Chapter 5
Jinsol had never been one for cameras.
Back in the small town, she had been content with the quiet life—running her restaurant, cooking for familiar faces, and hearing the chatter of regulars who treated Sol’s Table like a second home.
But here, in Seoul, things were different.
Jinsol wasn’t just a chef anymore. She was a public figure.
Her restaurant had become one of the hottest dining spots in the city, and with that came invitations—endless invitations. Cooking segments on variety shows, interviews with top food magazines, even a guest appearance on a competitive cooking show where she judged contestants trying (and failing) to impress her.
At first, she had hesitated.
But her PR team insisted—it was good for business. And besides, people loved her.
It turned out, they were right.
The public adored her blunt, no-nonsense personality. Clips of her giving honest (but fair) critiques went viral online. There was even a meme of her unimpressed face circulating on social media, captioned: "If Bae Jinsol isn’t smiling, you know you messed up."
Despite herself, she got used to it.
Used to the bright studio lights, the perfectly timed commercial breaks, the playful banter with celebrity hosts who tried (and failed) to fluster her.
But no matter how many shows she appeared on, one thing remained the same.
She never spoke about her past.
When interviewers asked about her journey, she kept it professional.
"I started with a small seafood restaurant in my hometown. It taught me everything I know about working with fresh ingredients."
That was all she ever said.
She never mentioned the little town by the ocean. Never mentioned the people she used to see every day.
Never mentioned her.
Because why should she?
That life was behind her now.
And yet, no matter how much she told herself that, there were nights when she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if Yoona had ever watched one of her interviews.
If she had ever seen Jinsol’s face on the screen and thought, She really left.
But those were thoughts she didn’t have time for.
She had a restaurant to run. A career to focus on.
Jinsol was exactly where she was supposed to be.
Then why did it still feel so lonely?
—
After settling into their hotel room, Jiwoo wasted no time making herself comfortable. She flopped onto the bed with a satisfied sigh, stretching her limbs as if she had just finished a long day of work instead of sitting on a train for a few hours.
“Ahhh, this is nice,” she hummed, rolling onto her stomach to grab the TV remote. “Seoul really knows how to do hotels right.”
Yoona, on the other hand, moved around the room slowly, neatly unpacking a few things from her bag. She wasn’t in a rush. She wasn’t sure she even felt here yet.
Everything about Seoul still felt like stepping into an old memory. The streets, the buildings, even the scent of the air—it was all familiar, but distant, like a song she hadn’t heard in years.
She was still lost in thought when Jiwoo suddenly gasped.
“Oh, wow.”
Yoona glanced up. “What?”
Jiwoo didn’t answer immediately. She just stared at the TV screen, eyes slightly widened in surprise. Then, without looking away, she pointed. “You’re gonna want to see this.”
Curious, Yoona stepped closer. And the moment her eyes landed on the screen, she felt her breath hitch.
There, in perfect high-definition, was Bae Jinsol.
She was standing in the open kitchen of La Mer, moving with confidence and ease. The shot zoomed in on her hands—expertly plating a dish with careful precision. The food looked almost too perfect to eat, the kind of thing that belonged in glossy magazines or fine-dining documentaries.
Then, the scene transitioned to an interview.
Jinsol sat in an elegant chair, dressed in a pristine chef’s coat. Her hair was neatly styled, her makeup subtle but flawless. There was something undeniably polished about her now—like she had fully grown into the image of a world-class chef.
"Chef Bae," the interviewer began, their voice smooth and professional. "Your restaurant has taken the culinary world by storm. Did you ever imagine this level of success when you first started?"
Jinsol gave a small, almost amused chuckle. "Not at all."
"And yet, here you are. A top-tier restaurant, a growing reputation… Do you ever miss where you started?"
There was a pause.
For just a brief second, Jinsol’s expression changed. It was subtle—so quick that most people wouldn’t even notice. But Yoona did.
Then, just as quickly, Jinsol smiled again. It was the kind of smile Yoona had seen her use before—the polite, controlled one. The one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
"I think every chef remembers their beginnings," Jinsol finally said. "But growth means moving forward."
Yoona’s chest tightened.
Jiwoo let out a low whistle. “Damn. She really went and became a whole celebrity, huh?”
Yoona didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure if she could.
Instead, she turned away from the screen and walked over to the window.
Outside, the city stretched endlessly before her. Tall buildings towered over the streets, their windows glowing with the soft light of evening. The roads below were alive with movement—cars, buses, people rushing from one place to another, all blending into the familiar hum of Seoul’s energy.
She pressed her fingertips lightly against the glass, staring down at the streets she used to walk every day.
She had left this city behind once.
And Jinsol had left their town behind too.
That was how life worked, wasn’t it? People moved on. They chased their dreams, followed their paths, and sometimes—without even realizing it—left people behind in the process.
So why did this feel so… heavy?
Why did watching Jinsol on that screen make her feel like something was slipping further and further away?
“Yoona?”
She blinked, realizing Jiwoo was watching her from the bed.
“You good?” Jiwoo asked, raising an eyebrow. “You went all quiet on me.”
Yoona forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
Jiwoo hummed, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t press. Instead, she stretched again and turned back to the TV. “Well, thinking can wait. We should rest up. Tomorrow, we’re finally going to La Mer.”
Yoona nodded, but as she looked back out the window, she wasn’t sure if sleep would come easy tonight.
Because no matter how hard she tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, her heart felt heavier than ever.
Yoona had to book the table days in advance.
She knew La Mer wasn’t the kind of place where you could just walk in and expect to find a seat—especially not with how famous Jinsol had become. Even with a reservation, the restaurant was still booked solid for weeks.
Thankfully, they managed to secure a table.
Jiwoo had been buzzing with excitement ever since.
“You know how many food bloggers dream of eating here?” she had said, practically bouncing as they walked through the streets of Seoul. “Like, I saw this one guy on YouTube—he waited three months just to get a table. And here we are, just waltzing in like it’s nothing.”
Yoona only hummed in response, her hands tucked into her coat pockets.
She had spent the entire day exploring the city with Jiwoo, visiting old spots she used to frequent, walking through streets that once felt like home. But something felt… different. Maybe it was the fact that she was here as a visitor now, not as someone who belonged.
Or maybe it was because she knew that, in just a few hours, she was going to see her.
The thought made her stomach twist, but she didn’t know why.
By the time the evening rolled in, the two of them finally made their way toward La Mer.
The moment they arrived, it was clear this wasn’t just any restaurant—it was a statement.
The entrance was sleek and modern, the soft golden glow of lights reflecting against the glass windows. Through them, Yoona could see glimpses of the restaurant’s interior—dimly lit tables, elegant plating, and a well-dressed crowd that looked like they had stepped out of a luxury magazine.
A valet stood by the doors, opening them gracefully as guests arrived.
Jiwoo exhaled, adjusting her jacket. “Damn. We’re really doing this, huh?”
Yoona didn’t respond right away. Instead, she just stared at the restaurant’s name, etched in cursive gold lettering above the entrance.
La Mer.
The sea.
It suited Jinsol, in a way. She had always been tied to the ocean.
But as Yoona stood there, staring at that name, she realized something.
This wasn’t Sol’s Table anymore.
This wasn’t the cozy little restaurant by the coast where Jinsol cooked with her sleeves rolled up and a faint trace of flour on her apron. This wasn’t the place where Yoona would sit and eat while listening to the distant sound of waves crashing in the background.
This was different.
This was bigger.
And Jinsol had built it all without her.
“Yoona,” Jiwoo nudged her lightly, pulling her out of her thoughts. “You good?”
Yoona blinked, then forced a small smile. “Yeah. Let’s go in.”
With that, they stepped inside.
The air inside La Mer was warm, filled with the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of wine glasses. The scent of food lingered in the air—rich, layered, refined. The kind of scent that told you this was no ordinary meal.
A hostess greeted them at the front, dressed in an elegant black uniform. “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes,” Yoona said, giving her name.
The hostess checked the list, then nodded. “Right this way.”
As they were led through the restaurant, Yoona could feel eyes on them.
Not in an uncomfortable way, but in that subtle, this-is-a-place-for-important-people way. The kind where guests glanced at each other, quietly observing who had the privilege of dining here.
Jiwoo, however, was too busy looking at the menu to notice.
“Holy crap,” she whispered, eyes wide. “Yoona, look at these prices.”
Yoona glanced at the menu briefly. She had expected it—fine dining in Seoul was never cheap. But that wasn’t what held her attention.
Instead, her eyes wandered toward the open kitchen at the far end of the restaurant.
And there, in the middle of it all, was Bae Jinsol.
Even from across the room, she stood out.
She moved with an effortless kind of confidence—issuing quiet instructions to her staff, checking over plates before they were sent out, focused entirely on the craft. Her chef’s coat was pristine, her hair neatly tied back. She looked composed. Refined. Every bit the head chef of one of Seoul’s most sought-after restaurants.
And for a moment, Yoona wondered—if she called her name right now, would Jinsol even turn?
Would she even recognize her anymore?
Jiwoo nudged her again, whispering, “You think she knows we’re here?”
Yoona didn’t answer.
She just sat there, gripping the menu a little tighter.
Because as much as she had prepared for this moment—seeing Jinsol again, in her new world—she hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this.
The moment the first bite touched Yoona’s tongue, she understood.
This wasn’t just good food.
It was the kind of meal that made you close your eyes, let out a slow breath, and forget everything else around you. The kind that wrapped around your senses like a warm embrace, bringing with it something both new and familiar.
Across from her, Jiwoo had completely frozen, her fork still in midair.
“Oh my god,” Jiwoo whispered after finally swallowing. “I think I just died.”
Yoona had to agree.
Everything on the plate was a masterpiece—perfectly balanced flavors, textures that melted seamlessly together. It was refined, yet comforting. Elevated, yet undeniably Jinsol.
Even the waiter, a well-dressed man with a polite yet knowing smile, took notice of their reaction.
“I take it you’re enjoying your meal?” he asked smoothly.
Jiwoo dramatically clutched her chest. “Sir, I don’t think you understand. I think I just saw my entire life flash before my eyes. What is this?”
The waiter chuckled. “It’s one of our chef’s most special dishes,” he explained. “She’s very particular about it—it’s something she personally oversees every night. It’s… sentimental, in a way.”
Yoona’s grip tightened slightly around her fork.
Sentimental?
She glanced back down at her plate, studying it again.
The flavors, the way everything was plated, the way it felt—it reminded her of something.
Something from a long time ago.
Something from a small restaurant by the ocean.
Jiwoo, oblivious to Yoona’s sudden stillness, was already reaching for another bite. “I get why this place is so famous now. No wonder people wait months just to eat here.”
Yoona didn’t respond.
Her mind was elsewhere, lost in the taste of nostalgia that she hadn’t expected to find here, in the middle of Seoul.
She didn’t know why, but her heart ached.
And for the first time since stepping into La Mer, she wasn’t sure if she had been ready to see Jinsol again after all.
Jiwoo was having the time of her life.
“This is insane,” she mumbled, barely swallowing before reaching for another plate. “I get why this place is so famous. The flavors are unreal.”
Yoona nodded absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the kitchen doors again. She wasn’t really paying attention to what she was eating—or to Jiwoo, for that matter.
Because every time those doors swung open, even for a second, she caught glimpses of her.
Jinsol.
She moved through her staff with ease, her presence commanding yet calm. Even from a distance, Yoona could tell she was different now—more refined, more confident, like she had completely settled into this world.
A world that had no space for a small-town doctor.
Yoona quickly picked up her wine glass, pretending to take a sip, but her hands felt unusually cold against the stem.
Jiwoo, who had been stuffing her face, finally slowed down and smirked at her. “You’re not even eating.”
“I am,” Yoona muttered, forcing herself to take a bite of something she barely tasted.
Jiwoo leaned in, eyes glinting. “No, you’re not. You’re staring.”
Yoona sighed. “I’m just—”
“—waiting to see if she comes out?” Jiwoo finished for her, raising an eyebrow.
Yoona didn’t answer.
But someone else had noticed, too.
Near the bar, two restaurant staff were whispering to each other, stealing glances in Yoona’s direction.
One of them—a younger waiter—shifted uncomfortably. “That table, the one with the two women? The one in the gray coat has been sneaking glances at the kitchen for a while now.”
The older server hummed, eyes narrowing slightly. “Maybe they just like watching how we work?”
The younger one hesitated. “Maybe… but it feels different. Like she’s looking for someone.”
A few moments later, when Jinsol stepped out to check something with the bar staff, the older server took the chance.
“Chef Bae,” he called out, keeping his voice professional.
Jinsol turned, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
The server hesitated, then leaned in slightly. “Table seven—one of the guests has been peeking into the kitchen a lot.”
Jinsol frowned. “Complaints?”
“No, nothing like that,” the server said quickly. “Just… I thought you’d want to know.”
Jinsol sighed, brushing it off. Probably just some foodie wanting a glimpse of the kitchen. It happened all the time in places like this.
Still, curiosity tugged at her.
She glanced toward table seven.
And for a split second—just before Yoona could look away—their eyes met.
It was brief, just a moment, but it was enough.
Jinsol’s fingers curled slightly against the bar counter, and for the first time in a long while, she felt something unfamiliar.
Something unsettling.
Something like… home.
Jinsol wasn’t expecting it.
The moment their eyes met—just a fleeting second across the restaurant—it was like the air had been sucked out of the room.
Her heart stuttered, then raced, so fast she could feel it.
Yoona.
She was here.
Jinsol’s fingers clenched slightly against the bar counter before she forced herself to look away. She swallowed hard, turning back toward the kitchen.
Get it together.
She wasn’t going to let this shake her. She had work to do. Customers to serve. An entire team relying on her.
So she did what she always did—focused.
She moved back to the kitchen, where the scent of seared fish and butter filled the air, and picked up her knife. Chopping through herbs, slicing delicate portions of meat—everything she had done a thousand times over.
But something was wrong.
Her hands.
They weren’t steady.
They were shaking.
Jinsol frowned, gripping the knife tighter, willing herself to focus.
But then, without warning—
Slice.
A sharp sting shot through her finger.
Blood.
She barely processed it, just staring at the deep red against her pale skin, the way it dripped onto the cutting board.
The kitchen fell silent for a second.
"Chef!" One of her sous chefs stepped forward in alarm, but Jinsol quickly raised a hand.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, voice tight.
But she wasn’t.
Because her heart was still racing. Her mind was still spinning.
Yoona.
Jinsol sucked in a breath and quickly stepped away from the station, pressing a clean towel against her wound.
“I’ll be back,” she said shortly, not waiting for a response as she pushed open the back door leading to the staff area.
The cold air hit her immediately, a sharp contrast to the heat of the kitchen. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for just a second.
She hadn’t seen Yoona in two years.
She had told herself she had moved on. That she had built a new life here, one where thoughts of Yoona no longer mattered.
And yet…
Her hands were still trembling.
Jinsol exhaled shakily, pressing harder against the cut on her finger.
Damn it.
Two years, and somehow, Yoona still had this effect on her.
Yoona leaned forward, resting her elbows on the restaurant table. Her untouched glass of wine sat between her and Jiwoo, who was still finishing the last bite of dessert.
“Jiwoo,” Yoona started, her voice quieter than usual. “How… how do I meet Jinsol?”
Jiwoo blinked, looking up from her plate. “Huh?”
“I mean, talk to her. In private.” Yoona’s fingers played with the rim of her glass. “It seems… hard.”
Jiwoo leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Well, duh. She’s not exactly free. Didn’t you see how busy she is? She’s probably booked every second of the day.”
Yoona sighed. She expected that answer, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.
“She barely even leaves the kitchen,” Jiwoo continued, tapping her fork against her plate. “And when she does, it’s just for business. Like, either a meeting or some fancy dinner with important people.”
Yoona’s fingers tightened slightly.
Jinsol had really built something huge here. She wasn’t just a small-town chef anymore—she was someone important, someone unreachable.
“She even has a personal assistant now,” Jiwoo added. “Schedules everything for her. No way you can just walk in and ask to see her.”
Yoona exhaled through her nose. So it wasn’t as simple as finding her after her shift like back in the small town.
“…What about after the restaurant closes?” she asked.
Jiwoo shook her head. “Doubt it. After closing, she probably stays back to finalize things. And when she leaves, she—” Jiwoo stopped mid-sentence, suddenly squinting.
“What?” Yoona asked, catching the change in her expression.
Jiwoo tapped her fingers against the table, thinking. “Actually… I heard from one of her old staff that she still takes late-night walks.”
Yoona’s head tilted slightly. “Late-night walks?”
“Yeah. It’s a habit she never got rid of, even after moving here. Probably because the ocean was right there back home.” Jiwoo shrugged. “Now, I think she just walks around the city. Alone.”
Yoona’s heart skipped.
Alone.
That meant no staff, no assistants, no reporters. Just Jinsol.
Jiwoo stretched her arms above her head. “Buuuut, good luck catching her. It’s not like she announces where she’s going.”
Yoona pressed her lips together.
It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something.
And for some reason, she needed to talk to Jinsol.
Jinsol stood near the edge of the kitchen entrance, her hands resting on the stainless steel counter as she watched the two figures exit the restaurant.
Yoona and Jiwoo.
She hadn’t meant to look.
She had told herself she wouldn’t care.
But the moment she spotted them heading for the door, her eyes lingered—following them as they walked through the elegant dining hall, past the other guests, and finally stepped outside into the cool Seoul night.
They didn’t see her.
From the dim glow of the restaurant’s entrance, she could see Jiwoo talking, her hands moving animatedly like they always did when she got excited. Yoona, on the other hand, was quieter. She nodded occasionally, but her gaze was distant, like she wasn’t fully listening.
Then, for a brief second, just before she stepped into the hotel across the street—
Yoona turned her head.
Jinsol immediately moved back into the shadows of the kitchen.
She wasn’t sure if Yoona had noticed her.
But even after the doors of the hotel lobby closed behind them, Jinsol remained there, staring at the empty space they had left behind.
Her pulse was unsteady.
She shouldn’t be like this.
She had already decided to move on, to bury everything from that small town in the past where it belonged.
And yet, the moment she saw Yoona again—really saw her—Jinsol felt something stir inside her chest.
Something she didn’t want to acknowledge.
With a sharp inhale, she pushed herself away from the counter, shaking her head.
It didn’t matter.
Yoona was here as a guest. Just a visitor.
And tomorrow, she would be gone again.
Just like before.
Yoona lay on her back, staring at the ceiling of the dark hotel room.
She had tried to sleep.
Tried closing her eyes, turning onto her side, then onto her other side—nothing worked.
Her mind was restless, looping the same moment over and over again.
That brief second when her eyes met Jinsol’s.
It was quick, barely more than a flicker of recognition, but it was enough to make her heart feel uneasy.
Jinsol had seen her.
Yoona didn’t know why that mattered so much.
With a sigh, she sat up, rubbing her temples. Next to her, Jiwoo was fast asleep, her soft breathing filling the quiet room.
Yoona reached for her phone and typed a quick message.
Yoona: Going out for a bit. Don’t freak out.
She set her phone down gently, grabbed her coat, and quietly slipped out of the room.
The moment she stepped into the cool night air, she exhaled, feeling a bit of the heaviness in her chest loosen.
Seoul was alive, even at this hour. Neon lights reflected off the streets, groups of people still wandered from bars and restaurants, and the distant sound of traffic filled the air.
Yoona pulled her coat tighter around her body and started walking.
She didn’t know where she was going.
She just knew she needed to move.
And for some reason, her feet carried her in the direction of La Mer.
Yoona stood on the sidewalk, her breath visible in the crisp night air as she stared at the darkened entrance of La Mer.
The restaurant was closed, its once warm and glowing interior now shrouded in darkness. The grand glass doors that had welcomed countless high-profile guests earlier in the evening were now locked, reflecting only the dim city lights.
It felt different like this—silent, still.
During the day, La Mer was alive. It was buzzing with conversations, filled with laughter and clinking glasses, with the intoxicating aroma of Jinsol’s dishes drifting through the air.
But now, it felt distant. Unreachable.
Much like the person who ran it.
Yoona took a slow step forward, her hands buried in her coat pockets. The closer she got, the more she felt something strange bloom in her chest. A quiet ache.
This place, this building—it was Jinsol’s world now.
A world so different from the small-town restaurant she once knew.
A world where Jinsol belonged, surrounded by important people, high expectations, and endless opportunities.
Yoona had no place here.
Her gaze wandered toward the windows. She could barely make out anything beyond the reflections of the city lights, but she imagined what it must be like inside after closing.
Jinsol, sitting in the empty dining hall, exhausted from the long hours. Maybe pouring herself a drink, staring at the polished floors that no longer smelled of the ocean but of expensive wood and wine.
Or maybe she wasn’t even here.
Maybe she had already gone home—wherever that was.
Yoona let out a slow breath, taking another step closer until she was nearly touching the door.
She reached up hesitantly, her fingertips grazing the cool glass.
For a moment, she considered knocking.
But what would she even say?
What could she say?
That she missed her?
That it still didn’t feel real, seeing Jinsol so far from home, knowing they had become nothing more than distant memories to each other?
That she hated how easily Jinsol had fit into this new life, while Yoona was the one left feeling unsettled?
She let her hand drop.
Of course, she wouldn’t say any of that.
She had no right to.
Yoona stepped back, pulling her coat tighter around her. She should go back to the hotel. Jiwoo would probably wake up soon and bombard her with questions.
But still—
She remained standing there.
Lingering.
Just for a little while longer.
Because in the silence of the closed restaurant, in the emptiness of the dark windows, Yoona felt closer to Jinsol than she had in the past two years.
Yoona had been seconds away from leaving. She had already taken a step back from La Mer’s grand glass doors, ready to walk away from the past that kept pulling at her.
But then—
"You came."
The voice was soft, almost hesitant, but unmistakable.
Yoona froze.
Her breath caught in her throat as she turned around, her heart stuttering at the sight before her.
Jinsol stood there, just a few feet away.
She looked different. Not in a way that made her unrecognizable, but in a way that made Yoona realize just how much time had passed.
Her hair was slightly longer now, framing her face in waves. The dark coat she wore made her seem even more like the city person she had become—polished, elegant, unreachable.
And yet, her eyes.
Her eyes still held the same depth, the same weight Yoona remembered from the nights they sat together by the ocean, watching the waves roll in.
Jinsol wasn’t smiling.
She wasn’t frowning either.
She was just looking at her, like she was still trying to believe Yoona was real.
Yoona opened her mouth, but no words came out.
She had thought about this moment. Thought about what she would say if they ever stood face-to-face again.
But now, standing here under the dim streetlights, the words she had prepared meant nothing.
The air between them was thick with unsaid things.
And just as Yoona finally willed herself to take a step back—
Jinsol reached out.
Her fingers wrapped gently around Yoona’s hand, stopping her from leaving.
The touch was warm despite the cold air. Firm, yet hesitant.
Yoona’s breath faltered.
She looked down at their hands, feeling the way Jinsol’s grip tightened slightly—like she was scared that if she let go, Yoona would disappear.
Her mind screamed at her to pull away, to say something casual, to act like this wasn’t making her heart pound so loudly in her chest.
But she didn’t move.
She couldn’t.
Because after all this time, after all the distance, all the pretending that they had become nothing more than strangers—
Jinsol was holding onto her like she didn’t want to let go.
And Yoona wasn’t sure if she wanted her to.
Yoona barely had time to process the way Jinsol’s hand held onto hers before—
"How’s Jihoon?"
Yoona’s chest tightened.
Her fingers twitched in Jinsol’s grasp, and she immediately pulled her hand away.
Her irritation flared before she could stop it.
Of all the things Jinsol could’ve asked, this was what she chose?
Not "How have you been?" Not "Why are you here?" Not "Did you miss me?"—even though that was ridiculous.
No.
She asked about Jihoon.
Yoona let out a breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
"He’s fine." The words came out clipped, colder than she intended.
Jinsol blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the sudden shift in mood.
Yoona crossed her arms, shifting her weight. "Why do you care?"
Jinsol hesitated. She wasn’t expecting that. Did she care?
She didn’t even know why she asked. It just came out. Maybe because she had seen them together—so often that it became impossible to ignore. Maybe because it was easier to talk about Jihoon than to ask the things she really wanted to.
But now, seeing the way Yoona’s expression darkened, she regretted it.
"No reason," Jinsol finally muttered, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. "Just curious."
Yoona scoffed, looking away. Curious?
She didn’t come all the way here just to talk about him.
The frustration bubbled up inside her, but she swallowed it down.
This wasn’t the time.
She exhaled sharply, then turned back to Jinsol, her expression unreadable.
"Forget it," Yoona muttered, stepping back. "I should go."
Jinsol watched as she turned on her heels, the distance between them growing again.
She clenched her jaw, debating whether or not to stop her.
But this time, she didn’t.
She just watched as Yoona walked away.
And for the first time in a long time—
It actually hurt.
Yoona walked quickly, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if that could stop the ache in her chest.
The streets of Seoul blurred under the dim lights, but she didn’t care. She just needed to get away.
Her vision burned, and before she could stop herself, a single tear slipped down her cheek.
She wiped it away.
Then another.
And another.
Damn it.
She wasn’t supposed to cry.
She wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
But the truth settled deep in her bones, heavier than she expected—
Jinsol didn’t care.
Not in the way she had hoped.
Not in the way that mattered.
For two years, Yoona had buried everything. She convinced herself that time had dulled whatever feelings she once had, that the past was just that—the past.
But now?
Standing in front of La Mer, hearing Jinsol ask about Jihoon like it was the only thing worth mentioning… it shattered something inside her.
She thought maybe—just maybe—Jinsol had missed her too.
She thought maybe seeing her again would mean something.
But it didn’t.
At least, not to Jinsol.
Yoona clenched her jaw, her steps slowing.
Why did she even come?
What was she expecting?
A heartfelt reunion? An apology? A confession?
She almost laughed at herself.
Stupid.
Jinsol had moved on. She was here, running a successful restaurant, appearing on TV, meeting new people—probably dating, too.
And Yoona?
She was just some girl from her past. Someone insignificant.
She sniffled, running a hand through her hair.
Fine.
If that was how it was going to be, then she’d let it be.
No more hoping. No more wondering.
She wiped the last tear from her cheek and forced herself to keep walking.
She wouldn’t look back.
She wouldn’t give Jinsol the satisfaction of knowing just how much she still mattered.
Because after tonight—
She didn’t.
At least, that’s what Yoona told herself.
But deep down, she knew the lie tasted bitter on her tongue.
Jiwoo groggily reached for her phone, eyes barely open as she squinted at the screen.
Bae Jinsol.
She frowned. Why was Jinsol calling her this early?
"Hello?" Jiwoo’s voice was thick with sleep.
"Hey, when are you guys going back?"
Jiwoo sat up, rubbing her face. No good morning? No small talk? Jinsol went straight to the point.
"Uh… not sure. Why?"
There was silence on the other end. Jiwoo could hear faint sounds in the background—probably the restaurant.
"Just asking," Jinsol finally said, her voice flat.
That was weird.
Jiwoo glanced to the side. Yoona was still asleep, curled up under the blankets, her face barely visible.
And then, Jiwoo remembered last night.
The way Yoona left suddenly. The way she came back quiet, her eyes slightly red but refusing to talk about it. Jiwoo didn’t push.
But now, with Jinsol calling out of nowhere—
"Did something happen last night?" Jiwoo asked, getting straight to the point.
"No," Jinsol answered a little too fast.
Jiwoo narrowed her eyes. Liar.
"You sure?" Jiwoo pressed.
Another pause.
"Yeah."
Jiwoo sighed, leaning back against the headboard. She wasn’t buying it, but she also knew Jinsol wouldn’t spill unless she wanted to.
"We’ll be here for a few more days," Jiwoo finally said. "You wanna meet up?"
Jinsol hesitated. "No. Just wondering."
And then, without waiting for a response, she hung up.
Jiwoo stared at her phone.
"What the hell?" she muttered.
Something definitely did happen.
She glanced at Yoona again, watching her chest rise and fall with steady breaths.
Whatever went down between her and Jinsol last night—
Jiwoo had a feeling it wasn’t over yet.
The phone hit the marble floor with a dull thud, sliding a few inches before coming to a stop. Jinsol’s breath came out sharp as she stared at it, her hands still clenched into fists.
The call was short. Nothing special. Nothing meaningful.
And yet, the moment she ended it, something ugly and restless curled inside her chest.
She let her head fall back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut.
The room around her was too quiet. Too empty.
The luxury apartment she lived in was massive—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Seoul, high-end furniture, an open kitchen stocked with the finest ingredients. It was everything she had dreamed of.
Everything she had worked for.
But what was the point of all this space when she was the only one in it?
Jinsol let out a dry laugh, rubbing her face tiredly.
She had no right to be feeling like this.
She made her choice.
She built a new life here.
She had a successful restaurant, connections with the biggest names in the industry, TV appearances, recognition—everything people fought their whole lives for.
She had it all.
Didn’t she?
Her fingers curled around the armrest, her jaw tightening.
But then, why did she feel like something was missing?
Or rather—someone.
The memory of last night hit her like a wave.
Yoona standing outside La Mer, staring at the closed restaurant. The way the streetlights cast a soft glow on her face, making her look lost in thought. The way she turned when Jinsol spoke—eyes widening just slightly before she masked it with indifference.
"You came."
Jinsol didn’t even know why she said that.
And when she reached out—when she held on to Yoona’s wrist—she felt the warmth of her skin, and suddenly, it was like no time had passed.
Like the two years apart were just a bad dream.
But then she ruined it.
"How’s Jihoon?"
Yoona’s expression had changed instantly.
Irritation. Hurt.
And then she walked away.
Jinsol could still see the way her shoulders tensed as she left, the way her hands curled into fists at her sides.
And Jinsol just stood there.
Letting her go.
Just like before.
She let out a bitter sigh, standing up from the couch and pacing to the kitchen. She pulled open the fridge, grabbed a water bottle, and took a long sip, hoping the cold would cool the heat in her chest.
It didn’t.
Her reflection stared back at her from the dark glass of the windows.
She looked fine. She looked put together.
But she knew the truth.
She had been shaking when she met Yoona’s gaze last night.
Had even cut herself in the kitchen.
All because of her.
Jinsol gritted her teeth, running a hand through her hair.
She didn’t need this.
Didn’t need Yoona messing with her head again.
But no matter how much she tried to convince herself—
She couldn’t ignore the ache in her chest.
She had spent the last two years telling herself she was fine.
That she was happy.
But the moment she saw Yoona again—
She wasn’t so sure anymore.
The morning sun streamed through the hotel curtains, casting soft golden light across the room. Yoona sat up in bed, staring at her suitcase in silence. Her phone rested beside her, untouched since last night.
Her chest felt heavy.
It was pointless staying here any longer.
She had seen Jinsol.
She had heard everything she needed to hear.
And now, she just wanted to leave.
Yoona swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, grabbing her suitcase from the corner. The sudden movement made a noise loud enough to stir Jiwoo awake.
Still groggy, Jiwoo squinted at her. “Huh…? What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving,” Yoona said simply, stuffing her clothes into the suitcase with quiet urgency.
Jiwoo blinked. “What?” She sat up straighter, watching in disbelief. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”
“I’m going home.”
Jiwoo furrowed her brows. “Today?”
“Yes.”
Yoona zipped up her bag, throwing it onto the bed. Her movements were quick, efficient—like she didn’t want to give herself time to second-guess.
Jiwoo rubbed her eyes before pushing herself up, still processing. “Wait, wait, wait—what happened last night?”
Yoona didn’t answer.
Because what was there to say?
That she stood outside La Mer like a fool?
That she met Jinsol, held her gaze, and felt something—only to have it crushed the moment she opened her mouth?
That Jinsol still saw her as nothing more than a friend from the past?
Yoona exhaled sharply, turning away. “I just don’t see the point in staying.”
Jiwoo watched her carefully. “You met her, didn’t you?”
Yoona swallowed.
Jiwoo sighed, already knowing the answer. “What did she say?”
“She asked about Jihoon.”
Jiwoo blinked. “What?”
Yoona let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah. That’s the first thing she said to me.”
Jiwoo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What an idiot.”
Yoona shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
Jiwoo sat back, folding her arms. “It does matter. You came all the way here, Yoona.”
Yoona pulled her suitcase off the bed, gripping the handle tightly. “Well, that was a mistake.”
Jiwoo opened her mouth to argue but paused when she saw the look on Yoona’s face.
The hurt buried beneath the indifference.
The way her fingers trembled slightly on the suitcase handle.
Jiwoo sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Fine. I’ll pack too.”
Yoona turned to her, surprised. “You don’t have to leave just because I am.”
Jiwoo gave her a look. “Like I’d let you sulk alone on the train ride home.”
Yoona didn’t argue.
She just nodded, turning away to grab her coat.
Because the sooner she left this city, the sooner she could forget.
Or at least try to.
As Yoona zipped up her suitcase, Jiwoo sat on the bed, phone in hand. She watched her friend’s stiff posture, the way her shoulders tensed with every movement. Yoona had always been composed, always the type to think rationally. But right now, Jiwoo could tell—this wasn’t rational. This was running away.
Jiwoo exhaled and, without hesitation, typed a message.
[Jiwoo]: She’s leaving today. If you have anything to say, now’s the time.
She hesitated for half a second before hitting send.
Yoona had no idea.
Jiwoo wasn’t even sure if Jinsol would do anything. Maybe she’d ignore it, maybe she’d pretend she didn’t care. But if there was even the slightest chance that Jinsol wanted to stop this from becoming something permanent, then Jiwoo had to give her that chance.
“Ready to go?” Yoona’s voice broke her thoughts.
Jiwoo glanced up, locking her phone. “Yeah.”
They left the hotel room, the door clicking shut behind them.
—
Across the city, Jinsol sat on the couch in her luxury apartment, barely listening to the morning news playing on the TV. Her phone vibrated beside her.
She lazily reached for it, expecting another business email.
But the moment she saw Jiwoo’s name—and the message—her heart stopped.
She’s leaving today.
Jinsol read the words twice, her breath catching in her throat.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
Why did it feel like something was slipping away?
She stared at the message, jaw clenching.
Two years. Two years since she left that small town, two years since she put Yoona behind her. Or at least, she thought she had.
Jinsol leaned back against the couch, tilting her head up toward the ceiling.
Her heart was pounding.
She had two choices.
Do nothing.
Or do something.
And she only had a few hours to decide.
The station was quiet, aside from the occasional rustling of coats and the distant hum of an approaching train. Yoona stood near the edge of the platform, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, eyes fixed on the empty tracks ahead.
Jiwoo shifted beside her, glancing around as if expecting something—or someone.
The train would arrive in minutes.
Yoona exhaled. Leaving Seoul felt like the right choice. She came, she saw, and she realized there was nothing left for her here. Not in this city. Not in La Mer. Not in Jinsol.
Jiwoo checked her phone again. Nothing.
She frowned.
“Maybe she’s not coming,” Jiwoo muttered, more to herself than to Yoona.
Yoona didn’t react. She didn’t even ask who she was. Maybe she already knew. Maybe she was trying not to care.
A soft ding echoed through the station as the automated voice announced the train’s arrival. The headlights of the approaching train cut through the cold morning air, growing larger by the second.
Jiwoo’s heart pounded.
Last chance.
If Jinsol was coming, it had to be now.
Yoona adjusted the strap of her bag, stepping closer to the platform’s edge as the train began to slow. Jiwoo chewed on her lip, staring at the entrance.
Come on.
Come on.
The train doors hissed open.
Yoona stepped forward.
And then—
“YOONA!”
The shout echoed through the station.
Yoona froze.
Jiwoo whipped her head around, relief flooding her face.
Jinsol was there. She was here.
Panting, breathless, like she had been running for blocks. Her hair was disheveled, her coat hastily thrown over her shoulders. She looked nothing like the composed, polished woman seen on TV. No, this was the Jinsol from the small town—the one who used to race on her scooter, the one who always smelled like fresh seafood, the one who had once looked at Yoona with something close to longing.
Yoona slowly turned around, her expression unreadable.
Jinsol took a shaky breath.
The train doors dinged again. A final warning.
Yoona should step in.
But she didn’t move.
Jiwoo, standing beside her, barely held back a grin.
Jinsol didn’t stop running until she was right in front of Yoona. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her fingers tightening around Yoona’s hands before she could think twice.
The train doors were still open, the voice overhead announcing the final boarding call, but Jinsol didn’t hear it. Didn’t care.
She could only focus on Yoona.
The Yoona who had once sat alone in her restaurant on a quiet night.
The Yoona who had burned her fingers trying to cook.
The Yoona who used to hold onto her waist so tightly during scooter rides.
The Yoona who had looked at her that night, in front of La Mer, with eyes full of disappointment.
She had let her leave once. She couldn’t do it again.
Jinsol swallowed hard, her grip tightening.
“Don’t go.”
Yoona blinked.
Jinsol’s voice wavered, but she pushed through. “Don’t go, Yoona. Please.”
Jiwoo stepped back, giving them space.
Yoona stared at her, unmoving. “Why?”
Jinsol’s heart pounded. “Because I—” She hesitated, her throat tightening. The words she had swallowed for two years sat heavy on her tongue.
She could feel Yoona trying to pull her hands away. If she didn’t say it now, she would never get the chance.
So she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and said the words she should have said back then.
“I love you.”
Silence.
Yoona’s lips parted slightly, eyes wide.
Jinsol let out a shaky breath, her voice softer now. “I loved you then, and I love you now.”
Yoona didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
The train doors dinged one last time before closing behind them, leaving them standing there in the quiet station, the train long gone.
Jinsol finally let go of Yoona’s hands, taking a step back. “I—I know it’s late. I know I’m late. But I needed you to know.”
Yoona exhaled, her fingers still tingling where Jinsol had held them.
Jiwoo, watching from the side, whispered under her breath, “Finally.”
Jinsol took another breath, ready to accept whatever answer Yoona would give.
And then—
Yoona stepped forward.
The train had left. The platform was nearly empty, aside from a few late-night travelers passing through, unaware of the storm raging between two people standing still, eyes locked, hearts pounding.
Jinsol’s fingers twitched at her sides. Her breathing was uneven, like she had sprinted all the way here—not just in the physical sense, but as if she had been running after Yoona for years.
She said it. I love you.
Yoona stood frozen, staring at her, but her mind was a whirlwind.
She had imagined this moment so many times. In the quiet nights when she couldn’t sleep. In the lonely hours of her shifts at the hospital. In the seconds before she entered a patient’s room, wondering if Jinsol was doing okay in her busy new life.
But now that it was happening, now that Jinsol was standing right in front of her, asking her to stay, why did it feel so heavy?
Yoona looked down, inhaling deeply before speaking. “Jinsol… I don’t think this will work.”
Jinsol’s eyes flinched at the words, like they physically hurt her.
Yoona exhaled slowly, trying to find the right words, trying to be careful. “We live in two different places now. You have your life here in Seoul, your dream, your success. And I have mine back home.”
Jinsol’s jaw tightened. “But that’s not a reason, Yoona. We can make it work—”
“How?” Yoona cut in, her voice cracking just a little. “How do we make it work when everything about our lives is so far apart?”
Jinsol stared at her, her lips parting as if she wanted to argue, but no words came.
Yoona swallowed hard. “I watched you,” she admitted, voice softer now. “For two years, I watched you through interviews, articles, videos of you cooking at La Mer. You’re thriving here. You belong here.”
Jinsol clenched her fists. “And what about you?”
Yoona hesitated.
“I waited, Yoona,” Jinsol’s voice wavered. “I waited for you to come find me. Just once. I thought maybe, even if I left, you’d—” She inhaled sharply, stopping herself. “But you never did.”
Yoona’s chest ached. She clenched her fingers around the strap of her bag. “You left first, Jinsol.”
Silence.
The weight of those words hit Jinsol harder than anything else.
“I didn’t ask you to stay,” Yoona continued, voice barely above a whisper. “But you didn’t ask me to come with you either.”
Jinsol shut her eyes for a brief moment, as if trying to hold something in.
Jiwoo shifted awkwardly nearby, pretending to check her phone. But she didn’t leave. Not yet.
Yoona licked her lips, trying to steady her voice. “I just don’t want us to hurt each other again.”
Jinsol let out a small, humorless laugh. “So that’s it?” She shook her head. “You’re just going to leave?”
Yoona looked away. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Jinsol stared at her for a long time, like she was memorizing every part of her face, every inch of her hesitation.
Then, she stepped back. Just slightly. But enough for Yoona to feel the space growing between them.
“Maybe you’re right,” Jinsol murmured, her voice barely holding steady. “Maybe this won’t work. Maybe we’re too different now.”
Yoona’s breath hitched.
“But…” Jinsol’s voice cracked. “I never stopped loving you, Yoona.”
Yoona’s head snapped up, eyes wide.
Jinsol looked away first. “I should go.”
Yoona felt her heart twist painfully, watching as Jinsol turned around.
She wanted to call her back.
She wanted to tell her that she still loved her too.
But love wasn’t the problem.
And neither of them knew how to fix that.
The city lights glowed around them, the distant hum of Seoul filling the silence between their unspoken words. And as Jinsol walked away, Yoona felt a hollow ache settle in her chest—because for the first time, she realized something.
Even if they both loved each other, maybe love just wasn’t enough.