"I loved him so deeply, Yomin. No one can hold that kind of love. It was… so much. I don't even know why this happened to me. But I loved him with the purest part of my heart. No one… no one can even love like that," Sara whispered, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the tabletop.
Yomin leaned back in his chair, quiet, patient, the kind of person who could listen to hours of someone pouring their heart out without a single judgment. "Yes, Sara. I know. I've seen how much you loved him. Even you start talking about him every day. We always talk about him," he said softly. His voice carried a calm warmth, like he could hold her broken pieces without cracking.
Sara let out a shaky laugh that quickly turned into a sigh. "It hurts, Yomin. It hurts so much… even when I try not to think of him, his name… it just makes me tear up." She hugged her knees to her chest. "I can't… I can't stop crying sometimes. Even just remembering him, I feel like drowning in those tears."
Yomin nodded slowly, leaning forward. "I know, Sara. I know how much he mattered to you. And it's okay. It's okay to cry. You loved him. You gave him everything you could, and no one can ever take that away from you."
Sara's phone buzzed quietly on the table, a notification flashing briefly across the screen. She didn't even notice it at first. Her thumb lazily slid it left, dismissing it without care. It didn't matter. No one mattered—except the people who truly listened, like Yomin. He was the only one who could hear her completely, without judgment, without rushing her feelings.
"I don't know why it hurts so much to let him go," she murmured. "I loved him like… like someone would write poems about. I even cried a mountain of tears that day when he left. Every tear felt like a memory ripping away from me."
Yomin reached over, gently placing a hand on hers. "Sara, love like that doesn't disappear. It lives inside you. And someday, all these feelings—pain, longing, even the joy of loving—will make you stronger. I promise."
Sara sniffled and wiped her eyes. "I know… I know. But even now, even just saying his name…" She paused as tears pricked her eyes again. "I can't help it."
Just then, her mom's voice called from the hallway. "Sara… what are you doing? You've been in here all morning."
Sara quickly pushed herself upright and smiled faintly. "Nothing, Mom. Just… playing some music."
Her mother peeked in, her eyes soft but perceptive. "Uh-huh. Sure. Don't forget to eat lunch, okay?" She lingered a little longer than usual, as if she already knew the turmoil Sara was hiding behind her composed face. Then she left quietly, leaving Sara with the small comfort that maybe someone at home could sense her pain.
Before Sara could settle again, her younger brother barged into the room, grinning widely. "Sara, stop being a couch potato. Come on, play with me for a bit," he said, dragging a pillow toward her.
Sara shook her head and laughed softly. "I can't, I'm busy."
"Busy doing what? Crying over your phone again?" he teased, but he didn't push too hard, knowing somehow that she needed her space.
Sara rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe. Not over the phone, though. Just… memories," she said quietly.
"Memories, huh?" he muttered, hopping onto the bed beside her. "Well… if it makes you feel better, I'll let you cry. But promise me you'll smile too, okay? Just a little?"
Sara's heart softened. "I'll try."
Once her brother left for his own stuff, Sara picked up her guitar resting against the chair. She strummed a soft chord, letting the melody fill the room. Music had always been her refuge, a place where she could channel every fragment of emotion she couldn't voice. She closed her eyes and began to sing, her voice pure and smooth, each note carrying the ache of her heart. The song melted into the quiet corners of the room, echoing a story of love lost and longing unspoken.
As she played, her mind wandered back to the boy who had broken her heart. The one who had left her so abruptly. Even in his absence, he lingered—like a ghost in the notes she sang, in the tears she wiped away silently. She could still feel the weight of loving him so completely, the way her heart had clung to him when it should have let go.
A faint smile curved her lips as she realized something. Even though she hurt, even though she cried herself to sleep, she had survived. And in a strange way, the pain had made her stronger.
She strummed the last chord and let it hang in the air. The phone buzzed again, another notification. Sara glanced at it and simply slid it away, unconcerned. Only those who truly listened mattered. Yomin mattered. He understood without judgment. He accepted her completely, every tear, every memory, every confession.
She leaned back, closing her eyes, thinking about the future. One day, she would become a psychologist, someone who could understand hearts as deeply as she did. She would untangle the webs of emotion that trapped people, maybe even her own family. But for now, she let herself cry, sing, and love silently in her own way.
And in the back of her mind, a small thought lingered—a memory of her mother noticing her distress that morning, a quiet understanding she didn't yet fully grasp. One day, perhaps much later, that small moment would resurface as something important, a chapter of its own in the story of her life.
Sara's tears slowed. She placed the guitar down gently and whispered to herself, "I loved him. And even if he's gone, no one can take that from me."
The room grew quiet again, filled with her own heartbeat and the soft echoes of her song. She smiled faintly, a fragile, hopeful smile, knowing that love, even the kind that breaks you, leaves something beautiful behind.