The apartment was too quiet.
Soojin sat curled on the couch in Jae's penthouse, a blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders. The city stretched beneath her window—glittering, alive, pulsing with music and traffic—but up here, it felt like she was floating in a soundproof box.
Her phone lay on the coffee table, screen black, taunting her.
He was supposed to call. He had promised.
The digital clock on the wall blinked 1:12 a.m..
She shifted, tucking her legs beneath her, and pulled the blanket tighter. It had been three weeks since Jae flew to Los Angeles. Three weeks of red carpets, interviews, magazine covers—his face plastered everywhere but never in the place she needed him most.
Her phone buzzed suddenly, and her heart leapt.
A message.
> Jae: "Sorry. Schedule ran over. Too tired to talk. Call you tomorrow. Promise."
Tomorrow. Always tomorrow.
Her hand trembled as she typed back:
> Soojin: "Okay. Rest well. Love you."
She pressed send and set the phone face down, swallowing the bitter taste in her throat.
---
The silence afterward was heavier than any noise. She leaned back into the couch, staring at the ceiling.
She remembered the first months of their marriage—how Jae would sneak away from rehearsals just to hear her voice, whispering sweet nothings as if every second was a stolen miracle. Back then, his calls had been her lifeline. Proof that even if the world never knew, their love was real.
Now, it felt like the calls were slipping away, piece by piece, until all she was left with were missed connections and apologies.
Her thumb brushed against the edge of her wedding ring, hidden on a delicate chain around her neck. She couldn't even wear it on her finger outside these walls. That tiny band of gold, pressed to her heart, was her only reminder that she wasn't just a girlfriend waiting in the shadows—she was his wife.
So why did she feel like a stranger?
---
The memory came uninvited.
Two months ago, before he left for his promotions, she had stood by the door with his suitcase in hand.
"Promise me," she had whispered, clutching his wrist. "Promise you won't forget to call. Even if it's only for five minutes. Just… don't leave me waiting."
He had kissed her forehead then, his smile confident, reassuring. "I'd never let you wait, Soojin. You're my anchor."
Now here she was—waiting. Always waiting.
---
The phone buzzed again, but it wasn't Jae.
It was Nari.
> Nari: "You awake? Saw another article on Jae & Mina. Want me to send it?"
Soojin stared at the text, bile rising. She didn't reply. She couldn't bear to see the glossy headlines, the photos of Jae beside the Hollywood starlet, both smiling for the cameras. The "perfect couple" the world believed in.
Her chest tightened. She had become the outsider in her own marriage, erased by a narrative she couldn't control.
The phone buzzed again—Nari's persistence.
> Nari: "Okay. Won't send. Just checking on you."
Soojin blinked back tears and finally typed:
> Soojin: "Thanks. I'm okay."
But she wasn't.
---
She rose and padded across the cold floor, grabbing Jae's hoodie from the back of a chair. It smelled faintly of his cologne—spicy, warm, familiar. She sank into it, clutching the fabric like a second skin, and grabbed the phone again.
Her fingers hovered over his contact. She knew he wouldn't answer, but some part of her still needed to hear the dial tone, even if it ended in voicemail.
She pressed call.
It rang. Once. Twice. Then the mechanical voice:
> "The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later."
She closed her eyes, biting her lip until the taste of iron filled her mouth.
When the beep came, she whispered into the silence:
"Hi… it's me. I know you're busy. I just… I miss you. I wish you were here. I wish—" Her voice cracked. "I'll stop. Just call me when you can. Goodnight."
She hung up quickly, as if ending the call would stop the tears brimming in her eyes.
---
Morning light crept through the blinds before she finally fell asleep on the couch, the phone clutched in her hand.
By the time she woke, the city was buzzing, her schedule already demanding her presence. Clara Kwon's voice echoed in her head: Smile, Soojin. Always smile.
She dragged herself up, splashed cold water on her face, and practiced the smile in the mirror. The perfect actress. The idol-turned-star who had it all.
No one would see the cracks.
No one would know that last night, she had cried into an empty hoodie, waiting for a call that never came.
---
On the other side of the world, Jae was in front of cameras, dazzling as always. His interviews lit up headlines, his face on every billboard. When asked about Mina, he laughed charmingly, brushing off the rumors without denying them.
Soojin watched one of the clips on her phone later that evening. The interviewer asked: "What do you think of Mina as your new partner in these promotions?"
Jae smiled, the smile the world adored. "She's talented. We work well together."
That was all. No warmth, no confession—but also no defense. No denial that the two of them might be more.
Soojin closed the video before it ended, her heart thudding painfully.
---
That night, she sat again by the phone. Another message came from Jae, short and sweet:
> Jae: "Long day. Sorry. Tomorrow."
Tomorrow. Always tomorrow.
Soojin stared at the screen until her vision blurred.
The question clawed at her throat, but she couldn't bring herself to send it.
Am I still the woman you come home to, Jae? Or just the secret you keep locked away?
Instead, she typed the same words as before:
> Soojin: "It's okay. Rest well. Love you."
Her thumb lingered over send. Then, with a hollow sigh, she pressed it.
The phone went silent again, and the weight of her invisible marriage pressed down on her chest like a stone.
---
She lay awake until dawn, the city buzzing outside her window. The world believed Jae Kang belonged to someone else.
And Soojin, his wife of two years, was left waiting—alone with her silent phone calls.