Seo-in spent the rest of the night in a numb haze—too hollow even to cry again. Memories kept looping in her head like broken film reels: laughter, kisses, warm hands on her waist, whispered confessions in the dark…
All of it felt unreal now, like happiness she had only imagined. Because what was she supposed to believe? That Luca simply woke up one morning and decided he was bored of her? That none of it had ever mattered?
She curled up in her too-cold bed, knees to her chest, clinging to herself because there was no one else left to hold on to.
She remembered the reddish-haired boy who had come to her when she returned to Germany after years apart—how he had brought wildflowers from his campus backyard: tiny blue forget-me-nots because he never forgot her, a single sunflower because he finally dared to confess, a few chrysanthemums promising eternal love … and one red tulip, bought with his savings because it was her favorite. Tulips didn't grow on the street. He had gone out of his way for that one.
Seo-in knew Luca could be hard—on himself, on others. People disliked him because he was blunt, demanding, and manipulative when he wanted something. But she never imagined he would treat her like everyone else—someone to use and discard.
The memories hurt now. They stung like salt on an open wound.
Because the Luca who once offered her flowers and poured his heart into her palms felt like someone from another lifetime … someone who might have never existed at all.
Maybe this was the real Luca.
Maybe the ruthless, uncaring boy in that voice recording was the only version that had ever truly mattered.
Maybe everything—their moments, their promises—had just been a complicated lie.
Her chest ached until it hurt to breathe.
***
Two days passed in a blur.
When Ye-rin came to visit, worried because Seo-in hadn't been to class, Seo-in opened the door—and the fragile mask she'd been wearing shattered instantly.
Tears rushed down her face before she could stop them.
Ye-rin didn't ask anything. She didn't pry. She simply wrapped her arms around Seo-in with the kind of warmth only a childhood friend could give.
Seo-in collapsed into her friend's shoulder, overwhelmed by exhaustion, grief, and anger all tangled into one. Ye-rin's quiet embrace felt like the only anchor left in the wreckage of her world.
Seo-in clung to her, letting everything spill out—not just the heartbreak, but the doubts and wounds she had swallowed for far too long.
***
Meanwhile, Luca worked in his apartment with a focus so sharp it bordered on cruelty. The notification tone from his phone cut through the room—another voice message, another demand for a sample.
He listened.
Rolled his eyes.
And replied, loud and viciously clear:
"Make your own version, you idiot."
He didn't wait for the message to finish before tossing his phone aside. The silence that followed was cold, clinical—exactly how he preferred it these days. No distractions. No pointless attachments dragging him down.
His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard, movements precise, almost mechanical. He'd been pushing himself for days—no sleep, barely eating—yet none of it felt heavy. If anything, the pressure sharpened him. It always had.
"They really think they can trick me," he muttered with a humorless smirk.
For weeks the department tried to force him to hand over a sample. Pathetic.
He knew exactly how the game worked: they would plagiarize him, then bury him under accusations. Let them try. He was already ten steps ahead.
Graduating wasn't even the point anymore.
The original plan—graduate early, settle things, get married—felt laughably irrelevant now.
All of it felt like a memory someone else had lived.
Good.
He didn't need distractions.
Not anymore.
Luca shut his laptop and stood, stretching out sore muscles. His thoughts brushed briefly against Seo-in—not with softness, but with a faint, dismissive annoyance. She had always wanted explanations, emotions, reassurance. Things that drained time. Energy.
Things he couldn't afford.
He'd done what needed to be done.
Simple as that.
The next morning, Luca left his apartment for the lengthy trip to meet his professor. A five-to-six-hour train ride sounded tedious, but necessary. He stepped into the crisp morning air with the composure of someone entirely certain of his path. On the train, he sat by the window, posture straight, gaze sharp and unfocused as scenery blurred past.
No flicker of loneliness.
No shadow of guilt.
Just calculation.
He mentally listed deadlines, improvements, strategies.
Work came first.
Results came first.
Everything else—everyone else—was noise.
The empty seat beside him stayed empty.
And he preferred it that way.
He leaned back slightly, expression unreadable, almost bored.
If anyone saw him now, they'd think he felt nothing at all.
And that was exactly the point.
***
Far away, Seo-in had just received a plane ticket to South Korea from her parents—an order dressed as an invitation. They wanted her to come home, meet the family of the "chosen match" they'd been praising for months.
As she stared at the ticket, a rush of conflicting emotions hit her. Relief—because leaving this apartment meant leaving behind every ghost Luca left in it. And dread—because what if this arranged match was no different?
What if he was just like Luca?
Cold. Detached. Cruel.
But refusing wasn't an option. The arrangements were already made. The ticket had her name printed neatly across the top, as if her future were something they could finalize with a few keystrokes.
She packed her bag with trembling hands. The rustle of clothes against the suitcase lining felt strangely loud in the silence, each sound a reminder that she was being pushed—pulled—into a life she didn't choose.
Memories flickered uninvited: her university, her friends in Germany … and Luca.
She forced the thought away, but it kept slipping back in.
A laugh they once shared.
His warmth beside her on cold mornings.
The way he looked at her like she mattered.
It hurt.
God, it hurt.
Her phone buzzed.
[Ye-rin] 6:40 : Are you sure you want to go? I hope you'll be happy with the right man.
The message made her chest tighten. The right man.
Was this arranged partner supposed to be that? Or was it just another cage disguised as a future?
She typed back quickly:
[Seo-in] 6:41 : I don't have a choice…
Painfully true.
While Seo-in packed alone, Ye-rin was nowhere near her apartment. She was in a small coffee shop around the corner—collapsed into Anya's arms, sobbing as though she were the one being sent away.
Anya, the always-cheerful, soft-hearted girl, held her tightly. Tears slipped from beneath both their oversized sunglasses.
"She's really going back to Korea," Ye-rin hiccuped, voice cracking.
Anya rubbed her back. "I know … but she's strong. She'll survive this."
Ye-rin's face crumpled in anger. "She shouldn't have to survive it! She loved him—she did everything for him—and that idiotic midget just threw her away!"
She slammed her fist weakly against her thigh. "I hate him! I hate him so much…"
Anya stroked her hair gently, letting her vent. "Just let it out … just cry. It's okay."
Ye-rin wiped her face with a shaky tissue. "It's not fair … She's the best girl in the world. And he ruined her."