The print shop reeked of old ink and rust, shelves warped and machines long abandoned. A neon sign from across the street bled pink light through the cracked glass, painting the room in a bruised glow.
Seol-ah leaned back against the wall, her chest heaving from the run. Eli stood a few feet away, his outline tense, shoulders stiff like he was carrying something too heavy to say.
The silence pressed in, fragile, waiting to snap.
"You should've told me," she said again, her voice quieter this time.
Eli turned, his face caught in the neon wash. "I thought keeping you in the dark would protect you. I was wrong."
Her throat tightened. "You tell me we loved each other. That we had a whole life together. But do you understand what it feels like to stand here in front of you and not remember a single piece of it?"
The words landed hard. He flinched, just barely. Then he stepped closer, voice low, unsteady. "Do you know what it feels like to stand in front of you and remember everything?"
The air between them shifted.
Seol-ah's fingers brushed against the strap of her camera, grounding herself. "Then prove it. Tell me one thing about us. Something no photograph could ever show."
For a moment, Eli froze. His hand lifted, stopping just short of her cheek, like memory itself might burn.
"You used to scold me for drinking my coffee too hot," he said softly. "You said I'd burn my tongue one day. So you'd wait—always—until the steam thinned, then slide the cup across to me without saying a word. Like you couldn't stop yourself."
Her lips parted. She hadn't expected the memory to be so small, so tender.
His hand finally brushed her cheek, tentative, almost asking permission. "I don't need the photographs, Seol-ah. I don't need proof. I was there. With you."
Her heart stumbled. For a moment, she wanted to close the space between them, let his certainty become hers. But another image slammed through her mind—the rooftop Polaroid, the graphite scrawl: Do you see the truth yet?
Her voice slipped out softer than she meant. "And what if the truth is something I can't forgive?"
His hand fell. His jaw tightened. "Then I'll take whatever pieces of you you're willing to give."
Outside, the rain slowed to a hush, leaving only her uneven breath and the faint hum of the city pressing against the glass.