Chaeyoung
She sat by the fire, absently tracing patterns in the dirt with her fingers, her mind restless despite the quiet that had settled over the camp. It flickered, stretching and shifting like ghosts. The air had changed—lighter in some ways after Sana’s confession, but heavier in others, weighed down by everything unspoken between them all.
The others had begun slipping away, their figures fading into the night. Nayeon had been the first, tugged aside by Momo in a hushed conversation. Dahyun and Tzuyu had wandered off together, their heads close, voices too low to hear. Jeongyeon had gone off alone, her face unreadable, disappearing into the dark without a word.
Only Jihyo remained beside her, leaning back with her injured leg stretched in front of her. Her breath was slow and even, but her fingers drummed absently against the ground, betraying the tension still clinging to her. Chaeyoung offered her a small, fleeting smile, but Jihyo didn’t return it—not because she was cold, but because she looked just as drained as Chaeyoung felt. There was an understanding between them, an agreement of sorts not to force words where none were needed.
And so with the stillness of the night Chaeyoung couldn’t stop the memories from creeping in, pulling her back to that night on the boat.
The fear had been unbearable, the kind that settled deep in her bones and made her limbs feel disconnected from the rest of her. The boat rocked beneath them, the wood groaning under the strain of the waves. The air had smelled of it, of the damp wood, of panic thick enough to taste.
She remembered how she had tried to focus on anything but the gnawing anxiety in her chest—the way the wind tugged at the loose strands of her hair, the cold mist that clung to her clothes.
She had thought of home then. Of her parents, of the messages they must have sent, the calls that must have gone unanswered. She pictured her mother, waiting by the phone, hoping for a text, a missed call, anything to say she was safe. The guilt curled in her stomach like something sharp, something unbearable. She had always been the reckless one, the one who never worried about consequences, but this—this was different. This was real. And it wasn’t just her anymore. It was all of them, together, stuck in the same nightmare.
She turned to her side, willing the thought away, but a different kind of nightmare greeted her.
Mina, sitting unnaturally still, her body rigid, her face blank. The gentle glow of the moon had traced her profile, catching the shimmer of something on her cheek. A tear. Silent. Unnoticed.
“Mina,” Chaeyoung whispered, hesitant, reaching out, barely brushing her fingers against the fabric of Mina’s sleeve. The touch had been feather-light, careful, as though Mina might shatter under too much pressure.
Nothing. No reaction. Mina didn’t even blink.
A chill, different from the night air, seeped into Chaeyoung’s skin. She had seen Mina quiet before, had seen her lost in thought, but this was different. This wasn’t silence—it was absence. She wasn’t here. She was gone.
“Mina,” she tried again, firmer this time. “Look at me.”
Mina had barely shifted. Her breath was shallow, her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something but had forgotten how. Her hands rested limply in her lap, palms up, fingers curled just enough to seem unnatural, like she wasn’t holding onto anything—not even herself.
Panic had risen, thick and suffocating. Not the wild, frantic kind, but the slow, creeping kind, the kind that wrapped around her lungs and squeezed, making it impossible to breathe right. It had felt like she was watching Mina fade away, like she was slipping into something deep and dark, and Chaeyoung had no idea how to pull her back.
“Please,” she whispered, voice cracking under the weight of it. “Please come back.”
Chaeyoung swallowed against the tightness in her throat. "Mina..." she tried again, her voice barely above a whisper. It came out unsteady, like it was balancing on the edge of something fragile, something she wasn’t sure she could hold onto much longer. “I... I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help you."
Mina didn’t react. She remained still, her posture eerily rigid, her gaze locked on something far away. Not a specific point, not the horizon, just... nowhere. Everywhere. The absence in her eyes unsettled Chaeyoung in a way she couldn’t explain, a creeping, suffocating dread that wrapped around her ribs and squeezed.
Mina sat frozen, unblinking, her tear-streaked cheeks cold beneath the silver cast of the night. She was right there, inches away, but at the same time, she was so far gone that Chaeyoung felt like she was reaching across an entire lifetime just to touch her.
And then, like a weight slamming into her chest, the realization struck.
She was loosing... The girl she loved.
She loved her.
She loved Mina in a way she hadn’t fully understood until now, until she was faced with the unbearable thought of losing her. Not just as a friend, not just as someone she wanted by her side—but as someone who had carved a space into her heart, someone who had unknowingly become part of her in a way she couldn’t undo. And watching her like this, watching her crumble into something unrecognizable, was breaking her apart.
Chaeyoung sucked in a sharp breath, her lungs burning. "Mina... talk to me. Please. Anything. Just... let me know you’re still here."
Nothing.
Her throat tightened painfully, and she felt the hot sting of tears threatening to spill over. She wanted to shake her, to scream, to do something to snap her out of it. But instead, she lowered her forehead against Mina’s shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut, whispering things she wasn’t even sure Mina could hear. Promises, memories, whatever she could grasp onto. If there was even the smallest chance that something, anything, could pull Mina back, she’d give it.
The memory faded, her eyes blinking fast as she looked around, letting her mind adjust to the moment.
Jihyo shifted slightly, a wince flickering across her face as she adjusted her leg. She glanced at Chaeyoung, her expression unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—something steady. Something knowing.
“You okay?” she asked, voice soft, almost hesitant, as if she already knew the answer.
Chaeyoung exhaled slowly, willing the tightness in her chest to loosen. “Yeah,” she murmured, though the word tasted like a lie. “I just needed a minute.”
Jihyo didn’t push, just nodded. Her hand hovered for a second before resting on Chaeyoung’s shoulder—brief and warm. It was enough to remind her that... they were all going through it.
But as Chaeyoung stared past the camp, past the flickering light the fire, her mind wouldn’t quiet. She didn’t want to keep thinking about that night, about how helpless she had felt watching Mina slip away, but the memory was stubborn. And maybe it wasn’t just about the past.
Maybe it was about the present.
About the way Mina had followed Sana immediately, the way they had disappeared into the trees together. Maybe it was the bitter taste of knowing she wasn’t the one Mina sought out when she needed comfort.
Chaeyoung stood, brushing off her hands. “I’m gonna get some air.”
Jihyo gave a small nod, not questioning her, just letting her go.
She walked past the fire, past the shelters, keeping her pace steady, unhurried. Her hands itched for something to do, so she crouched near the pile of berries they’d gathered earlier, sorting through them just for the sake of moving. But it didn’t help. The restlessness was still there, twisting inside her, tangled with feelings she wasn’t sure she had the right to have.
She didn’t want to feel this way. She didn’t want to resent the idea of Mina being with someone else, didn’t want jealousy gnawing at the edges of her ribs like some restless thing waiting to be set free. She wanted to be the kind of person who could let go, who could just be happy for her. And maybe she would be. Maybe she just needed time.
A rustling noise broke her thoughts, and she looked up just as Mina stepped into view. The firelight caught on her features, softening them, making her look almost untouched by the exhaustion they all carried.
Chaeyoung swallowed hard. Mina looked... lighter. Not entirely free, but something in her seemed less weighed down than before. And that, more than anything, made Chaeyoung’s chest tighten.
Mina stepped closer, her hands fidgeting slightly at her sides before she finally reached for Chaeyoung’s hand, fingers cool against her skin. She gave a small tug, pulling her to her feet, and without hesitation, wrapped her arms around her.
Chaeyoung froze for just a second before she melted into it, letting her eyes flutter shut as she pressed her face into the curve of Mina’s shoulder. She could feel the steady rise and fall of Mina’s breath, the calming strength in the way she held her.
And it felt nice, being the one held instead of worrying about holding on too tight.
When they finally pulled apart, Mina’s eyes searched hers. “Can we talk? I... I need to tell you something.”
Chaeyoung nodded, her throat tight. “Yeah.” She said as she waited, pulse thrumming beneath her skin. Whatever it was, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear it.
/////////
The cold waves lapped gently at their feet as they walked along the shore, the sound of the water mingling with the distant crackle of the fire from the camp behind them. The night was cool, the air crisp with the lingering salt of the sea, but Chaeyoung barely noticed. Every nerve in her body was attuned to the girl beside her, to the way Mina's hands curled into loose fists at her sides, to the way she breathed—slow, measured, controlled, like she was trying to keep something from slipping out before she was ready.
Something was coming. Chaeyoung could feel it, a shift in the air between them, thick with anticipation.
They walked in silence for a little longer before Mina finally stopped. Her fingers flexed once, twice, before she exhaled, turning to face Chaeyoung fully. The firelight in the distance cast long shadows over her face, but her eyes held something unmistakable—resolve, mixed with something deeper, something unspoken.
“I need to say this before I lose the courage,” Mina said, her voice steady but quiet, as if she had rehearsed it a hundred times in her head.
Chaeyoung’s stomach tightened. She nodded, swallowing back the sudden dryness in her throat. “I’m listening.”
They stopped walking, and Mina turned to face her, the moonlight catching the faint glimmer of emotion in her eyes, her hands clasping in front of her before she looked past Chaeyoung, as though gathering her thoughts from the horizon itself. “Before all of this... before the island, before the boat—I thought I had everything figured out. Or at least, I told myself I did.” She let out a small, humorless laugh. “I thought I could push things down, keep them buried. I thought I’d buried it deep enough that it wouldn’t matter.”
Chaeyoung’s pulse quickened. She wasn’t sure if she was bracing herself or if she already knew where this was going. “Buried what?” she asked, keeping her voice even, careful to show any hint of emotion.
Mina exhaled through her nose, finally meeting Chaeyoung’s gaze. “My love.”
Chaeyoung didn’t speak, just waited, let Mina take her time.
“I... I loved Nayeon once.” Mina's voice was calm, measured, but the way her fingers curled into her palms gave her away. “A long time ago. I admired her confidence, her warmth, the way she could command a room without even trying. I thought it was just admiration at first... but it wasn’t.” She shook her head, as if amused by her own past naivety. “I told myself it wasn’t worth ruining what we had as a group. I convinced myself it wasn’t worth saying anything. That it was better to just... let it pass.”
Chaeyoung nodded slowly, absorbing the words, feeling them settle in her chest. “Did it?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.
Mina hesitated. “For the most part.” A breath, then, “But then it happened again. Not with Nayeon...”
Chaeyoung felt her own breathing still, her heart lodged somewhere between hope and fear. “With who?” she asked, even though she was afraid of the answer.
Mina’s gaze softened, her posture shifting, as though the weight of her words was pressing into her bones. “With you.”
The world seemed to tilt slightly beneath Chaeyoung’s feet. She stared at Mina, trying to process the words, trying to believe them. “Me?” The word was barely audible.
Mina gave the smallest nod. “I tried to ignore it, like I did before. Told myself it wasn’t important, that it didn’t need to change anything.” Her lips pressed into a thin line before she continued, voice softer now. “But I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to bury things because I’m scared of what they mean.”
Chaeyoung swallowed. The weight in her chest wasn’t panic, wasn’t fear—it was more complicated than that. It tangled her dreams, her hopes for the future. “So... what are you saying?”
Mina hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly. “I don’t know what I want this to mean yet,” she admitted. “But I do know I want to figure it out. And not just with you.” She hesitated for a second before adding, “With the others too. I want to stop pretending I don’t feel anything, for anyone... not anymore.”
She felt something inside her falter, as if a rope she’d been gripping tightly had suddenly gone slack. Mina’s words didn’t hit her all at once—they unfolded slowly, sinking in piece by piece, until they made complete sense in her head.
“Mina...” Chaeyoung’s voice barely made it past her lips. She didn’t know where to start, how to shape what she was feeling into something coherent. “I... don’t think I can do that.”
Mina’s brows pulled together, her expression soft but searching. “Do what?”
Chaeyoung let out a shaky breath, running a hand over her face before forcing herself to meet Mina’s gaze. “I don’t think I can share you.” The words sat heavy between them, raw and unfiltered. “I know it’s selfish, but if I’m being honest... I want you. I love you... Just you.”
Mina’s lips parted slightly, as if she hadn’t expected Chaeyoung to say it so plainly. “Chaeyoung,” she started, “this isn’t about loving you less. It never was. I just... I’ve learned things about myself here. About love, about how it doesn’t always have to fit inside a single shape.”
Chaeyoung’s jaw clenched, not in anger, but in frustration, in helplessness. “But I don’t know if I can do that,” she admitted, “I don’t want to just be part of something. I want to be... everything.”
Mina exhaled softly, stepping closer, hesitating for only a second before reaching for Chaeyoung’s hand. Her fingers brushed against Chaeyoung’s, warm despite the night air. “You are everything to me,” she said. “That won’t change. I swear it won’t. But I also don’t want to ignore other parts of me, parts that I’ve kept buried for so long. I don’t know if I’ll feel that way for anyone else, but I don’t want to shut myself off from the possibility either. I want to leave my heart open. For you, for us, for whatever else might come.”
Chaeyoung’s throat felt tight. She wanted to believe Mina, wanted to trust in the depth of what they had, but the fear gnawed at her, sharp and unrelenting. It wasn’t just about Mina wanting to keep her heart open—it was about Chaeyoung not knowing if hers could handle it.
They stood there for a long moment, Chaeyoung didn’t know what the future looked like from here, but she knew one thing—Mina was worth trying for. Even if it hurt, even if she didn’t know where it would lead, she wasn’t ready to let go.
The warmth barely reached them out here, but neither of them seemed to mind. The night air carried the scent of salt and earth, grounding them in something tangible, something real, even as their conversation teetered on the edge of the unknown.
Chaeyoung’s grip on Mina’s hand was loose, almost uncertain, her fingers brushing lightly against Mina’s palm before retreating. The contact was there, but it didn’t feel as before. Her mind was too tangled, her thoughts too conflicted. She wanted to hold on, to pull Mina closer, to believe that they could find a way to make this work. But something inside her hesitated, a knot so tight it hurt.
“It’s hard to wrap my head around all of this,” she said, her voice quiet, though it felt almost too loud in the stillness between them. “I never thought I’d be in this kind of situation.”
“I love you, Chae” she murmured. “ And I understand... I don’t want you to feel like you have to be okay with it just because I am.”
Chaeyoung stopped walking again, her grip on Mina’s hand tightening before she let go entirely. “Can I ask you something?”
Mina turned fully to face her, her expression unreadable. “Of course.”
“What about Sana?” Chaeyoung hesitated, the words heavier than she expected them to be. “When you said you wanted to... explore things. Did you mean her? Is that what you talked about... when you followed her.”
Mina’s brows furrowed slightly, and then, without missing a beat, she shook her head. “No. It’s not like that with her.” She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “I care about Sana a lot, but what I feel for her isn’t the same. I care about her deeply, but it’s different from what I feel for you.”
Chaeyoung let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, but her thoughts didn’t quiet. Her gaze shifted back toward the fire in the distance, where she could see Sana and Jihyo talking quietly, their figures illuminated by the orange glow. What if Sana hadn’t said anything?she wondered. Would Mina still think the same? Would Mina be as open to trying something so complicated if Sana hadn’t opened that door?
Her heart sank at the thought. Would I have had a better chance?
“If she hadn’t said anything,” she found herself saying, “if she hadn’t confessed the way she did, do you think you’d still feel the same way about all of this?”
Mina’s expression softened, her features relaxing in a way that told Chaeyoung she wasn’t offended by the question. “I don’t know,” Mina admitted. “Maybe it would’ve taken me longer to realize it. But I think... eventually, I would have gotten here on my own.”
Chaeyoung nodded, but the ache in her chest lingered. She turned her gaze toward the fire, watching it burn. She wondered if things would’ve been simpler if no one had said anything at all, if they had just kept their feelings buried beneath the weight of survival.
Mina must have noticed the shift in her expression because she reached out, touching Chaeyoung’s arm gently. “What are you thinking?”
Chaeyoung swallowed, not knowing what was safe to say. “That I feel bad for feeling this way,” she admitted, her voice tight. “That I don’t know how to let go of the things I thought I knew about love. About what I wanted it to be.”
Mina’s fingers curled slightly against her skin before she withdrew her hand. “You don’t have to feel bad,” she said. “I don’t expect you to change what you believe just because I feel differently. And if this isn’t something you can do, I’ll understand. I mean that.”
Chaeyoung looked at her then, really looked at her, and saw nothing but sincerity in her eyes. Mina wasn’t asking her to be okay with something that didn’t feel right. She wasn’t pressuring her. She was simply laying her truth bare, offering it to Chaeyoung with open hands, no expectations, no demands.
“I’m not saying I don’t want to try,” Chaeyoung said after a moment. “I just don’t know how.”
Mina turned to face Chaeyoung fully. Her hands moved to cradle Chaeyoung’s face, her thumbs brushing lightly against her cheeks. “I just need you to know,” Mina said, her eyes locking onto Chaeyoung’s with an intensity that took her breath away. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. I know I’ve been… gone, lost. But I’m here now. And that... that anything and everything you feel is okay Chaeng.” She said. “We have time to figure it out.”
Chaeyoung felt something inside her loosen, just a little. She wasn’t sure if it was enough, but Mina was standing here, waiting, patient and steady, and she felt like that was enough for them to keep going.
They kept on walking on the wet sand, the sound of the waves crashing echoing around them. their legs were growing tired, so they made their way back to the fire, to the warmth it provided. She found herself looking away again, toward Nayeon and Momo this time, watching the way they laughed, their voices light and effortless as they leaned into each other, finding warmth even in the cold reality of where they were.
She envied them for that—their ability to slip into something easy, something that made their situation feel less dire. It wasn’t that they weren’t aware of the weight pressing down on them all—they just knew how to carry it better.
She exhaled slowly, dragging her fingers through the dirt absentmindedly as she stared into the flames. She noticed that Sana and Jihyo had disappeared into one of the shelters. A part of her wanted to go after them, to ask Jihyo how she did it—how she kept them all steady when everything felt so... out of place. How she was so open, so ready to fix their troubles for them. But Another part of her knew she wouldn’t ask, she wouldn’t share. Because even if Jihyo had the answers, they wouldn’t be the ones she wanted to hear.
Her thoughts twisted, pulling her deeper into the knot she had tied herself into. She’d always been good at understanding others, at seeing through complexities that people struggled to put into words. But right now, she couldn’t even make sense of herself. She loved them all in different ways, but what she felt for Mina was suffocating, like she was trying to hold onto something slipping through her fingers. And the worst part was that she didn’t trust if Mina felt the same. Not fully. Not in the way Chaeyoung wanted her to.
Her chest tightened as a thought surfaced, one she had been pushing down since Sana confessed... What if Mina’s heart wasn’t hers alone to love? How many of the others felt the same way about her? The idea lodged itself in her throat, making it hard to breathe. It was an ugly feeling, jealousy. It wasn’t something she was proud of, but it was there, gnawing at her, whispering doubts she couldn’t silence.
If Mina wanted more than what she could give, then what was she supposed to do? Would she be able to handle that? Would she ever be enough?
“Chaeyoung.”
She turned her head to find Mina standing there, her body shivering as the wind picked up speed.
“Would it be okay if we shared a shelter tonight?” Mina asked, her voice awhisper. “I just... I want to be close to you.”
Chaeyoung’s breath caught for a moment before she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “Of course.”
The answer came easily, but her heart was still tangled in everything else. Maybe if she stayed close to Mina, if she held onto her just a little longer, she’d be able to find clarity in the mess of emotions she couldn’t untangle.
She peeked inside the shelter Sana and Jihyo were sharing as they walked past by it. She caught a glimpse of them—sitting close, heads tilted toward each other in a hushed conversation. There was something in the way they occupied the space, something that made it feel not just warm but safe. A place to rest, to be understood without the need for explanations.
Her stomach twisted.
Her mind pulled her back to Sana’s words, Sana’s confession that night. How the older girl had told them all that she loved them, every single one of them. Chaeyoung hadn’t given it much thought in the moment—she’d been too consumed by her own emotions and her feelings for Mina. But now, the realization hit her with full force. Sana loves me, too.
Sana loved her.
Sana loved all of them.
And she had been brave enough to say it out loud.
Chaeyoung let the thought settle, waiting for something inside her to shift. She felt warmth, gratitude, but nothing more. Not the kind of love that she reserved for Mina, not the kind that ached in her bones. But still, Sana deserved something back. She deserved to know that her love wasn’t being ignored.
She madea note to herself—when morning came, she would talk to Sana. She didn’t know what she would say, only that she needed to say something. Because even if she couldn’t love Sana in the same way, she would make sure she never felt alone in it.
They reached the shelter they would be sharing that night. The walls, woven from dried palm and bamboo, creaked softly in the night breeze. It wasn’t much, nothing more than a fragile sense of security in a place where nothing felt certain anymore.
Mina sat first, folding her legs beneath her with practiced ease. She leaned back against the wall and opened her arms slightly, wordlessly inviting Chaeyoung into the space beside her. It was something they’d done a hundred times before—curling up on couches, leaning against each other in the back of vans during long schedules. But here, in the hush of the island night, it felt different. It felt heavier.
Chaeyoung hesitated only for a second before lowering herself down, pressing her cheek against Mina’s shoulder. The steady rise and fall of her breath, the familiar scent of salt and something uniquely Mina—it was gentle and it filled her. For a moment, Chaeyoung let herself believe that none of this was real, that they weren’t stranded, that tomorrow they’d wake up to buzzing phones and busy schedules and the comfort of familiarity...
Mina’s arms wrapped around her and Chaeyoung let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“I promise it’ll be okay, Chae... everything,” Mina murmured in her ear.
Chaeyoung felt something inside her crack wide open. The words, so simple yet so full of meaning, undid her. Her heart shattered and mended all at once at those words. Her breath hitched, and before she could stop it, a sob escaped her lips. She clenched her jaw, trying to swallow it back, but the dam had already broken. A sharp inhale, then another, and then she was crying in earnest—soft but unrelenting, her body shaking against Mina’s.
Mina’s arms held firm, her hand smoothing over Chaeyoung’s hair in soothing motions. "I’ve got you," Mina murmured. "Let it out."
And she did.
She cried for everything—the life they had lost, the doubt that clawed at her day after day. She cried for her family, for her mother’s voice she hadn’t heard in weeks, for the nights she spent wondering if they were still looking for her or if they had begun mourning her already. She cried for Mina, for the way she had almost lost her before she had even realized just how deeply she loved her. And she cried for herself, for the mess of emotions she didn’t know how to unravel, for the ache of wanting something she couldn’t name.
“I want to go home,” she choked out between shallow breaths. “I want my mom, Mina.”
“I know,” Mina whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Chaeyoung’s head. “I do too.”
The words were simple, but they held so much weight. They were a reminder that she wasn’t alone in this, even if it sometimes felt that way.
Chaeyoung’s sobs eventually quieted, though the ache in her chest remained. She stared at the walls of the shelter, tracing the uneven patterns with her eyes as she tried to pull herself back together. Her voice, when she finally spoke again, was hoarse. “I just... I wish things didn’t have to be so complicated.”
Mina’s hand stilled in her hair for a second before she spoke. “I know,” she said. “I wish that too.”
Chaeyoung turned slightly, enough to see Mina’s face in the darkness. “I just mean... before all this, things made sense. I made sense.” She paused, struggling to put words to the chaos in her mind. “But now, it’s like everything’s been flipped upside down. I don’t know how to... how to hold onto the things I thought I knew.”
“You don’t have to have it all figured out, Chae.”
Chaeyoung exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “But what if I never do?”
Mina hesitated, and for a second, Chaeyoung swore she saw her expression flicker—uncertainty, doubt, regret, betrayal. Then, Mina reached for Chaeyoung’s hand, threading their fingers together. “Then we wait. No pressure. No right answers. Just... time.”
“I love you, Mina.” She said, though it felt more sad than true. She swallowed hard, trying to keep more tears from falling. “But I don’t know if I can do this,” she said. “Not the way you want me to.”
Mina’s grip on her hand tightened for a fraction of a second before loosening again. “I understand... And it’s okay.”
Chaeyoung nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She leaned into Mina’s touch, letting the other girl’s warmth anchor her once again. But even as Mina held her, even as her words offered reassurance, the knot in Chaeyoung’s chest remained. She wanted her in a way that felt simple, that felt whole. And she knew—deep down—that Mina’s love, however vast, however full, was not going to belong to her alone.
Momo stepped into the shelter a second later, and Chaeyoung seized the moment, exhaling as the tension between them faded. Mina let go of her hand, shifting slightly as Momo settled in beside them, and just like that, the conversation was over.
But the weight of it remained, thick and suffocating in her heart. She wasn’t sure if she had said too much—or not enough. And she wasn’t sure which would hurt more in the end.
/////////
Chaeyoung stirred as the soft creak of the shelter’s bamboo pulled her from sleep. A faint rustling at the entrance pulled her further from the haze of dreams, and when she cracked her eyes open, she saw Jeongyeon crouched by the opening, her silhouette barely visible against the dim morning light.
"Chae," Jeongyeon whispered, careful not to wake the others. "We should head inland soon. Best to start early."
She pushed herself up with a groggy nod, blinking away the remnants of sleep. The air inside the shelter was still dense with warmth, but outside, she could already feel the bite of the morning chill creeping in. She glanced beside her, where Mina lay curled on her side, her breathing slow and even. When she shifted slightly, Mina stirred, her eyelids fluttering open just enough to meet Chaeyoung’s half open ones.
“Chae?” Mina’s voice was thick with sleep, quiet, but still beautiful.
Chaeyoung leaned in, pretending to brush a few strands of hair from Mina’s forehead. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be back soon.”
Mina hummed something incoherent in response, her eyes already slipping closed again. Chaeyoung lingered for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of Mina’s chest before carefully pulling herself away and stepping outside.
Jeongyeon stood near the storage, Tzuyu beside her, adjusting the strap of the makeshift bag she carried. Nearby, Nayeon rubbed the sleep from her eyes, looking unimpressed at the idea of anyone leaving camp before the sun had fully risen.
“We need to head back to where we found the berries,” Jeongyeon was saying, “This time, we’ll be smarter about it. No rushing, no getting turned around. If we do, we stop and retrace our steps immediately.”
Tzuyu nodded in agreement, her arms crossed against the cool air. “We can mark the trees better,” she said. “And leave a clearer trail. Broken branches, stones. Something easy to follow.”
Nayeon exhaled sharply, arms still folded. “You said that last time.”
Jeongyeon sighed, slapping an insect of her arm. “I know. That’s why we’re fixing it. But listen—if we don’t come back when expected, no one comes after us. Got it?”
Nayeon rolled her eyes, her frustration clear. “Jeong, you’re putting too much on yourself. You got lucky last time... we’re not making that mistake again. Waiting was stupid.”
“It’s practical,” Jeongyeon countered. “If more of us go missing, that’s even worse. Just don’t be stubborn and do what Jihyo says.”
“We’ll be fine.”
Nayeon pressed her lips into a thin line, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to argue further. Instead, she exhaled through her nose, her expression unreadable. “Fine. But don’t push yourselves too hard. And if you feel like it’s getting risky, come back immediately. No heroics.”
Jeongyeon smirked, nudging her shoulder. “Got it, Mom.”
Nayeon rolled her eyes again, muttering something under her breath before turning back toward the shelters, clearly eager to crawl back into sleep. “Just... be careful. All three of you.”
Chaeyoung grabbed a piece of coconut husk, using it to scrape at her teeth while Jeongyeon went over their plan again. The early morning quiet was gradually fading as the other girls stirred, their hushed conversations mixing with the occasional snap of twigs underfoot.
She turned back to the group, catching the way Tzuyu eyes lingered on the girls by the fire, or how Jeongyeon adjusted the small knife she had tied to her waist.
They were ready.
Chaeyoung nodded to them. “Let’s go.”
“We’ll be back before you know it,” Jeongyeon promised to the rest, not making eye contact with anyone specifically. And with that, the three of them started toward the path inland, the faint marks on the trees from their last trip barely visible in the early morning light.
/////////
They marked and double-checked everything this time. Every third tree, every branch they split to make a path. They couldn’t afford to get lost again.
Tzuyu led the way, humming a faint melody under her breath—a haunting, bittersweet tune that almost mimicked the cries from the birds. Chaeyoung trailed a few steps behind Jeongyeon, her thoughts eating her alive.
The air was thick, damp with the scent of crushed leaves and soil. The trees pressed in around them, vines curling from branches like outstretched fingers. Every now and then, the distant rustle of something unseen made Chaeyoung’s shoulders tense. It wasn’t fear, not exactly, but an unease she couldn’t quite shake.
Jeongyeon slowed her steps until she fell in line with Chaeyoung. “You’ve been quiet,” she said, keeping her voice low, as if speaking too loudly would disturb the stillness around them. “More than usual. What’s going on?”
Chaeyoung exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly. “What isn’t on my mind” she muttered, before shifting the focus. “What about you? How are you holding up?”
Jeongyeon let out a scoff, but there was no humor in it. “Not great,” she admitted. “But I guess that’s the standard answer now.”
“Is it about Sana?”
Jeongyeon sighed. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.” She wiped the sweat from her forehead, looking ahead as if the trees might give her clarity. “I didn’t expect her to say all that. I mean, I knew she cared, obviously, but hearing it like that... it just caught me off guard. And now I feel like I’m supposed to have some kind of answer when I don’t even know what I want.”
Chaeyoung nodded, kicking a loose pebble on the ground as they walked. “Yeah. I get that.” She hesitated before adding, “I don’t even know where I... I mean I’ve always been close to Mina... I just don’t know where we stand right now.”
“It’s not just that Chae... It’s about all of us. The group. The way we fit together. The family we’ve built... If this changes things... if it pulls us apart, then what do we have left? We’ve lost everything.”
Chaeyoung’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t even stopped to think of that. Of them as a whole. She’d been so focused on her own feelings that she hadn’t stopped to consider the bigger picture. “What if it does ruin everything?”
Jeongyeon came to a slow stop, turning to face her. The uncertainty in her eyes was raw, unguarded. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m scared, Chae. Scared of losing what little we have left. But at the same time... I don’t know if we can avoid it. It feels like something’s already shifting, and I don’t know how to stop it.”
“I don’t think... I could handle that,” she admitted. “I can barely handle my own feelings right now. It feels like everything’s piling up and.... And then there’s Mina...”
“What about Mina?”
She exhaled sharply, forcing the words out. “I don’t think I can share her. I know how it sounds, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t bother me.”
Jeongyeon studied her for a moment before nodding, her expression soft with understanding. “You’re not the only one struggling with this. I have... I mean...” She paused, kicking at the dirt before saying, “It’s hard, you know? Loving someone and not knowing if it’s enough. Or worse—if it’s too much.”
Chaeyoung let out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah. That.” She ran a hand over her face, trying to ground herself. “Is it stupid that I always thought it would be simple? Loving someone.”
Jeongyeon scoffed lightly. “No. It was simple at some point... But nothing about this is simple anymore. And maybe it never will be.”
The silence between them stretched, only the birds singing to fill the space. There was no resolution to offer, no way to tie everything up neatly. They weren’t just talking about love—they were talking about survival, about the fragile thread holding them together, and the terrifying thought that... everything was changing.
A sharp snap echoed through the trees ahead, making them both tense. Tzuyu had stopped, head tilted slightly as if listening for something beyond their reach. When she turned back to them she simply said, “We should keep moving.”
Jeongyeon nodded, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder before stepping forward. Chaeyoung lingered for a second, staring at the uneven ground beneath her feet, as if the answers to everything she feared were buried somewhere beneath the dirt.
The path ahead was marked, carefully planned. But as she followed the others, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t just walking deeper into the island.
They were walking straight into something they wouldn’t be able to come back from.
A point of no return.