The city lights blurred into streaks as Da-Hyun sat by her window, her phone clutched in trembling hands. Da-Hyun texted Jeong fir the first time after six (6) years of separation. She texted "Hello" attached with her photo. the screen illuminated her face—a canvas of hope and heartache. She had waited for the whole day, her pulse echoing the ticking clock. And when the message finally came, it was a whisper lost in the wind.
*"Oh.. how are you doing?"*
Jeong's words were a distant echo—a memory of laughter and shared secrets. She stared at her own reflection, wondering if he could see the girl he had once danced with beneath the cherry blossoms. Da-Hyun's fingers hovered over the keyboard. How could she condense six years into a few sentences?
*"It's been a long time,"* she typed, her heart pounding. But Jeong's reply was a mere acknowledgment—a polite nod to the past. They were strangers now, their memories like faded photographs in an old album.
Da-Hyun's room became a sanctuary of unspoken words. She stayed up late, scrolling through Jeong's social media profiles. His sister's posts were her lifeline—the glimpses of his life abroad. Da-Hyun saved every photo, every caption. She wondered if Jeong still loved the sea, if he missed the rain-swollen gutters and the paper boats they had launched.
Two years passed, and Da-Hyun turned eighteen. Her friends teased her about crushes, but she remained single—a paper boat adrift on an ocean of unrequited love. Jeong's face haunted her dreams—the curve of his lips, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. She rejected other guys, their confessions falling on deaf ears. Her heart belonged to a boy who had once whispered promises beneath the rain.
Sometimes, in the quiet of her room, Da-Hyun cried. Her pillow absorbed her tears, and the moon watched, silent witness to her pain. She wondered if Jeong ever thought of her—the girl who had loved him like constellations love the night sky. But the sea remained constant, its waves carrying memories and heartaches.
And then, one day, Jeong's sister posted a photo—a candid shot of him, his smile unguarded. Da-Hyun saved it, her heart racing. He looked older now—his hair shorter, his eyes wiser. But it was still Jeong—the boy who had once shared her secrets, the one who had never said goodbye.
*"It's me, Noh Da-Hyun,"* she texted, attaching the photo. Her thumb hovered over the send button. Would he recognize her? Would he remember the girl who had once danced with him beneath blooming trees?
The reply came—an eternity later.
*" how are you doing?"*
And then she replied with "It's been a long time." And he replied back "yeah."
Da-Hyun stared at the screen, her tears blurring the pixels. Jeong's words were a lifeline—a fragile thread connecting them across continents. She typed her response, her heart spilling over.
*"I've missed you,"* she confessed. *"Like paper boats miss the rain."*
But Jeong's reply was a mere acknowledgment—a polite nod to the past. They were strangers now, their memories like faded messages lost in the wind. Da-Hyun cried that night, her pillow absorbing her heartache. She wondered if Jeong ever felt the tremors of her love—the way it echoed through time, defying distance.
And so, in the quiet of her room, Da-Hyun held onto her secret crush—a fragile paper boat launched into uncharted waters. The sea remained constant, its waves carrying whispers of what could have been. And as ink met paper once again, she penned her story—a tale of love and longing, of strangers with memories, and the ache that never truly let go.
*To be continued...*
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