Yuki Waiting Alone
Yuki stood downstairs, clutching her file tightly against her chest.
Ten minutes had already passed.
The hallway was nearly empty now — just footsteps echoing, people passing in rushes, none of them stopping for her. She kept checking her phone... nothing. Not even a "wait" or "coming."
Her stomach tightened.
Did she misunderstand? Did they already start? Did they forget her?
She shook her head, trying to stay calm.
But the silence around her felt heavier with every passing second.
Inside the Library...
Chayong tapped her pen impatiently.
"Are you sure you told Yuki? She's always early. She doesn't skip."
Hyejin laughed nervously. "Relax, guys. She'll come. You know Yuki — she can't refuse when someone needs help."
Wonho frowned. "But she never takes this long. At least text her. Maybe she's busy with something else?"
Hyejin finally opened her phone, typing quickly.
Then she froze.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh shoot—"
She slapped her forehead so loudly even the librarian looked up.
"I told her to wait downstairs... and I completely forgot."
Hyejin finally texts Yuki:
"Yuki I'm so sorry!! I forgot to tell you to come to the library. Come fast."
Yuki let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
She typed back softly:
"It's okay. Coming."
Just then Junghye and Soyoon walked toward the group.
"Why aren't you guys working?" Junghye asked.
"Resting a bit after today's pressure," someone answered.
Junghye nodded but before he could sit, his phone rang.
Caller ID: Mom.
He stepped outside to answer.
Yuki arrived right as he left. She sat down quietly, smiling politely.
Let me grab the reference book Professor mentioned for this topic," she said.
She walked toward the bookshelf...
but as she reached out—
Professor Lee stepped back without looking.
Yuki turned around at the same moment.
CRASH.
Her book slipped from her hand,
his files scattered across the floor,
and Yuki's head bumped lightly against the corner of a shelf.
Lecturer Kang rushed in immediately—too fast, too personally.
"Yah, Yuki! Walk properly! You're always rushing like a baby deer," he muttered under his breath in Korean.
Yuki whispered back, annoyed, "It was Professor Lee's fault, not mine. And stop calling me that—I told you not here."
Lecturer Kang clicked his tongue.
"You'll bruise your head before you bruise your ego. Stand still."
Their tiny bickering was familiar—family-level familiar—but absolutely invisible to everyone else.
Professor Lee apologized endlessly.
Professor Kang checked Yuki's head like an overprotective uncle.
Then he handed her a pack of fruit and juice.
"You look sick. Eat this. And this. And—"
He kept pulling more out.
"Enough!" Yuki hissed quietly, eyes wide.
"You're giving me the whole supermarket!"
"Just take it, idiot child."
"Stop calling me—"
"Stop arguing."
Anyone watching... only saw a lecturer scolding and caring for her a little too comfortably.
Junghye's Eyes Catch It All
Junghye was just entering again...
and saw Lecturer Kang lightly tapping Yuki's head
and handing her fruits.
Something inside him snapped—sharp, fast, uncontrollable.
His expression darkened instantly.
Jealousy? Anger? Something unspoken?
Even he didn't seem to understand it.
Yuki returned to the table with the fruit, still rubbing the small bump on her head. She placed everything down with a relieved sigh.
"Here, Junghye—have some too. The teachers said to share—"
She didn't even finish.
Junghye's voice came sharp and sudden:
"Why don't you keep it for your professors?"
Yuki blinked, confused.
"...What? Why would I—"
He scoffed, arms crossing.
"You've been busy with them all day. Thought you'd want to share the gifts you get from them."
Yuki frowned, trying to understand.
"I just bumped into Professor Lee—he gave it to me because I looked sick. Anyone would've—"
"Sure," Junghye cut in, sarcasm heavy.
"Accidents, right? But it always happens to you."
"...Huh?"
He leaned forward, eyes sharp with some emotion she couldn't read.
"Every time I turn around, you're with Professor Lee. Or Lecturer Kang. Getting help. Getting attention. Getting things."
Yuki felt a small sting of embarrassment but shook her head.
"That's... because I'm in a lot of extracurriculars, Junghye. You know that. I've been active since first year, and people recognize me a bit. Anyone can get that kind of help if they contact teachers—"
He didn't even let her finish.
"Do you really not see how suspicious it looks?"
Yuki froze.
"S-suspicious?"
She looked genuinely confused.
"In what way?"
He stared at her like she was pretending.
"Come on, Yuki. Don't act innocent. Always alone with professors, always talking privately, always getting attention—people notice these things."
Yuki's confusion only grew.
"But... that's literally normal? I work with them on events, club work, reports—"
His voice snapped.
"You expect everyone to believe that? Stop pretending. You disappear, then come back with completed work, always tired, always acting like a martyr. If you want attention, fine. But don't drag it into our project."
"What else would it be?" she asked quietly, brows furrowed.
Junghye clenched his jaw, frustrated.
"Forget it. You wouldn't admit it even if it was true."
Yuki blinked rapidly.
"...True? Admit what? Junghye, you're not making sense."
His anger flared hotter, mixing with something she couldn't name.
"God, you're so shameless sometimes."
Yuki's breath caught.
"What...? I just came to help..."
He slammed his notebook shut.
"We don't need help you get from your... 'connections.'"
Connections.
She thought he meant academic favoritism.
Networking.
Extra-curricular perks.
Nothing more.
"...I didn't get help from anyone today," she whispered.
"I did my part. I always do my part."
He didn't look convinced.
But Yuki—hurt, confused, and trembling—slowly set the fruit down.
"I'm... sorry if it looked weird."
Her voice cracked.
"I really didn't mean anything wrong."
And before anyone could say a word—
She grabbed the juice bottle and walked away.
Then walked faster.
Then ran.
Her heart pounding, her confusion twisting into hurt she still didn't fully understand.
The moment Yuki ran out, shock slammed into the room.
Everyone stared at Junghye like he had dropped a bomb in the middle of them.
"Yah, Junghye! Why did you say it that loud?"
"Even if they're doing that—why involve yourself?"
"For one year we stayed quiet, can't you just overlook it for the next 1.5 years?!"
Junghye didn't answer.
His jaw tightened until a vein popped in his temple. His eyes were cold—too cold—and he looked like he was holding back an explosion. Without a single word, he turned and walked away.
Soyoon took a step to follow him.
"Junghye—wait..."
"I need to be alone. That's it."
His voice came out low, strained, dangerous.
He didn't look back.
The door shut behind him, leaving the others frozen.
Yuki stumbled into her apartment and shut the door behind her, the click echoing like a final blow.
She didn't even make it to the couch. Her legs gave out halfway, and she collapsed onto the floor, back against the wall, breathing in quick, broken gasps.
For a minute she just sat there, shaking.
Then the tears came—quiet at first, then harder, until she was choking on her own sobs.
Twenty minutes passed like that.
Her eyes swollen, her chest tight, her throat burning from crying too hard.
And then—
A sudden wave of nausea twisted through her abdomen.
She froze.
Another wave hit—sharper, stronger—rising up her throat.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, panic flooding her.
"Not now... please not now..."
Using the wall for support, she pushed herself up, legs trembling violently.
She stumbled toward the bathroom, barely managing to keep herself upright.
The moment she reached the sink, her body gave up.
She threw up—once, twice, again—her entire body convulsing with the force of it. Tears streamed down her face all over again, mixing with the sweat on her forehead.
When it finally stopped, she hung over the sink, exhausted, empty, shaking so hard her fingers couldn't grip the edge properly.
Her breath came out uneven, weak.
She rinsed her mouth with trembling hands, but her knees buckled again, and she sank to the cold bathroom floor, back against the cabinet.
Her head rested on her arms as she whispered to herself, voice barely audible:
"Why...? What did I do...? Why is everyone acting like this...?"
Her body felt drained, her mind numb, her heart aching in a way she had never felt before.
It didn't feel like a bad day.
It felt like something inside her had cracked—
quietly, painfully, beyond repair.
Yuki stayed on the cold bathroom floor for what felt like an eternity—fifteen, twenty minutes—her body trembling, her chest heaving. The room was silent except for her uneven breathing, the soft drip of water from the faucet echoing like a distant clock.
When her body finally felt a little lighter, she pushed herself up, still weak and wobbly, and stepped into the shower. The warm water hit her skin, washing away the stickiness of tears and sweat, but it couldn't wash away the ache in her chest.
After the shower, wrapped in a soft towel, she sat on the edge of the bathtub, sipping slowly on some juice and a small packet of saline. She knew better than to eat anything—her stomach would revolt again. Each sip was careful, deliberate, as though savoring life itself.
Just as she set the glass down, the door creaked open. Jennie stepped in, pausing mid-step when she saw Yuki sitting there, looking even paler than usual.
"Yuki... what happened? You look awful!" Jennie's voice was filled with worry, and she instinctively stepped closer.
Yuki shook her head lightly, forcing a weak smile. "I'll tell you later... just not now. I need to get ready for my part-time work."
Jennie hesitated, but didn't press further. She knelt beside her briefly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Alright... just promise me you'll take care of yourself. Don't push too hard."
"I promise," Yuki whispered, her voice barely audible. With a deep, shaky breath, she stood up, collected her bag, and forced herself to move toward the door.
Jennie watched her go, her eyes shadowed with worry, knowing her best friend was heading back into the world that had just beaten her down—but also knowing there was nothing she could do but hope Yuki would survive it, at least until the next day.
Yuki stepped into the elevator, clutching her bag and her faint resolve, trying to put one foot in front of the other. Part-time work awaited, and for a moment, the busy shop—the simple routine of serving and cleaning—felt like a safer world than the chaos of the university halls.
The days after the incident blurred into a haze of pain and exhaustion. Yuki barely recognized her own reflection—pale skin stretched over tired bones, dark circles painting the curve of her eyes. Her body betrayed her at every turn: constant vomiting, dysentery, dizziness, and aching muscles left her weak and hollow.
Even the thought of leaving her bed felt like climbing a mountain. Every attempt to push herself—to eat, to study, to move—ended with nausea clawing its way up her throat.
By the third day, reality struck her hard. She couldn't keep going to work.
She picked up her phone with trembling hands and called the chicken shop.
"Ajusshi... I... I can't come today. I... I'm really sorry," her voice barely above a whisper.
"Child..." Mr. Han's voice was steady, warm, a lifeline in the storm. "Health comes first. Don't worry about work. Get well soon. Come back when you're strong."
Yuki's chest tightened. His kindness, so simple yet so rare, was like a small sun breaking through a sky full of clouds.
She hung up, slumping against the wall, shivering as if the world itself was closing in. Her friends, her classes, the endless deadlines—they all felt like mountains she could no longer climb. She had become distant, retreating into herself, afraid of more whispers, more sharp words, more things she didn't understand.
And yet... the calendar reminded her that the final week before exams was fast approaching.
Her heart thumped painfully. Her body screamed in protest. But she knew... she had no choice.
She sank onto her bed, clutching the thin blanket around her, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The exhausting deadline meeting week finally ended but the final exam is 1 week after, and she had to find the strength to face it, no matter how fragile she felt.
After leaving her part-time job, Yuki finally allowed herself to breathe. The constant nausea and fatigue had kept her tethered to a fragile thread, and now, with work out of the way, she could rest without guilt gnawing at her.
Mornings were slow. She lingered in bed, letting the sunlight spill across her sheets. Evenings were calm, spent with soft tea in hand, a notebook open beside her as she carefully organized her notes for the final week. No rushing. No shouting. No feeling invisible or humiliated. Just quiet, just her.
Jennie watched from the sofa, sketchpad in hand, a small, bright smile lighting her face.
"You know... I'm really happy you quit the job," Jennie said softly, glancing up from her work. "You needed this... for your health, Yuki. You're finally taking care of yourself."
Yuki gave a small, tired smile. "Yeah... I guess I finally realized I have to. If I keep pushing like before... I'd just collapse."
Jennie leaned back, stretching, her eyes full of affection. "Exactly. Now you can focus on finals slowly, steadily. Don't push too hard, okay? I'll be here if you need me."
Yuki's chest felt lighter than it had in weeks. For the first time in a long while, she didn't feel like she was running from storms—she could prepare, step by step, for what was coming.
The apartment was quiet, peaceful, and for once, Yuki let herself feel... safe.
The exam hall smelled faintly of ink and disinfectant, rows of students bent over their papers, pens scratching in rhythm. Yuki's hands trembled slightly as she lowered herself into her seat.
The exam booklet landed on the desk with a soft thud. She opened it, her eyes scanning the questions. For a brief, fleeting moment, relief flickered inside her. Okay... I know this. I can do this.
But the moment she picked up her pen, her mind betrayed her.
It was empty.
Blank.
She stared at the first question. Words she had memorized countless times before vanished like smoke. Her fingers hovered uselessly over the pen. Her chest tightened. Why can't I remember? Why isn't anything coming?
Around her, the room buzzed with activity—students scribbling, flipping pages, murmuring occasionally—but she felt trapped in a bubble, deaf to everything except the roaring silence in her head.
She forced herself. Think. Focus. Write something.
Her eyes darted desperately across the questions, hoping one would unlock her memory, but nothing came. She could feel panic clawing at her throat, threatening to spill out in a gasp. Her hands shook, her forehead damp with cold sweat.
Minutes passed—or was it hours?—each one stretching unbearably. She watched her peers writing confidently, pens moving smoothly, and a pang of shame sliced through her. Everyone else can do this. Why can't I?
She squeezed her eyes shut. Tried to push herself harder. But the harder she tried, the more her mind refused to obey. Blank. Absolutely blank.
A soft tap on her shoulder startled her.
"Momo?" Her voice barely above a whisper.
Momo leaned over, eyes careful, and held up a page. "Here... just follow along. You'll be fine. Don't stress yourself."
Yuki blinked, her lips trembling. She wanted to protest, wanted to say I can't, I should do it myself, but her body had no strength for pride. Slowly, she copied the answers, her hand shaking, pen moving almost mechanically.
This isn't learning. This isn't showing what I know. This is survival.
She glanced at the clock. Half the exam had passed. She could feel the weight of judgment in the empty spaces of her memory, the invisible eyes she imagined on her back. Shame, panic, and exhaustion wove into one heavy cloak that pressed down on her chest.
Yet... somehow, she kept going. One question at a time. Scribbling, copying, moving forward.
By the time the invigilator announced the last ten minutes, her arm ached, her eyes stung from holding back tears, but she had finished. Mostly. Barely.
She laid her pen down, staring blankly at the paper. Her stomach churned, her throat dry. I made it... somehow. I survived.
Momo peeked at her with a small, understanding smile. "See? You're okay."
Yuki nodded faintly, swallowing back the lump in her throat. She didn't feel okay. Not even close. But at least she had made it through—just barely.
As she stood, her legs unsteady, she whispered to herself:
I can't keep doing this... I can't.
The exam hall's noise faded behind her, but the silence outside felt heavier, almost suffocating. Every step she took toward the washroom was leaden, each breath a struggle. Her chest ached, her head felt like it was splitting in two, and the panic from inside the hall clawed at her throat.
"Momo... please... come with me," she whispered, voice trembling like fragile glass.
Momo didn't hesitate, her arm steadying Yuki as they walked, but even that support felt like a thread about to snap. Yuki's vision blurred, every sound—the laughter of passing students, the scraping of chairs, the distant ringing of bells—felt magnified and harsh, stabbing at her senses.
Inside the bathroom, Yuki sank to her knees, gripping the edge of the sink, legs trembling uncontrollably. Her hands shook, her body quivering like a broken machine.
"I... I can't..." Her voice cracked, swallowed by tears. "I tried... I really tried... but nothing... nothing came to me. My brain... it's... empty..."
The words stumbled out in broken gasps, choked by sobs. She pressed her face to the cold tile, her hair falling across her wet cheeks. Each sob seemed to tear something inside her apart, raw and unfiltered.
Momo stayed silent, kneeling beside her, her hand warm against Yuki's back, grounding her. "It's okay... you're not weak. You're just... exhausted. It's not your fault."
Yuki shook her head violently, shuddering. "No... it's me... I'm useless... I can't do anything right... I... I keep failing... I..."
Her voice dissolved entirely into sobs. Her body curled in on itself, trembling as if trying to contain the storm inside. She felt hollow, like she had been emptied from the inside, like her mind was nothing but a black void where hope used to live.
"I hate myself... I hate myself so much..." Her whisper cracked into incoherent cries. "Why... why can't I... just... be enough?"
Momo's hand pressed against Yuki's spine, anchoring her, but even the contact couldn't stop the flood. Yuki's tears dripped onto the cold floor, her body shaking violently. She felt small, broken, and exposed, like the world outside would never understand the heaviness suffocating her from within.
"I... I can't... I can't go back there... I can't face anyone..." Her voice was barely audible now, hoarse and fragile. "I just... I just want... someone to... help me... just... someone..."
Momo whispered softly, voice trembling too, "I'm here... I won't leave you. I'll stay with you. You're not alone, Yuki. Not now, not ever."
Yuki's body pressed further against the cold tiles, curling tighter, letting herself feel every bit of her helplessness. Her sobs were ragged, uncontrollable, raw. Each tear, each quiver of her body, was a piece of her breaking, a piece of herself she had tried so hard to hold together for months.
"I... I don't want to exist like this... I'm so tired... so tired..." Her whisper was a ghost, fragile and trembling. "Everything... everything hurts..."
Momo didn't speak. She let Yuki dissolve into herself, into despair, into the raw vulnerability that had been building for too long. The bathroom echoed with the sound of her grief, each sob a sharp edge, a wound made visible.
Yuki's tears soaked her hair and clothes. Her body shook as if the world itself had turned its weight upon her.
Yuki pulled back slightly, looking at her friend with watery, desperate eyes. "No... I don't want to go home like this... but... maybe... maybe you could... just take me... home? Please... Momo..."
Momo nodded without hesitation, her grip firm but kind. "Of course. I'll get you home safe. Don't worry. Just let it out, Yuki."
How would she manage herself when even in the silence of her own room, Yuki couldn't escape the storm raging inside her. What would be her escape route from all this ?