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The day they were forced to leave their apartments felt like the end of the world. It was the end of all they had made together—years of memories, hardships, successes, and joy. The hallways, which had once been alive with their voices, now rang with an awful silence, broken only by the occasional sound of zippers shutting or boxes being shuffled.
Sowon stood in the midst of it all, attempting to maintain her composure. She had been the unshakable pillar on which they relied throughout difficult times for so long. But today, she felt as if she were dissolving inside. Her heart was heavy, and her thoughts were messy. Every box packed, every piece of furniture removed, and every goodbye felt like an extra burden on her shoulders.
But she couldn't bring herself to express it. Instead, she kept herself busy by traveling from room to room and assisting the others with their packing. She carried their luggage despite having barely completed packing her own. She avoided their gaze because she knew what she'd see: questions, fear, and grief. And she had no responses for them.
As she was carrying a stack of boxes to the door, she heard a quiet voice behind her.
“Unnie, let me help you with the bags.”
Sowon turned to see Umji, the youngest, standing there with a look that almost shattered her. Umji has always been caring and thoughtful, a bright spot in their life. However, today, her eyes were filled with emotions she was trying so hard to suppress.
Sowon hesitated, her remorse building like a tidal wave. She'd failed them. She'd failed her. How could she keep kids safe from this? How could she be the anchor they needed if she couldn't even keep herself together?
"No, Umji-ah," Sowon replied gently, putting a grin on her face. "It's okay. I got it."
Umji frowned slightly, agreed, and took a reluctant step back. She knew better than to push Sowon at this point, but that didn't make it any easier to watch.
Sowon hurriedly turned away, strengthening her grip on the handles of the bags she held onto.
As she returned inside to retrieve another load, Yerin's voice halted her in her tracks.
"Sowon-unnie…"
Something about the way Yerin spoke her name made Sowon's chest clench. She gently turned around, placing the bags down before facing her. "Yes, Yennie?"
Yerin paused for a time, biting her lip as if looking for the proper words. She eventually spoke, her voice shaking. "I'll miss you." Sowon’s heart shattered into a million pieces.
She opened her lips to respond, but no words came. She felt like crying right then, but she swallowed it down. She had to remain strong. She forced a little grin on her face, hoping it was enough to comfort Yerin. "We'll still see each other," she added, her tone lighter than her emotions. "It is not as if we are disappearing. We'll come, call, text—whatever it takes."
However, Yerin shook her head, her eyes glistening with sorrow. "It will be different, Unnie; I won't see you the way I used to. This is nothing like when we were roommates. I can't simply go upstairs to your room when I need you."
The words struck Sowon like a punch in the gut. She wanted to reassure Yerin she was wrong, that everything would be okay and nothing would change, but she couldn't lie to her, especially about this. They both understood that things would never be the same.
Sowon stepped forward without thinking and hugged Yerin tightly. Yerin didn't hesitate, hiding her face in Sowon's shoulder as her tears poured.
"We'll figure it out," Sowon said softly, her voice cracking. "No matter what, we'll always have each other."
Yerin nodded into her shoulder, but neither of them moved to let go. Sowon closed her eyes, savoring the moment, knowing it was one of the final times they'd hold each other.
Across the room, Sinb sat on the couch, staring at her phone. She hadn't moved in a while, and Sowon wondered what was on her mind. Sinb had always disguised her feelings under sarcasm and humor, but she didn't have the energy for it today. She appeared lost and defeated.
Meanwhile, Eunha was at the dining table, meticulously wrapping a framed picture of the six of them. Her actions were slow and careful, as if delaying the process might somehow postpone the inevitable. Sowon looked at her for a while, her heart breaking as she recognized which photo it was—the one they had taken together on their fifth anniversary, all of them beaming with joy.
Yuju and Umji spoke quietly near the doorway. Umji's eyes moving to Sowon every now and then, concern written over her face. Yuju, who was always composed, tried her best to console her, but even she appeared to be struggling to keep it together.
Sowon took a deep breath and looked around the flat one more time. This had been their home, where they had grown together, shared their aspirations, and created something extraordinary. It was now just an empty shell, devoid of the laughter and warmth that had characterized it.
She wanted to say something—anything—to ease the misery they were all experiencing. However, no words came. What could she say to make things better?
The vehicle arrived outside, and the sound of the engine pierced the calm. They began lugging their suitcases out one by one; each step felt heavier than the previous one.
As they carried the last few boxes into the van, Sowon lingered by the doorway, her hand resting on the frame. She turned back for one last glance, her chest squeezing as memories flooded her head. The late-night conversations, shared meals, foolish conflicts, and times of pure joy were all carved into these walls.
However, it was time to let go. Sowon went outside, closing the door behind her. She turned away and never looked back.