Looking back now, I realize something painful.
I should never have softened my heart for him.
At the time, I saw Junhoo as someone who needed help.
Someone lonely.
Someone struggling.
Someone carrying wounds that looked a little too familiar.
I thought kindness would be enough.
I thought if I treated him with patience and understanding, everything would be okay.
I was wrong.
Life has a strange sense of humor.
Sometimes the people we try hardest to protect become the people who change us forever.
And sometimes, the people we save end up being the ones we need saving from.
Back then, I didn't know any of that.
Back then, this was where the story began.
---
Seven Years Earlier
Junhoo
I've always felt like I was born into the wrong family.
Not because they were bad people.
They weren't.
That was almost the problem.
They were good at everything.
My father was a respected doctor.
My mother was a successful lawyer.
My older brother graduated at the top of his class.
My sister seemed to collect achievements the way other people collected photographs.
Everyone in my family knew exactly where they belonged.
Everyone except me.
I was always the one struggling to keep up.
The one who needed extra help.
The one who disappointed people.
Even when nobody said it out loud.
---
The day the semester results were released, I sat staring at my laptop for nearly twenty minutes.
The numbers didn't change.
No matter how many times I refreshed the page.
No matter how long I looked.
They stayed exactly the same.
And they were terrible.
My GPA had dropped again.
Worse than before.
I'd failed one of my core courses.
Barely passed two others.
And somehow managed to land near the bottom of the department rankings.
For a while, I just sat there.
Numb.
Around me, students celebrated.
Some cheered.
Some hugged their friends.
Others talked excitedly about internships and scholarships.
One group nearby was discussing plans to study abroad.
Everyone seemed to be moving forward.
Everyone except me.
I closed my laptop.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As if moving too quickly might somehow make everything more real.
Unfortunately, it was already real.
---
The worst part wasn't the grades.
It was what came next.
Going home.
Facing my parents.
Seeing the disappointment in my father's eyes.
My father never shouted.
Never lost his temper.
His disappointment was quieter than that.
More controlled.
Which somehow made it worse.
My mother wasn't much different.
She didn't lecture.
Didn't raise her voice.
She simply became quieter.
Colder.
More distant.
As though every bad grade moved me a little farther away from the future she'd imagined for me.
And then there were my siblings.
Perfect without trying.
Successful without effort.
Living proof of everything I wasn't.
I loved them.
I really did.
But sometimes being around them felt like standing beside a mirror that only reflected your failures.
I couldn't face any of it that day.
So I didn't go home.
---
Instead, I walked.
I didn't have a destination.
Didn't have a plan.
I just walked.
Past crowded cafés.
Past office buildings.
Past strangers who didn't know my name.
The city didn't care about my GPA.
It didn't care about my parents' expectations.
It didn't care that I felt like I was falling behind while everyone else moved forward.
And strangely enough, that made breathing easier.
For a little while.
At least until the voice in my head started talking again.
The voice I'd been carrying for years.
You're not good enough.
You're wasting everyone's time.
You're never going to measure up.
I shoved my hands into my pockets.
Kept walking.
Ignored it.
Or tried to.
The problem with those kinds of thoughts is that they don't get quieter when you ignore them.
They get louder.
---
By late afternoon, I had no idea where I was.
The city had become a blur.
Traffic lights.
Store signs.
Passing faces.
Everything melted together.
I crossed streets without paying attention.
Turned corners without remembering why.
My body moved while my mind stayed trapped somewhere else.
Lost inside old fears.
Old failures.
Old disappointments.
Then something caught my attention.
A man standing near the edge of the road.
At first, there was nothing remarkable about him.
He wasn't doing anything unusual.
He wasn't causing a scene.
He was simply standing there.
But there was something about the way he looked.
The way his shoulders sagged slightly.
The exhaustion written across his face.
The distant expression in his eyes.
It made me slow down.
Because I knew that look.
Not his face.
Just the look.
The look of someone carrying too much.
The look of someone trying to survive a day that had already taken more than it should have.
The look of someone who felt alone.
I knew it because I'd seen it before.
Every morning.
Every night.
Every time I looked into a mirror.
I didn't recognize his face yet.
But something about him made me stop.