
Then he looks away first.
Something inside me folds in on itself, quietly and neatly.
He murmurs something about coffee and walks past, keeping enough distance to be polite.
Too polite.
He's trying not to bother me.
To give space.
The worst part?
I want the opposite.
But I don't know how to say:
Please don't listen to my words.
Please listen to the part I'm too scared to say out loud.
Please see me.
Please see that I am not fine.
Instead I clutch my bag tighter.
And nod like everything is perfectly normal.
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The whispers begin before I even reach the writer's table.
"They seem… even weirder today."
"He didn't stand as close as usual."
"Is something wrong?"
"Her vibe feels off."
"He looks like he's thinking too hard."
I stare at the script pages.
The words refuse to stay in focus.
My stomach clenches.
My shoulders creep upward.
Every breath sits too high, too shallow.
I write in the margin with my aqua pen:
Focus. Focus. Focus.
The pen shakes in my hand.
I put it down before the shaking becomes visible.
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We block a small rehearsal scene before filming.
I bend to pick up a dropped pen, just a normal movement, something I've done a thousand times.
But the moment I straighten, the world tilts.
Just a little.
Enough.
I sway.
My script slips.
My vision pricks at the edges.
Before the embarrassment blooms, someone catches me.
Warm fingers around my wrist. Steady. Firm.
"Su-bin," he says, voice sharper than usual, "hey… are you okay?"
I force a smile instantly.
"I'm fine."
And the moment I say it, something in me fractures…
because I know it's a lie,
because I want him to know it's a lie,
and because he's the one person I want to see past it without me having to beg.
His eyes search mine.
Behind his calm expression, something like fear flickers.
He bends to pick up my script, gives it back to me.
But he doesn't let go of my hand.
Not yet.
Instead he just looks at it.
And then his jaw locks.
Just slightly.
Not anger.
Something deeper.
Something like hurt.
Something like I care too much and I don't know where to put it.
"Can you please stop doing this," he says, without looking up.
The words hit like a breathless slap.
I blink.
"…Doing what?"
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at himself, frustrated at everything he can't say out loud.
His voice, when it comes, is low and unsteady and too honest.
"Not eating," he says.
"Not sleeping."
"Pretending you're okay when you're clearly not."
"Shrinking every time he walks near you."
He swallows.
His voice softens, breaks.
"You're… disappearing, Su-bin."
My heart stutters.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
He steps back a little, like he's trying to put the fire out.
But the damage is done.
"Yesterday," he says, the words trembling at the edges, "I thought maybe… Maybe I misread… Maybe you wanted distance."
He looks away. His throat works.
"I didn't want to push you. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."
He inhales shakily.
"But you won't even look at me."
My stomach twists sharply.
Because he's right.
Because I've been avoiding his eyes like they're mirrors that show too much truth.
"I didn't know you…"
I swallow.
"I didn't know you noticed."
He lets out a breath, half laugh, half heartbreak, and lets go of my hand.
"Of course I notice."
My hand trembles. I curl it into a fist behind the script.
I manage, barely:
"I didn't want to bother you."
His expression changes instantly, and he finally looks at me.
His eyes break the harshness they led before, and his gaze softens.
He steps closer, voice quiet and raw.
"You're not a bother."
A beat.
"You are the only person I—"
He stops himself.
Closes his eyes.
Then opens them again, softer than I've ever seen.
"I'm not angry," he whispers.
"I just… I worry about you more than I'm allowed to."
The air leaves my lungs.
My world goes very still.
He looks down, ashamed of his own truth, and steps back.
"Sorry," he says quietly.
"I shouldn't have said it like that."
He walks off before I can breathe again.
Before I can tell him:
I wanted you to see me.
I wanted you to care.
I wanted someone—anyone—to look past the smile and know I was hurting.
I wanted that someone to be you.
Instead I stand there, shaking, clutching my script like it is the only thing keeping me upright.
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I hide in the bathroom for five minutes.
Sit in the stall.
Press my hands over my eyes.
The tile floor is cold under my shoes.
The air smells like lavender spray and far too much disinfectant.
Internal monologue:
He noticed.
He really noticed.
And now he thinks he scared me away.
He thinks he crossed a line when all I wanted was for him to come closer.
Tears gather.
I blink them back viciously.
No crying. Not here.
I smooth my blouse, straighten my reflection, and walk out with a face that looks almost like mine.
Almost.
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We finish the day's shooting with tension threaded through every scene.
He glances at me when he shouldn't.
I look away when I shouldn't.
Our timing is slightly off.
The director complains.
We nod apologetically, but the truth is… it's not the scene that's broken.
It's whatever fragile, aching thing sits between us.
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When the crew wraps, I linger to pack my notes.
Then:
"Su-bin."
His voice is softer than before. Like he's afraid I'll flinch.
I look up.
He stands by the doorway, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense.
"Can we… talk?" he asks.
"Somewhere private."
My stomach flips.
My heart does… something unprofessional.
I nod.
He exhales, a mixture of relief and fear, and gestures for me to follow him.
We end up in a rehearsal room. The lights are half off, the space tinted dim gold from the hallway. Chairs stacked in a corner. A single table with an abandoned water bottle.
He closes the door gently.
Not to trap me.
To protect whatever this is.
He stands in front of me, not too close, not too far. His voice barely above a whisper.
"About earlier," he begins.
"I shouldn't have spoken that way. I didn't want to overwhelm you."
I open my mouth to argue—
he shakes his head.
"No," he says softly. "Let me say this first."
His gaze drops.
Then rises again, steady.
"You minimized what happened yesterday," he says.
"You said he was nothing… that you were fine. But you weren't."
He takes a breath.
"And you said that because you thought I didn't care."
My throat catches.
He swallows hard.
"That's on me."
My eyes widen.
He continues, voice trembling with sincerity:
"I tried so hard not to scare you…
not to cross a line…
not to make you think I was asking anything from you…"
He exhales shakily.
"That I made you think you couldn't trust me with the truth."
I cover my mouth with my hand.
His eyes soften.
"I never wanted you to hide pain from me."
A beat.
"I'm sorry if I made you feel alone in it."
I blink quickly… tears threatening.
He steps closer, gently, like approaching a frightened animal.
"Su-bin," he whispers, "I see you."
My chest tightens painfully.
For the first time in days…
I can breathe.
We stand there in the dim room, the silence full and soft and trembling.
Nothing is fixed.
But something is healing.
A small, bright fracture of light in all the dark.
"Goodnight, Su-bin," he says quietly when we finally step into the hallway.
I whisper back:
"Goodnight, Jingyi."
Our steps match all the way to the exit.
Like something that was broken found its way back into alignment.