Preservation
It had been a month since Sowon moved in. She'd learned to exist in this new environment, moving through the silence like a ghost in her own home. She had a routine, if only to keep herself from unraveling: wake up, feed Meonji, exercise, look through her phone, eat when she remembered, and stare at the ceiling until sleep grasped her.
She convinced herself she was adapting and that everything was normal. People required time to adjust to a new environment. But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself, the fact remained in the back of her mind. She still felt trapped in time, left behind as everyone else moved on.
The silence that once felt deafening had now become a companion. It was no longer something she noticed—it was simply there, stretching through the empty halls and settling deep within her bones. That, in itself, terrified her.
Some days were better than others. On the good days, she would force herself to step outside, take a walk by the river, or browse through old photo albums in an attempt to convince herself that the memories were enough. That even if she was no longer part of something, she had once been. She would listen to music, clean every surface in the house until her hands ached, do anything to keep herself moving—because stopping meant thinking, and thinking led to a spiral she wasn’t sure she could pull herself out of.
On bad days, she struggled to get out of bed. She'd lie there for hours, looking at the ceiling, drowning in a void that no amount of diversion could fill. She would tell herself to get up—eat, take a shower, do something—but her limbs felt too heavy, as if they were someone else's. She was aware that it was unhealthy. She knew she needed to reach onto someone. But what would she actually say? Did she feel like a dim version of herself? That every morning, she woke with a crushing weight on her chest, unsure how to proceed? That she was proud of them, but as they grew, she felt as if she was fading away.
She stopped checking her phone as frequently. The group chat remained silent, and she wasn't sure which hurt more: seeing everyone discuss without her. Whenever she opened social media, she was greeted with updates on Yerin and Yuju's independent activities—interviews, performances, and achievements. Fans cheered them on, excited to see them succeed. Sowon was proud, yet each post served as a reminder of how she had nothing.
Then, one evening, a notification interrupted the pattern of silence.
Sinb: Unnie, I have some news!
Sowon squinted at the message, her fingers hanging above the screen. It had been months since she had last heard from Sinb—not even a passing comment in the chat. Her heart beat as she read the next message.
Sinb: I'm debuting with Eunha and Umji. As a trio. Under a new agency. Can you believe it?
Sinb sends a link attached to an article. Sowon clicked on it with shaking hands and read the announcement. It was real. They'd found a new path. They were starting over. They'd moved on.
Her chest constricted.
She should be pleased. And she actually was. She desired this for them. They deserved to shine, to return to the stage, especially to hear the roaring support of their dedicated fans. But as she glanced at SinB's words, excitement seeped through the screen; a nasty voice whispered in her head.
And what about her?
Her stomach twisted.
Yerin and Yuju had discovered their paths as soloists. Eunha, Umji, and Sinb were now making their way forward together. They all had something: a future, a purpose.
So what did she have?
Nothing.
Sowon swallowed and forced herself to type a reply.
That is great, Sinb. I'm thrilled for you.
She stared at the message for a moment, then added a heart emoji to make it appear genuine.
Sinb responded instantly.
Sinb: You'll come and watch us, right?
Sowon hesitated. The thought of standing in the audience while they played, flourishing under the spotlight she had once shared with them, made her feel suffocated.
Of course.
She sent the message before she could think too hard about it. Then she lowered her phone and sighed slowly.
Meonji pushed her arm, noticing a shift in her mood. She leaned out and ran her fingers through its fur, staring blankly.
She should do something. She should be working for something. But every time she tried to plan a new path for herself, all she saw was an endless stretch of empty road with no direction or destination.
How had they all moved forward while she was stuck?
Why could she not let go?
Sowon clenched her mouth and closed her eyes. The weight of loneliness pressed down on her, stifling and overwhelming.
For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to admit it.
She was lost, And she had no idea how to find her way back.