If anyone had asked me, I would've said it confidently.
"That was years ago."
"I don't even care anymore."
"I was just a kid."
And technically, none of that would be a lie.
I didn't search his name. I didn't wait for updates. I didn't imagine random meetings before sleeping.
On the surface, I was completely over it.
But sometimes, when I was alone and scrolling casually, a familiar face would appear unexpectedly.
Seo Juhan.
Not because I searched. Just because the internet remembers everything.
My thumb would pause for half a second.
Just half.
Not enough for someone next to me to notice.
But enough for my chest to feel something small and familiar.
Not excitement.
Not longing.
Just… recognition.
Like seeing someone you once knew very well in a crowded place.
You don't go talk to them. You don't wave. You just notice them.
And move on.
That's what I started doing.
Watching one second. Scrolling away.
Acting unaffected.
But sometimes, late at night, I would catch myself wondering—
If I randomly met him today, would I still feel nervous?
Or would I just smile politely and walk away?
I didn't know the answer.
And that confused me.
Because I had convinced myself I was completely done.
The truth was simpler.
I wasn't attached anymore.
But I wasn't erased either.
Memories don't disappear just because you grow up.
They settle.
They become quieter.
There was no dramatic heartbreak to recover from.
So there was no dramatic closure either.
Just distance.
And I think that's why I pretended so confidently.
Because admitting that something still lingers—even a little—feels weaker than saying "I'm over it."
But maybe it isn't weakness.
Maybe it's just honesty.
I wasn't the same girl from two years ago.
I had bigger concerns now. More responsibilities. Different dreams.
But that younger version of me?
She still existed somewhere inside.
And sometimes, when a random clip appeared on my screen, she would blink awake for a second.
Smile softly.
And then go back to sleep.
And I'd keep scrolling.
Like nothing happened.