They were sitting on the steps behind the library, the place no one ever went unless they were hiding from something.
Min-Ju had bought hot chocolate this time. He handed one to her carefully, like she might drop it—not because she was clumsy, but because she always looked like she was holding too much inside.
She wrapped both hands around the cup, heat seeping into her palms.
"You always drink it too fast," he said mildly. "Then you burn your tongue and pretend you didn't."
She huffed. "I do not pretend."
"You absolutely do."
That earned him a tiny smile. The kind that appeared and disappeared just as quickly.
They sat in silence for a bit. Wind rustled the trees overhead.
Her short hair fluttered, brushing her cheeks. The bags under her eyes were darker today.
Min-Ju noticed. He always did.
"You know," he said suddenly, staring straight ahead, "when you finally remember everything—"
Her fingers tightened around the cup.
"—I think I'll recognize it," he continued, voice gentle. "Not because you'll say something big. But because you'll stop looking like you're apologizing for existing."
She let out a shaky breath.
Then another.
She nodded once, too fast, like agreeing would keep her together.
"I have a deal for you," he added, trying to lighten it. "If I'm the one who makes you remember… you owe me."
She glanced at him. "Owe you what?"
He smiled, soft and boyish. "A reward. Could be anything. Even just… staying."
That was when her eyes filled.
Not overflowing yet. Just glossy. Dangerous.
She looked down quickly, shoulders folding inward. "Min-Ju…"
He turned fully toward her. "Hey. You don't have to—"
"I remember," she whispered.
The word barely made it out.
He went still.
"I remember who I am," she said again, voice trembling, like saying it aloud made it real in a way she wasn't ready for. "I didn't forget myself."
Her lips pressed together hard, trying to hold everything back.
"But I don't remember the way you want me to," she said, and this time her voice cracked right through.
The tears came slowly at first. One slid down her nose. She wiped it away angrily, then another followed, and another.
"I tried to act normal," she said, breath hitching. "I tried to wait until it made sense. But it doesn't. And I don't know how to explain it without hurting you."
Her face crumpled.
She bent forward as the sobs took over—messy, loud, uncontrollable.
She cried like she always did when she couldn't stop herself anymore, whole body shaking, breath breaking apart.
Min-Ju didn't hesitate.
He moved closer and wrapped his arms around her, steady and sure.
She collapsed into him immediately, clutching at his jacket, crying into his shoulder like it was the only place she was allowed to fall.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry."
He held her, one hand resting at the back of her head, the other firm against her back.
"You remembered yourself," he said quietly. "That matters."
She shook her head against him, tears soaking through. "But not all of you."
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Then, softly, "We're not a test you have to pass."
Her sobs slowed just a little at that.
She stayed curled against him, breathing uneven, broken but honest.
And Min-Ju stayed too—not asking for the reward he joked about, not asking for memories that weren't ready,
They walked home side by side, their steps naturally falling into the same rhythm.
The night was calm, streetlights casting warm pools of light along the road.
She kept her hands tucked into her sleeves, shoulders relaxed but guarded, like someone learning how to exist again in their own skin.
Her short hair brushed her cheeks when the wind passed, and Min-Ju found himself slowing down without realizing it—so she wouldn't have to.
He watched her from the corner of his eye.
She's different, he thought. But she's still her.
After a while, he spoke. "Earlier… when we were sitting there."
She glanced up. "Yeah?"
"You don't have to tell me yet," he said. "But… what do you want now?"
She hesitated, then shook her head slightly. "I don't want to say it out loud."
He nodded immediately. No disappointment. No pressure.
"I think," she added quietly, "you'll have to get used to this version of me first."
Min-Ju smiled to himself.
I already am, he thought.
Out loud, he said, "That's fine."
She peeked at him. "You're not curious?"
"I am," he admitted. "But not enough to rush you."
They crossed an intersection, their shadows stretching and overlapping under the streetlight.
"The old you," he continued casually, "was kind of rough."
She frowned. "Rough?"
"You hit me a lot," he said, completely serious.
"That was—" she protested, then stopped. "…Okay, maybe."
He chuckled. "She was loud. Defensive. Always acting like she didn't care."
Her steps slowed just a bit.
"This you," he said, softer now, "still says sharp things. But even when you're harsh… it sounds gentle."
She looked away, embarrassed. "That's not intentional."
"I know," he said. And he meant it. That's why it feels honest.
They stopped near her house. The porch light was on. Home waited quietly.
She stared at the gate, then said, "When I tell you… it might not be what you're expecting."
Min-Ju looked at her then, really looked—red eyes, tired face, someone standing on the edge of truth and fear.
"That's okay," he said. "I'm not waiting for a specific story."
She blinked. "You're not?"
He shook his head, a small smile forming. "I'm waiting for you to feel ready."
Inside, his chest tightened—not with doubt, but resolve.
No matter what she remembers, he thought, I choose the girl walking beside me right now.
She let out a slow breath, like she'd been holding it all night.
"…You're too kind," she murmured.
He shrugged lightly. "You're still you. I just get to meet you again."
She looked at him, eyes shining—not with tears this time, but something steadier.
She didn't tell him the truth yet.
But as she stepped inside her gate and turned back to wave, Min-Ju stood there thinking—
Endings don't always announce themselves .Sometimes, they just walk you home.