Chapter 1-Lets break up
Everyone has their own story about relationships, and so does Ji-Hyun. For as long as she could remember, she loved someone who never truly loved her back. She dated Min-Cheol—her high-school senior and longtime crush. He was attractive, charming, and the son of her teacher. They had been together for six years.
Outside her apartment, Ji-Hyun cared for a group of small, abandoned kittens, feeding them every day. One rainy evening, as she crouched under her umbrella to leave food for them, she overheard Min-Cheol talking on the phone with a friend.
"Have you ever felt attracted to her?" his friend asked casually.
"No. Not even once."
The words hit her harder than the cold rain. Six years? Was it all a lie? Tears mixed with the raindrops on her cheeks as she thought about the memories they had built—memories she now realized she might have been building alone.
Hearing his footsteps approaching, Ji-Hyun quickly tilted her face up to the rain, pretending the water on her skin wasn't from her heartbreak. Min-Cheol acted as though nothing was wrong, walking home with her like everything was normal.
They had been planning a wedding for three months. But one afternoon, he took her to a restaurant.
It was a cozy place downtown. The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air, and the distant sizzle of bacon came from the kitchen. It was Christmas Eve—everyone around them laughing, celebrating, wrapped in the warmth of the holiday spirit.
"So, I've been thinking about our marriage—"
"Please, Min-Cheol," Ji-Hyun cut in sharply. "Cut the drama."
Her voice sliced through the cheerful atmosphere like a blade.
"Let's just get it over with, shall we? Let's break up."
Chairs scraped. Conversations hushed. People glanced over, surprised, curious. But Ji-Hyun couldn't care less. She forced a smile onto her face, stood up, and left without another word.
The cold winter wind hit Ji-Hyun the moment she stepped out of the restaurant. It felt like needles against her skin, but it still didn't compare to the sting in her chest. She wrapped her coat tighter and walked without a destination, her heels clicking sharply against the damp pavement.
Christmas lights glowed along the streets—warm yellows and soft blues—contrasting the hollow ache inside her. Families passed her with shopping bags, couples held hands, children laughed at street performers dressed as elves. The whole world seemed wrapped in joy, yet Ji-Hyun felt as if she stood outside a giant glass snow globe, watching a happiness she could never touch.
She kept walking until a sudden meow snapped her out of her daze.
The kittens.
Without realizing it, she had walked all the way back to her apartment building. The three tiny kittens huddled together near the entrance, shivering from the cold. The smallest one, a black-and-white runt she had named "Tori," crawled toward her and pawed at her boot.
Ji-Hyun knelt down, picking him up and holding him close.
"Hey, Tori… you hungry?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Feeding the kittens used to be a small routine. Tonight, it felt like a lifeline—something she could still care for, something that didn't lie.
She fed them their usual meal, listening to their soft crunching sounds. They looked up at her every few seconds as if asking why she seemed so sad. Ji-Hyun forced a smile for them.
Once they were fed, she climbed the stairs to her small apartment. The moment she closed the door behind her, everything she had been holding back came crashing down. Her legs gave out, and she sank to the floor, hugging her knees.
"Six years," she whispered. "I wasted six years…"
She remembered how she had planned their wedding invitations, the dress she always wanted, the songs they wanted played. She remembered his smile when he proposed—was that fake too? Has every tender moment been an act?
Her phone buzzed on the floor beside her.
Min-Cheol: "Ji-Hyun, let's talk."
Min-Cheol: "Please don't just leave like that."
Min-Cheol: "Come home. We need to sort this out."
Home. The word tasted bitter now.
She turned her phone off.
For the first time in her life, she was choosing herself.
The next morning, Ji-Hyun woke up on the couch with stiff muscles. Her eyes were swollen, and her throat felt dry. She dragged herself to the kitchen, made coffee, and tried to steady her thoughts.
Just then, her neighbor, Mrs. Han—an older woman with curly gray hair and a gentle face—knocked on the door.
"Ji-Hyun, dear? I saw you feeding those kittens again in the rain last night," she said, holding a small box. "I made some rice cakes. I thought you could use a warm breakfast."
Ji-Hyun blinked in surprise. "Ah… thank you, Mrs. Han."
"You look tired, sweetheart. Are you alright?" the older woman asked softly.
Ji-Hyun wanted to say yes. She wanted to pretend she was fine. But the words got stuck in her throat, and her eyes began to well up.
Mrs. Han didn't ask anything else. Instead, she stepped forward and gently patted Ji-Hyun's back.
"Come have tea later if you need company," she said with a warm smile before leaving.
The kindness made Ji-Hyun's chest tighten, but in a gentler way.
Later that afternoon, she checked her phone—dozens of missed calls from Min-Cheol. His messages ranged from apologetic to confused to frustrated.
"Why are you ignoring me?"
"Let's talk like adults."
"You misunderstood the situation."
"You know I care about you."
The last message nearly made her laugh. Care? He had never even loved her. Not once.
She put the phone down and walked to her bedroom. She pulled out the box where she kept her relationship mementos—movie tickets, Polaroids, letters he had written to her during their long-distance months. Looking through them now, they felt like props in a play she didn't know she was acting in alone.
She placed the box in her closet and shut the door gently. She was not ready to throw it away—but she was done letting it define her.
Evening approached slowly. Snow began to fall outside, dusting the city in white. Ji-Hyun made herself ramen and sat by the window. She watched the snowflakes dance in the streetlights and felt something new—stillness, maybe. Or the slow beginning of healing.
She didn't know what came next. Would she move out? Would she start over somewhere new? Would she ever trust someone again?
But for the first time in six years, she realized she had choices.
A sudden knock interrupted her thoughts. She assumed it was Mrs. Han and opened the door—
—but froze.
Min-Cheol stood there, drenched in snow, his hair messy, his expression desperate.
"Ji-Hyun," he said softly. "Please… can we talk?"
Ji-Hyun remained silent. She could hear her heart pounding—but this time, it wasn't from love.
I
t was from strength.
She stepped aside just enough to block the entrance and calmly said,
"No. Not anymore."