The Weight of Regret
(1st Person POV – Wonyoung)
Regret doesn’t hit all at once.
It comes in pieces.
The first piece was when I got home that night and saw my phone—dozens of missed calls, unread messages from Yujin.
The second was when I heard she didn’t come to school the next day. Or the day after.
The third was when I found out why.
A dislocated shoulder. Torn tendons. Permanent nerve damage.
All because of me.
Because she saved me when I never asked her to. Because she fought for me when I wanted her gone. Because she let me go—but I never really let go of her.
Years passed.
I should have moved on.
I should have forgotten.
But I couldn’t.
Because every time I saw someone in a black leather jacket, my heart skipped a beat, thinking it was her.
Because every time I heard her name, my chest tightened.
Because I never apologized.
The coffee shop smelled like vanilla and regret.
I never expected to see her here.
Not after all these years.
Not standing at the counter, looking exactly the same—except taller, sharper, stronger.
Her left arm hung stiffly at her side, the only sign of what I did to her.
I didn’t think.
I walked straight up to her.
"Yujin."
She turned.
For a moment, there was nothing.
No recognition.
Then—her eyes widened slightly.
"...Wonyoung?"
Her voice still sounded the same. Deeper, a little rougher. But still her.
I tried to smile, but my throat was too tight. "It’s been a while."
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. It has."
I exhaled shakily, my hands curling into fists. "Can we talk?"
A pause.
Then—she stepped aside, motioning to a nearby table. "Sure."
I followed her.
But as I reached for the chair, my elbow accidentally bumped against something—
Her left shoulder.
She flinched.
A sharp breath hissed past her teeth.
I froze.
The world blurred. The sounds of the café drowned out.
Because suddenly, I wasn’t here.
I was back on that rooftop.
I was hearing that sickening pop.
I was watching Yujin fall to her knees in pain, holding onto me anyway.
I was the reason she hurt like this.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, barely able to breathe.
Yujin shook her head. "It’s fine."
No, it wasn’t.
I felt my chest tighten, my throat closing.
"I heard it," I choked out.
Her brow furrowed. "Heard what?"
"The sound," I whispered, tears blurring my vision. "That night. When you pulled me back. I heard it, Yujin. I heard your shoulder break."
Her expression faltered.
I covered my mouth with my hands, gasping for air.
"You almost died because of me," I sobbed. "And I told you I hated you. I—"
I broke.
Completely, utterly shattered.
Because how do you live with yourself after that?
How do you sit across from the person who saved your life—only to realize you ruined theirs?
But then—warmth.
Fingers brushing against mine.
I looked up.
Yujin’s gaze was steady, her lips twitching into something almost like a smile.
"You’re alive," she murmured.
That’s all she said.
Like that was enough.
Like that made everything worth it.
But it didn’t.
Not for me.
Never for me.
Because I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.
Even if she already has.