A Taste of Healing

The ride back was quiet, the cool night air brushing against Jinsol’s skin as she focused on the road ahead. Yoona sat behind her, holding on a little more comfortably than before, but Jinsol could still feel the slight hesitation in her grip.

The town was calmer at this hour, the streets mostly empty except for a few distant figures finishing their late errands. The only sounds were the occasional hum of cicadas and the steady purr of Jinsol’s scooter.

But her mind wasn’t on the road.

It was on something Yoona had said earlier.

"Do you ever think about leaving?"

At the time, Jinsol had answered without much thought. No, this is home.

And it was home.

But now, as the question replayed in her mind, she found herself thinking about it differently.

She had lived in this town her entire life. Woke up to the same salty breeze, rode the same streets, knew every corner and every face that passed by. She had learned how to cook in the very kitchen she still worked in, taking over what her family had built.

But had she ever truly considered leaving?

Her food was good—great, even. She had heard it enough times from customers, from tourists who passed through and told her she could make it big somewhere else. There were nights she lay in bed, scrolling through articles about chefs who started with a small restaurant and ended up running a chain, appearing on TV, making names for themselves.

She could picture it—her food in a sleek, modern restaurant in a bustling city. More customers, more recognition, more possibilities.

But when she tried to imagine herself in that picture, something always felt… off.

She tightened her grip on the handle.

Jinsol had never been the type to chase after something just because it was bigger. She liked the life she had now—the familiarity, the way people called out to her as she passed by, the way she could step out of her kitchen and see the ocean stretching endlessly in front of her.

If she left, what would she be chasing? More success? More money? Would it be worth losing the simple joy of this—watching Jiwoo complain about deliveries, seeing the old men play board games outside the restaurant, hearing her mother gossip about the customers over dinner?

And now, there was Yoona.

Jinsol wasn’t sure what Yoona was to her yet, but the idea of leaving suddenly felt even harder to picture.

She exhaled, shaking her head slightly.

Maybe she didn’t have all the answers right now. Maybe she didn’t need to.

But as she slowed to a stop in front of Yoona’s place, she knew one thing for sure—

She wasn’t in a rush to leave.

—

The lunch rush had just started to die down when Jinsol finally stepped out of the kitchen, rolling her stiff shoulders. The air inside Sol’s Table was still filled with the rich aroma of grilled fish, garlic butter shrimp, and warm rice. The chatter of satisfied customers mixed with the occasional clang of dishes in the sink.

She grabbed a glass of water and took a slow sip, letting herself breathe. It had been another busy day, but that was normal. She liked the flow of it—prepping ingredients in the morning, working through orders, and watching people enjoy her food.

But as she scanned the dining area, her eyes landed on someone she didn’t recognize.

A man in his late forties, maybe early fifties, sat alone at a corner table. He was dressed sharply but not overly formal—just enough to stand out in a place like this. He ate slowly, methodically, taking small bites as if analyzing each flavor.

Jinsol knew the way people ate. There were the regulars, the tourists, the ones in a hurry, and the ones who just wanted to sit and enjoy. But this man? He was different.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed. Jiwoo, who had just returned from a delivery, leaned in close and whispered, “That guy’s been sitting there for almost an hour. He ordered three different dishes. And he wrote stuff down.”

Jinsol raised an eyebrow. “Wrote stuff down?”

Jiwoo nodded. “Yeah. Like a real critic. You think he’s—”

Before she could finish, the man raised a hand slightly, signaling for someone.

Jinsol exhaled, setting her glass down. “Guess I’ll find out.”

She made her way over, adjusting the strap of her apron. “Was everything to your liking?”

The man looked up at her, a small smile on his lips. “More than just ‘to my liking.’ This was exceptional.”

Jinsol blinked, caught slightly off guard.

The man wiped his mouth with his napkin before extending a hand. “I’m Kang Doyun. I write for The Culinary Scene and consult for high-end restaurants. I’ve eaten in some of the best seafood places in Korea.” He gestured to his now-empty plate. “And I can confidently say, this is among them.”

Jinsol hesitated before shaking his hand. “Bae Jinsol. Chef and owner.”

Doyun’s smile widened. “It’s a pleasure, Chef Bae. I came here on a recommendation, and I have to say—I didn’t expect to find food of this quality in a small-town restaurant.”

Jinsol wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or a little offended. “I take pride in my food, no matter where it’s served.”

He chuckled. “And it shows. That’s exactly why I want to offer you something.”

Jinsol narrowed her eyes slightly. “What kind of offer?”

Doyun leaned forward slightly. “There’s a new high-end restaurant opening in Seoul, backed by investors who want the best of the best. I have connections there, and after tasting your food, I think you could be that. I’m talking about a real opportunity—your own kitchen, a larger team, and an audience that appreciates fine dining. The kind of place where your name could mean something in the culinary world.”

Jinsol felt the words settle in her chest, heavy and unexpected.

A restaurant in Seoul. A bigger stage. A chance to take everything she had worked for and bring it to a whole new level.

It was the kind of offer chefs dreamed about.

And yet…

She glanced around her restaurant—the slightly worn wooden tables, the open kitchen where she could see her staff moving, the laughter of customers she had known for years. The ocean breeze drifted in through the windows, carrying with it the scent of salt and home.

Doyun must have noticed her hesitation because he leaned back, giving her a thoughtful look. “I can see you love this place. And I respect that. But Chef Bae, talent like yours deserves to be recognized. Don’t you want more than this?”

Jinsol opened her mouth, then closed it.

Because she didn’t know how to answer.

Not yet.

Jinsol gripped the edge of the chair across from Kang Doyun, her mind still racing from the offer he had just laid before her. A restaurant in Seoul. A bigger kitchen, a larger audience—a whole new life.

But was that really what she wanted?

She exhaled, crossing her arms. “I appreciate the offer. Really. But I can’t give you an answer right now.”

Doyun nodded, as if he had expected that. “I figured as much. It’s a big decision.” He pulled out a small card from his pocket and placed it on the table. “Take your time, Chef Bae. You have two months to think it over. I’ll be back then for your answer.”

Two months.

Jinsol picked up the card, running her thumb over the smooth surface. The name of a high-end restaurant in Seoul was printed on it, along with Doyun’s personal contact information.

She glanced up at him. “And if I say no?”

Doyun smiled slightly, pushing back his chair as he stood. “Then I’ll respect it. But just know—opportunities like this don’t come around often.”

Jinsol didn’t respond, just watched as he gave her one last nod before heading toward the door. Jiwoo, who had been not-so-subtly eavesdropping, quickly ducked behind the counter as he passed by.

The moment the door shut behind him, Jiwoo popped back up. “Okay—what was that?!”

Jinsol let out a long breath, tossing the business card onto the table. “Apparently, my food is good enough to impress a critic.”

Jiwoo gaped. “No way. Wait—was he offering you, like, a real chef position?”

Jinsol nodded, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah. A new restaurant in Seoul. My own kitchen. A chance to be part of something bigger.”

Jiwoo’s eyes widened. “That’s huge.”

Jinsol leaned against the table, staring down at the card. “Yeah.”

Jiwoo studied her for a moment before lowering her voice. “So… are you gonna take it?”

Jinsol didn’t answer right away. Instead, she let her gaze drift toward the open window, where the ocean stretched endlessly beyond the town.

“I don’t know yet.”

She had two months to figure it out.

But somehow, she already knew—this wasn’t going to be an easy decision.

—

Yoona stretched her arms above her head, letting out a small sigh as she stood by her house window. The morning sun painted the town in warm hues, casting long, golden streaks over the rooftops. The scent of saltwater mixed with the aroma of freshly baked bread from the small bakery down the street, where the elderly owner, Mrs. Nam, had already started selling her morning pastries.

She loved waking up to this.

It was a far cry from the life she had before—the constant noise of car horns, the blaring of sirens, the rush of people always in a hurry. Here, life moved at a different pace. Slower, yes, but in a way that made her feel like she could finally breathe.

A scooter passed by, its familiar hum echoing through the quiet street. Probably someone heading to the market. She could already picture it—the vendors setting up their stalls, calling out their fresh catch of the day, the sound of bargaining mixed with laughter.

She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but this town—this life—had become hers.

At first, she had worried about feeling like an outsider. She was a city girl through and through, used to the structured chaos of hospitals in Seoul, where patients came and went like clockwork, where her life had been reduced to a series of shifts and exhaustion. Here, things were different.

She still worked hard, still poured herself into her patients, but there was a gentleness to it now. A sense of connection.

She had learned the names of her regular patients, the small quirks that made them unique. Mrs. Park, who always complained about her knee but never missed an opportunity to gossip. Mr. Choi, who pretended to hate hospital visits but stayed longer than necessary just to chat. And of course, the elderly women who took it upon themselves to discuss her love life whenever they could.

She groaned at the memory of her last patient’s teasing.

"You’re Jinsol’s girlfriend, right?"

"I—what? No! Who told you that?"

"Oh, everyone knows. You young people think we don’t notice things, but we do."

The nurse standing beside her had barely been able to hold back a laugh.

Yoona had tried to brush it off, but truthfully, the more she heard it, the harder it became to ignore.

It wasn’t just the town that had grown on her.

It was the warmth of Sol’s Table, the way Jinsol always looked completely at home in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, focused on her craft. It was the way Jiwoo teased her, the way she could slip into easy conversation with the two of them like she had always belonged.

It was the quiet moments—when she sat at a table after hours, watching Jinsol close up, when their conversations were short but lingering, when she could feel the edges of something unspoken settling between them.

She shook her head, pulling herself away from the window.

This was her home now. She had found comfort here, a rhythm that fit her in ways she never expected.

And maybe, just maybe, she had started to picture something more.

But what she didn’t know—what she couldn’t know—was that on the other side of town, Jinsol sat at her restaurant, staring down at a business card.

An offer to leave.

An opportunity that could change everything.

And Yoona had no idea.

—

Jinsol sat at the kitchen table, staring at the small business card between her fingers. The gold lettering reflected the light from the ceiling, bold and unmistakable. Kang Doyun. The Culinary Scene. Seoul.

She had been holding onto it for two days now, turning it over in her palm, thinking about what it meant.

She hadn’t told anyone yet. Not Jiwoo, not the staff, not even Yoona.

But tonight, as she sat at home, the smell of her mother’s tea filling the air, she figured it was time.

Across from her, her mother poured herself another cup, humming softly. She looked content, as always, in her simple home—the same home Jinsol had grown up in. The walls had been repainted last year, but they still held the same warmth.

Taking a deep breath, Jinsol set the card down on the table.

“Mom.”

Her mother looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Jinsol hesitated. “I got an offer. From a food critic.”

The older woman blinked. “A food critic?”

Jinsol nodded. “He came to the restaurant the other day. Said my cooking was exceptional.”

Her mother let out a pleased hum. “Of course, it is. Anyone with taste buds would know that.”

Jinsol huffed a small laugh before continuing. “He works with investors in Seoul. They’re opening a new high-end restaurant, and he wants me to be the head chef.”

For a moment, her mother just stared. And then, her face lit up in a way Jinsol hadn’t expected.

“Seoul?” she repeated, her voice filled with excitement. “You mean—a real restaurant? With a bigger kitchen? More customers? Jinsol, this is amazing!”

Jinsol leaned back, watching as her mother clasped her hands together, practically beaming.

“You have to accept,” she continued, already talking as if the decision had been made. “This is exactly the kind of opportunity I always knew you’d get. Imagine—my daughter, a chef in Seoul! You’ll be famous! People will line up just to eat your food!”

Jinsol pressed her lips together, unsure how to respond. She had expected curiosity, maybe some questions, but not this level of enthusiasm.

Her mother reached for her hands, squeezing them tightly. “Jinsol, this is your chance. You work so hard every day in that small restaurant, but think about what you could do in a bigger place. Imagine how much more successful you could be.”

Jinsol swallowed, staring at the steam rising from her untouched tea.

It was a great opportunity.

But why did it feel like something was holding her back?

Her mother squeezed her hands again, voice softer this time. “You deserve this, Sol-ah. You’ve always been talented. Don’t waste it.”

Jinsol forced a small smile. “I told him I’d think about it. He’s giving me two months.”

Her mother nodded, eyes shining. “Good. But really, what is there to think about? This is your dream, isn’t it?”

Jinsol opened her mouth, but for some reason, the words didn’t come out.

Because the truth was—she wasn’t sure anymore.

—

The sound of the kitchen filled the air—oil sizzling in pans, the rhythmic chop of a knife against the cutting board, the faint murmur of customers chatting in the dining area. It was just another evening at Sol’s Table, another night of cooking, another familiar presence in the restaurant.

Yoona.

Jinsol glanced up from the stove, spotting her at her usual table near the window, flipping through a book in between bites of her meal. It had become a routine now—Yoona stopping by whenever she had time, sometimes after her shift, sometimes just to grab a quick bite before heading home.

Everything between them was casual. Comfortable.

But the longer Jinsol stood there, stirring the pot absentmindedly, the more she realized that something felt different.

Or maybe, it was just her that felt different.

She hadn’t told Yoona about the offer. She had told Jiwoo, who had nearly dropped a tray of dishes in shock. She had told her mother, who had been ecstatic.

But Yoona?

She hadn’t even brought it up once.

And as she thought about it, she questioned why she should tell her.

Yoona wasn’t her family. Yoona wasn’t her business partner.

She was… what, exactly? A friend? A regular customer?

Sure, they had grown close over the past few months, but that didn’t mean she owed her anything. This was her decision, her future.

So why did it feel like she was keeping a secret?

Jinsol sighed, shaking off the thought as she plated a dish. She walked over to Yoona’s table, setting down a fresh plate of grilled fish without a word.

Yoona looked up, surprised. “I didn’t order this.”

Jinsol smirked, crossing her arms. “I know. You looked like you needed something better than that sad excuse for a sandwich.”

Yoona glanced at the half-eaten sandwich on her plate and laughed. “Okay, fair.” She picked up her chopsticks, taking a bite. Her eyes widened slightly. “This is really good.”

Jinsol huffed. “Obviously.”

Yoona chuckled before looking at her. “You seem distracted today. Everything okay?”

Jinsol hesitated for a fraction of a second before shrugging. “Just busy.”

Yoona didn’t pry, just nodded as she took another bite.

And just like that, the moment passed. The conversation stayed easy, their dynamic unchanged.

Jinsol sat across from her, stealing a piece of fish from the plate she had just gifted her, listening as Yoona talked about her patients and their endless gossip.

For now, things were the same.

And maybe that was why she wasn’t saying anything.

Because the moment she did… everything might change.

—

At first, Yoona didn’t think much of it.

Jinsol had always been a little reserved, never one for excessive conversation. She was the type to let her food do the talking—focused in the kitchen, efficient with her words, always moving with purpose. So when their usual conversations became shorter, when Jinsol’s usual teasing remarks faded into polite nods, it didn’t immediately stand out.

But then, Yoona started noticing the small things.

Jinsol no longer sat with her after closing. She stayed in the kitchen longer, only stepping out when absolutely necessary. When she did, it was brief—dropping off a dish, checking on something, disappearing before Yoona could say much.

It wasn’t rudeness. It wasn’t coldness.

It was just… distance.

And it didn’t seem like anyone else noticed.

Jiwoo still joked around, the staff still worked as usual, the restaurant still bustled with its usual energy. Everything seemed the same.

But Yoona could feel the shift.

She could feel it in the way Jinsol no longer looked at her for too long, how their easy rhythm had turned into something more careful, how the space between them—once unspoken but comfortable—felt deliberate now.

Yoona tried to brush it off at first. Maybe Jinsol was just exhausted. Running a restaurant wasn’t easy. Maybe it was stress, or maybe she just needed some time.

But the more it happened, the more it started to gnaw at her.

One evening, after her shift at the hospital, Yoona stopped by the restaurant like usual.

It was late, the dinner rush over, only a few lingering customers finishing up their meals. Jiwoo had already left for deliveries, and the other staff members were cleaning up.

Jinsol stood behind the counter, focused on writing something in a small notebook—probably supply orders.

Yoona hesitated for a second before walking over, clearing her throat lightly. “Hey.”

Jinsol glanced up, giving a small nod. “Hey.”

She didn’t ask how her shift went. She didn’t make any casual remarks.

Yoona frowned slightly but pressed on. “I feel like I haven’t really talked to you in a while.” She forced a small chuckle. “Did I do something to annoy you?”

Jinsol blinked, looking at her for a brief second before shaking her head. “No. You didn’t do anything.”

There was something unreadable in her expression—calm, composed, but distant in a way Yoona couldn’t quite place.

Before she could push further, Jinsol glanced toward the kitchen.

“I should finish up the prep for tomorrow.”

And just like that, she turned and walked away, disappearing through the kitchen doors before Yoona could get another word in.

Yoona stared after her, a strange heaviness settling in her chest.

It wasn’t her imagination.

Something had changed.

And the worst part was—she had no idea why.

—

The hospital had its own rhythm—steady, predictable, always buzzing with conversations. Yoona had grown used to it, especially the daily gossip that traveled faster than any medical report.

Most of it was harmless—who had started dating whom, whose grandchild got into a prestigious university, what the best fishing spots were that week.

Sometimes, when she had the time, she’d listen. The older women, in particular, loved it when she joined in, nodding along or adding a casual remark here and there. Other times, she let the noise fade into the background, focusing on her patients, half-listening but never truly engaging.

Today felt like one of those days—busy but routine.

She had just finished checking in on a patient when she walked past the nurses’ station, flipping through a clipboard. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and tea, a comforting mix she had come to associate with the quieter moments in the hospital.

That was when she heard her name.

Not hers. Jinsol’s.

“I heard she’s leaving.”

Yoona’s steps slowed.

“Really? You mean Jinsol?” another woman responded, her voice full of curiosity.

“Yes! My nephew’s wife told me. She said a well-known food critic came to her restaurant and offered her a big opportunity in Seoul.”

Yoona’s grip on the clipboard tightened.

Seoul?

The voices continued, unaware of the way her stomach suddenly twisted.

“I always knew that girl had talent,” one of the women said proudly. “It’s only natural she’d get a chance like this.”

“But what about her restaurant here?” another woman asked. “Will she close it?”

“I don’t know. My nephew’s wife said she hasn’t decided yet, but if she’s smart, she’ll take it. That kind of opportunity doesn’t come twice.”

Yoona stared at the clipboard in her hands, but the words blurred together.

Jinsol never told me.

The realization hit harder than it should have.

It wasn’t like she expected to know everything about Jinsol’s life. They weren’t family. They weren’t business partners.

But they were… something.

And yet, here she was, overhearing it from town gossip instead of hearing it from Jinsol herself.

“Dr. Seol?”

Yoona blinked, snapping back to reality. One of the nurses was looking at her with amusement. “You look like you just heard something shocking.”

Yoona forced a small smile. “I didn’t know about that.” Her voice came out quieter than she expected.

The nurse shrugged, taking a sip of her tea. “Well, it’s been floating around for a few days now. You know how this town is—nothing stays a secret for long.”

Yoona let out a breathy laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Because somehow, she had been the last to know.

And that… didn’t sit right.

The hospital hallways were quieter in the evening, the usual daytime chaos settling into a lull. Yoona finished up her last few notes, signed off on a patient chart, and finally stepped outside. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of the ocean, and the sky was painted in warm shades of yellow and orange, the sun beginning its descent toward the water.

She walked slowly.

She could have taken her usual route, brisk and efficient, but tonight, she didn’t feel like rushing. Instead, she let her feet move at their own pace, her thoughts drifting as she gazed up at the golden sky.

But no matter how much she tried to focus on the scenery, her mind kept circling back to her.

Jinsol.

She had spent the entire day trying to ignore the conversation she had overheard. Trying to convince herself that it wasn’t a big deal, that it wasn’t her business.

But no matter how much she tried to push it away, it clung to her.

The idea of Jinsol leaving.

She thought about the restaurant—Sol’s Table—always bustling, always filled with warmth. She thought about the way Jinsol moved in the kitchen, confident and sure, the way she focused completely on her craft. She thought about how natural she looked behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, tasting broth with a quiet satisfaction before serving it.

Yoona had never once imagined Jinsol anywhere else.

She knew Jinsol was talented. She had always known. It made sense that someone had noticed, that an opportunity had come knocking.

But the thought of her taking it—of not being here, of the restaurant closing, of the town without her presence—made something uneasy settle deep in Yoona’s chest.

Why did she feel like that?

It wasn’t as if Jinsol was hers to lose.

They weren’t—

Yoona exhaled, stopping briefly on the sidewalk.

The sun was dipping lower, casting a soft glow on the ocean’s surface.

She wanted to be happy for her. If this was Jinsol’s dream, shouldn’t she support it?

But then why… did it feel like something was slipping through her fingers before she even had the chance to hold it?

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

The restaurant was just ahead now, the lights inside glowing warmly.

For the first time in a long while, Yoona hesitated before stepping inside.

Yoona pushed open the door to Sol’s Table, the familiar warmth of the restaurant wrapping around her. The scent of grilled fish and simmering broth lingered in the air, comforting and familiar. But tonight, it didn’t bring her the same ease.

Jinsol was behind the counter, focused on plating a dish. She looked up when the door chime rang, her eyes briefly meeting Yoona’s before she gave a small nod.

“Hey.”

Yoona swallowed, stepping further inside. The restaurant wasn’t as busy now, just a few lingering customers finishing their meals. Jiwoo was by the door, tying up her apron, getting ready for a delivery run.

Normally, Yoona would slip into her usual seat, wait for Jinsol to come by, and let the night pass in easy conversation. But tonight, the weight in her chest made it impossible to pretend like nothing was wrong.

She had walked here with one thought in her mind.

She needed to hear it from Jinsol herself.

Yoona took a slow breath. “Are you… leaving?”

Her voice was softer than usual, but it cut through the air between them.

Jinsol’s hands, which had been carefully arranging food on a plate, froze for just a second.

Then, just as quickly, she resumed her task, as if she hadn’t been caught off guard. “Who told you that?”

Yoona let out a small, breathless laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Everyone, apparently.”

Jinsol didn’t answer right away. She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, sighing quietly before finally looking at Yoona.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Yoona felt something twist inside her.

She had known the answer before she asked, but hearing it from Jinsol herself made it real in a way that gossip never could.

And the worst part?

She was the last person to know.

The entire town had been talking about it for days. The elders at the hospital, the nurses, probably even the people who came here to eat every night.

But not once had Jinsol told her.

Not even a hint.

She thought back to the past few weeks—how Jinsol had been quieter, how she had subtly distanced herself, slipping into the kitchen before Yoona could start a conversation, avoiding lingering in their usual comfortable silences.

At first, Yoona had brushed it off, thinking maybe Jinsol was just tired. Running a restaurant was exhausting, after all.

But now, she saw it for what it was.

Jinsol had been keeping this from her.

And Yoona didn’t know why that hurt more than it should.

She exhaled slowly, nodding. “I see.”

Jinsol watched her, as if waiting for her to say something else.

But Yoona didn’t know what to say.

So instead, she offered a small, tired smile. “You should get back to work.”

And before Jinsol could say anything, Yoona turned away, walking toward an empty table.

The restaurant felt a little colder that night.

And no matter how much she tried, the food didn’t taste the same.

The quiet between them wasn’t unusual.

But tonight, it felt different.

Yoona sat at her usual table, but there was no warmth in the routine. Her chopsticks moved mechanically, picking at the food in front of her, but her mind wasn’t on the meal. The flavors, usually comforting, were muted, dull.

Jinsol was in the kitchen, moving with practiced efficiency. She wasn’t avoiding her work—if anything, she was more focused than usual, keeping herself busy, making sure there was always something to do.

Neither of them spoke.

It wasn’t an angry silence, nor was it awkward. It was just… there. A weight that neither of them could lift.

Yoona wanted to say something.

Maybe ask why Jinsol hadn’t told her. Maybe ask if she had already made up her mind. Maybe ask if she had ever planned to say anything at all.

But the words stayed lodged in her throat.

Instead, she ate quietly, her eyes flickering toward the kitchen every now and then. Jinsol never once looked her way.

Jinsol, too, was thinking.

She knew Yoona wasn’t eating the way she usually did. Knew that she was just going through the motions, not really tasting anything.

She wanted to say something.

Maybe explain why she hadn’t told her. Maybe say that she wasn’t avoiding her on purpose. Maybe admit that she had been afraid of what Yoona’s reaction would be.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she focused on the flames, the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board, the comfort of a familiar routine.

Outside, the town was quiet, the occasional sound of footsteps passing by. The soft hum of the refrigerator, the distant chatter of a couple finishing their meal—those were the only sounds that filled the space between them.

Yoona finished her meal, setting her chopsticks down gently. She didn’t linger like she usually did.

Jinsol heard the soft scrape of the chair against the floor, but she didn’t turn around.

Yoona didn’t say goodnight.

And for the first time, Jinsol didn’t walk her to the door.

But even as Yoona stepped outside, even as the door closed behind her, even as she walked down the quiet street toward her home—

She was still thinking about Jinsol.

And in the kitchen, Jinsol let out a slow breath, staring at the dish she had been washing for the past five minutes.

She was still thinking about Yoona too.

Yoona walked quietly, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat as the night stretched around her. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of salt from the ocean. Normally, she found comfort in the peacefulness of this town at night—the soft glow of streetlights, the distant waves crashing against the shore, the occasional murmur of a late-night conversation from a passing home.

But tonight, her mind was too restless.

She replayed the evening over and over—the quiet tension at dinner, the way Jinsol kept herself busy in the kitchen, the way Yoona couldn’t bring herself to say what she really wanted to say.

The weight of it sat heavy in her chest.

Did it even matter now?

Jinsol hadn’t told her about the offer. She hadn’t told anyone directly, and yet somehow, the entire town knew before Yoona did. That part shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did.

Why?

Why hadn’t Jinsol said anything?

Yoona exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. Maybe she was overthinking this. Maybe Jinsol hadn’t decided yet, like she said. Maybe this wasn’t something she even needed to worry about.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling.

And just as she was about to sink deeper into those thoughts—

“DOCTOR SEOLLLLLL!!!”

Yoona flinched so hard she nearly tripped over her own feet.

A cartoonishly loud voice echoed from behind her, bouncing off the quiet streets like an explosion in the stillness.

A second later, the sound of hurried footsteps grew closer, followed by the unmistakable sight of Kim Jiwoo practically sprinting down the sidewalk, flailing her arms like she was being chased by a ghost.

Yoona turned just in time to see Jiwoo skid to a dramatic stop right beside her, gasping for breath.

“Finally—” Jiwoo wheezed, hunched over, hands on her knees. “Do you… have any idea… how long I’ve been yelling for you?”

Yoona stared at her, still processing the fact that she had just screamed across town like that.

“…Why are you running?”

Jiwoo straightened, taking an exaggerated breath before flashing a grin. “Because you ignored me!”

Yoona blinked. “I didn’t ignore you. I didn’t hear you.”

Jiwoo squinted at her. “My voice is literally impossible to ignore.”

Yoona sighed. “I guess you have a point.”

“I know I do.” Jiwoo smirked, then tilted her head. “But seriously, why were you walking like that?”

“Like what?”

Jiwoo wriggled her fingers in the air. “Like all broody and moody. You looked like one of those sad drama leads who just found out their love interest is moving away.”

Yoona stiffened.

Jiwoo gasped loudly, her eyes lighting up like she had just cracked a case. “WAIT—”

“No,” Yoona cut in immediately.

“You and Jinsol—”

“Nothing happened,” Yoona said flatly.

Jiwoo clutched her chest, looking way too entertained. “That is something! You’re so bad at lying.”

Yoona groaned, rubbing her temples. “I never said anything happened.”

“But your face did.” Jiwoo wiggled her eyebrows. “What, did she confess her undying love for you? Did you guys almost kiss in the kitchen? Did she whisper something mysterious before dramatically walking away?”

Yoona gave her a deadpan stare. “Are you writing a drama in your head right now?”

“Maybe,” Jiwoo admitted, grinning.

Yoona sighed, already regretting stopping for this conversation. She resumed walking, hoping that would end it.

But, of course, Jiwoo easily caught up.

“Well, whatever happened, I’m sure it’ll work out,” Jiwoo said, her voice suddenly a little softer, a little less teasing. “You and Jinsol are both weirdos who care about each other. So… yeah.”

Yoona glanced at her, surprised by the unexpected sincerity. “That’s… surprisingly wise of you.”

Jiwoo grinned. “I am wise. Just in an adorable way.”

Yoona huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

For the first time that night, she felt a little lighter.

Jinsol wiped down the last table, her movements slower than usual. The restaurant was empty now, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the wooden floor beneath her feet. The day had ended, but instead of the usual satisfaction that came with closing up, an odd, restless feeling settled in her chest.

She should be thinking about the offer.

A chance to open a restaurant in Seoul, to grow beyond this small-town kitchen, to finally see what she was capable of outside these familiar streets. Any other chef would have jumped at the opportunity.

But instead, she was thinking about her.

Yoona.

The way she had looked at her tonight—confused, hurt, as if she wasn’t sure whether to be angry or just disappointed. The way her voice had sounded—soft, careful, different—when she asked if Jinsol was really leaving.

The worst part was knowing that Yoona had been the last to find out.

Jinsol clenched her jaw, gripping the rag in her hand tightly before tossing it onto the counter.

She hated this.

She hated how much space Yoona took up in her mind. How her name lingered in the quiet, how every little thing about her made Jinsol hesitate in a way she never used to.

They weren’t even a thing.

They were just friends.

So why did it feel like this?

Before she could sink any deeper into her thoughts, the sound of the door creaking open startled her.

“Restaurant’s closed,” Jinsol said automatically, not even looking up.

“Well, that’s a cold welcome.”

Jinsol turned and saw Nurse Kyujin standing by the entrance, her arms crossed as she scanned the empty restaurant.

Kyujin, one of the nurses from the hospital, was a regular here. She usually came by with other staff members for late dinners or grabbed takeout on her way home from a shift. Tonight, though, she was alone.

“I was just passing by and saw the lights still on,” Kyujin said, stepping further inside. “Thought I’d drop in and say hi.”

Jinsol forced a small, tired smirk. “Hi.”

Kyujin raised an eyebrow. “Wow. That was the gloomiest ‘hi’ I’ve ever heard.”

Jinsol shook her head, turning back to the counter. “I’m just tired.”

Kyujin hummed, unconvinced. “No offense, but you look miserable.”

Jinsol scoffed. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. What’s wrong?”

Jinsol hesitated, gripping the edge of the counter. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

Kyujin leaned against the counter, eyeing her carefully. “Is it about that Seoul offer?”

Jinsol tensed slightly. “You know about that?”

“Of course I do. The town’s been buzzing about it ever since that food critic showed up.” Kyujin smirked. “You think you can keep anything quiet around here?”

Jinsol sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Apparently not.”

Kyujin studied her for a moment, then said, “Then why do you look like someone just told you your restaurant’s burning down?”

Jinsol scoffed again, but this time, it was hollow.

She wanted to say it was just the pressure of making such a big decision. That she was weighing the pros and cons, thinking about the risks.

But the truth was, she wasn’t thinking about any of that.

She was thinking about Yoona.

The way she had walked into the restaurant tonight, the way she had asked that question so slowly, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

Jinsol hadn’t even realized how much it would bother her to see that look on Yoona’s face.

Kyujin must have noticed something shift in her expression, because she suddenly smirked. “Oh.”

Jinsol frowned. “What?”

“Ohhhhh,” Kyujin repeated, dragging out the sound like she had just made a realization.

Jinsol narrowed her eyes. “What now?”

Kyujin grinned. “This isn’t just about Seoul, is it?”

Jinsol didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Kyujin laughed, shaking her head. “Wow. You’re really suffering right now.”

Jinsol groaned. “Are you gonna help or just stand there and make fun of me?”

Kyujin pretended to think. “Mm. I think I’ll do both.”

Jinsol rolled her eyes and grabbed the rag again, wiping the counter just to do something.

Kyujin watched her for a moment, then said, “For what it’s worth… if this decision is stressing you out this much, maybe it’s not just about the offer. Maybe you need to figure out why you’re hesitating.”

Jinsol’s hand slowed against the counter.

Kyujin smiled knowingly. “Just a thought.”

With that, she gave Jinsol a pat on the shoulder and turned to leave.

As the door swung shut behind her, Jinsol stood in the empty restaurant, gripping the rag tightly.

She should be thinking about the offer.

But all she could think about was Yoona.

And she hated it.

—

Yoona sat in the break room, staring at the steam rising from her coffee. It had been a long day, filled with endless patient rounds and the usual chatter from the hospital staff. But despite how busy she was, her mind kept drifting back to the same person.

Jinsol.

Even now, as she sat alone, she could hear the whispers in the halls, the same gossip she had been trying to ignore for days. Everyone seemed to know about Jinsol’s offer. Everyone except her—until she found out the way she didn’t want to.

It shouldn’t hurt, but it did.

A sudden knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts.

Dr. Park Jihoon stood there, smiling, hands tucked into his coat pockets.

“Hey, Dr. Seol,” he greeted smoothly. “Got a minute?”

Yoona exhaled quietly, forcing a polite smile. “Sure.”

Jihoon stepped inside, leaning against the counter. “Busy day, huh?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, taking another sip of her coffee.

He watched her for a moment, then chuckled. “You always look deep in thought when I see you.”

Yoona glanced at him. “Maybe I just think a lot.”

“Must be about something important.” Jihoon tilted his head, studying her. “Or… someone?”

Yoona stiffened slightly but quickly masked it. “What do you need, Dr. Park?”

Jihoon grinned. “Alright, I’ll get to the point.” He straightened up. “Come have dinner with me.”

Yoona sighed, setting her cup down. “Again?”

He laughed. “You say that like I haven’t asked at least five times already.”

“You haven’t,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s probably more than five.”

“And every single time, you reject me.” Jihoon smirked. “But I have a good feeling about today.”

Yoona opened her mouth, ready to turn him down like she always did.

But then, she hesitated.

Because for once, she didn’t want to be alone.

For once, she didn’t want to spend the evening overthinking Jinsol—thinking about how distant she’d been, how quiet their dinners had become, how she hadn’t even told Yoona about the offer herself.

Maybe Jihoon wasn’t a bad idea.

Maybe someone else could make her feel less sad about Jinsol leaving.

She took a slow breath, then met Jihoon’s expectant gaze.

“Fine,” she said.

Jihoon blinked, as if he hadn’t actually expected her to say yes. “Wait… really?”

Yoona nodded, standing up. “One dinner. That’s it.”

A wide grin spread across his face. “That’s all I need.”

As he left, excitedly talking about where they should go, Yoona watched him, wondering if this was the right decision.

No.

She knew it wasn’t.

But right now, she just wanted to stop thinking about her.

Yoona hadn’t expected to enjoy herself.

She thought dinner with Jihoon would be a simple meal, a brief distraction from the weight pressing on her chest. She thought she would sit there, eat politely, exchange small talk, and then go home, still thinking about Jinsol.

But she had fun.

Jihoon was easy to be around—lighthearted, effortlessly charming, and full of stories that made her laugh more than she expected to. He didn’t push, didn’t try to make the night something it wasn’t. He had promised it was just dinner, and he kept his word.

Or at least, that’s how it started.

Now, they were walking through town, the cool night air crisp against their skin. The streets were quieter at this hour, most shops already closed, but the warmth of the streetlights made everything feel alive.

Jihoon had his hands in his pockets, looking relaxed. “Okay, be honest,” he said, turning to her. “This was better than you expected, wasn’t it?”

Yoona sighed, shaking her head with a small smile. “Maybe.”

Jihoon gasped dramatically. “Maybe? I made you laugh at least ten times. You should be grateful for my presence.”

Yoona chuckled, rolling her eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“I prefer confident,” Jihoon corrected.

She shook her head again but didn’t stop smiling.

They walked a little slower, the sound of the ocean in the distance mixing with the quiet hum of the town. Yoona had lived here long enough to recognize most of the streets now, to know which shops would open earliest and which restaurants stayed open late. It had become familiar—comfortable.

But tonight, something about it felt different.

Maybe because, for the first time in a while, she wasn’t lost in her own head.

She wasn’t thinking about Jinsol’s offer, about how she had been the last to know, about the strange ache in her chest every time she saw Jinsol avoiding her.

Right now, she was here, walking through town with someone who made her laugh, who made her feel something other than frustration and confusion.

Jihoon suddenly stopped in front of a small convenience store. “Hold on,” he said, grinning. “We have to get ice cream.”

Yoona raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because ice cream is the perfect way to end a good night,” Jihoon said matter-of-factly. “Also, I have a weirdly strong craving for it right now.”

Yoona snorted. “Fine.”

A few minutes later, they were back outside, each holding a cup of ice cream. Jihoon had chosen chocolate, while Yoona had gone for vanilla with a drizzle of caramel.

They sat on a bench, quietly eating as the town lights flickered around them.

Jihoon looked over at her after a moment. “You seem less… tense now.”

Yoona paused, glancing at him. “Was I tense before?”

“A little,” he admitted. “But I get it. You’ve been dealing with a lot lately.”

Yoona hummed in response, scooping another bite of ice cream. She didn’t want to bring up Jinsol. Didn’t want to ruin the moment.

Jihoon didn’t push.

Instead, he leaned back against the bench, stretching his legs out. “You know, I was really expecting you to say no again.”

Yoona smirked. “I almost did.”

Jihoon placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Wow. And here I thought we had something special.”

Yoona laughed, shaking her head.

It was easy with him.

Maybe not effortless, but easy.

And right now, she needed easy.

As they sat there, ice cream slowly melting in their cups, the night felt just a little lighter than before.

For the first time in days, Yoona wasn’t thinking about Jinsol.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

A month had passed.

Yoona hadn’t planned on changing her routine. It had just happened.

At first, it was small things—Jihoon inviting her for a quick meal after a long shift, convincing her to take a detour through town before heading home. But before she knew it, her days started revolving around his presence.

At the hospital, he was always around. He had a way of making work feel lighter, easing the tension of difficult cases with his ridiculous jokes and over-the-top antics. Whenever she was exhausted, he somehow managed to pull her out of it, nudging her shoulder and saying, “You need to stop looking like you hate your life, Dr. Seol.”

And outside of work?

Jihoon had a never-ending list of places to visit, things to do, foods to try.

“Yoona, you have to try this dumpling place. It’ll change your life.”

“There’s a food market opening this weekend. We should go. Actually—no. We are going.”

“You like coffee, right? Of course, you do. There’s this tiny café that makes their own beans. Let’s go before our shift.”

And every time, she went.

It was easy to say yes.

Easier than thinking about the quietness of Sol’s Table.

Easier than sitting at Jinsol’s restaurant, feeling the space between them widen with each passing day.

She told herself she wasn’t avoiding Jinsol. That would be childish.

But she also wasn’t making any effort to see her, either.

She still heard about her, though.

Through town gossip, through passing comments from hospital patients.

“She’s still here, but not for long,” one of the older patients had murmured the other day. “They say the big move is happening soon.”

Yoona had paused at that.

So, it’s really happening.

Jinsol hadn’t told her. Hadn’t even mentioned it.

And Yoona had no right to be upset about that. She knew that.

But she still felt something in her chest tighten every time she thought about it.

She wondered if Jinsol noticed that she stopped coming by the restaurant.

But she never asked.

And neither did Jinsol.

The distance between them wasn’t abrupt, wasn’t harsh. It was slow, gradual, the kind that sneaks up on you when you’re not paying attention.

A month ago, they had been eating ice cream by the ocean, watching the sunset.

Now, they were practically strangers.

Jihoon never asked about it.

Maybe he noticed, maybe he didn’t. But either way, he never brought up Sol’s Table, never questioned why Yoona always agreed to his plans so easily.

And Yoona was grateful for that.

Because as long as she kept moving, as long as she kept herself occupied, she wouldn’t have to think too much about the one person she had been unconsciously drifting away from.

But some nights, when she passed by Sol’s Table on her way home, she would slow down.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to see the warm glow of the restaurant’s lights, to wonder if Jinsol was inside, moving around the kitchen like always.

But she never went in.

And Jinsol never called her inside.

They weren’t ignoring each other.

But they weren’t looking for each other, either.

And maybe that was worse.