Minho walked home slowly, his mind reeling from the losses at the horse races. The excitement and hopes of winning had vanished, leaving him with nothing but disappointment. As he turned a corner, a group of men stepped into his path.
They looked angry and serious. One of them, a large man with a scar on his face, spoke harshly, "Minho, we've been waiting for you." The others stood close behind him, their presence menacing. "You still owe us money," the scarred man said. "We need it now." Minho's heart pounded as he faced the reality of his debts and the trouble he was in.
Minho's heart raced as the men loomed closer, their anger palpable. They were ready to beat him, but Minho, with a desperate edge in his voice, pleaded, "Just give me a week. I'll get the money. I swear." The leader's eyes narrowed, and he nodded reluctantly. "You better," he growled. "Or we'll take your father's shop. He won't like that." Minho's stomach twisted at the thought of his father's mechanic shop being threatened.
Rushing to his girlfriend's restaurant, Minho found her on a break outside. As they stepped away from the busy kitchen, he blurted out his predicament. "I need your help," he said urgently. Her face hardened as she listened. "Not again, Minho" she snapped, clearly upset. "You've gambled away everything we had. I can't keep doing this" She crossed her arms, her frustration evident. "If you don't sort this out, I'm breaking up with you." Her words hit him like a punch, and he felt the crushing weight of his situation, realizing that he was now truly alone.
Minho sat alone in the quiet garden, the weight of his troubles pressing down on him. The serene surroundings felt like a cruel contrast to the storm brewing in his mind. Lost in his thoughts, he was jolted from his reverie by the ringing of his phone. It was his father. With a heavy sigh, Minho answered.
"Hey, Dad," he said, forcing a cheerful tone. "How's everything going over there?"
His father's voice was warm and hopeful. "We're doing well. How about you? How's the job situation?"
Minho hesitated for a moment before lying through his teeth. "Oh, everything's great I've actually landed a new job. Things are looking up, and I'll be making good money soon."
His father's voice brightened with relief and joy. "That's wonderful news, Minho I'm so proud of you. I knew you'd turn things around."
As he ended the call, Minho stared blankly at the garden, his heart heavy with guilt and the crushing reality of his lies. He felt the absence of his mother more acutely than ever, her memory a painful reminder of how alone he truly was in this struggle.
Minho had once been a promising student, his future seemingly bright and full of potential. During his school years, he excelled in his studies, earning admiration from teachers and peers alike. However, his world was shattered when he lost his mother to illness. Her death left a void that Minho struggled to fill, and her absence was a constant ache in his heart. Following her passing, he moved to Seoul for college, while his father stayed behind in their small town, running a modest mechanic shop.
His mother had always harbored dreams of Minho becoming a successful and wealthy individual, envisioning him as a man who would rise above his circumstances. But after college, Minho's ambitions took a dark turn. He became entangled in the world of gambling, drawn by the allure of quick money and the thrill of risk. Frequenting casinos and betting on horse races, he chased after fast fortunes, only to find himself sinking deeper into a cycle of loss and despair. The dreams his mother had nurtured seemed to slip further away, replaced by the harsh reality of his self-destructive choices
As Minho sat alone in the garden, the weight of his troubles seemed to press down on him more heavily with each passing minute. The garden, usually a place of tranquility, felt suffocatingly still, as if reflecting the turmoil inside him. He stared vacantly at the neatly trimmed grass, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of regret and despair. It was then that he noticed a young girl, perhaps fifteen, sitting quietly with her mother a short distance away. The girl was strikingly beautiful, with a serene expression that stood in stark contrast to Minho's own troubled demeanor. Her presence, though calm and unassuming, seemed to underscore the depth of Minho's loss and the gulf between the happiness he once knew and his current, grim reality. For a moment, he was lost in the poignant image of the girl and her mother, their mundane activity serving as a painful reminder of the stability and joy that had slipped through his fingers. The scene was a harsh juxtaposition to the chaos of his life, making his sense of isolation and failure all the more acute.
The following morning, the weight of Minho's despair felt just as heavy as before, though he tried to shake it off as he prepared breakfast. The apartment was quiet, the usual clatter of pots and pans replaced by a solemn silence. Minho sat at the small dining table, pushing around his food with little appetite. The television in the corner played softly, but its images were distant and disconnected from his current state. The film on screen, a distraction from his mounting worries, seemed almost surreal—a backdrop to his own personal drama rather than a source of entertainment. The clock ticked relentlessly, each second a reminder of the two days that had slipped by without him finding a solution. The urgency of his situation gnawed at him as he recalled the threats from the men and the impending danger to his father's shop. Desperation drove him to a desperate measure: he took the ring from his girlfriend, a small token of their relationship, and sold it for cash. He had hoped this money would buy him the time he needed, but instead of using it wisely, he gambled it away, believing in a fleeting chance to turn his luck around. His gamble failed spectacularly, and the money disappeared as quickly as it had come. That evening, the weight of his decisions and losses became unbearable, leading him back to the garden where he had once again found himself alone, drowning his sorrows in the darkness of his own making.
That night, as the rain began to fall steadily, Minho found himself wandering back to the garden, the rhythm of the raindrops creating a somber symphony against the backdrop of his despair. The garden, now slick with rain and glistening under the dim streetlights, mirrored Minho's desolation. The once-familiar space felt alien and unwelcoming, its tranquility overshadowed by the storm both outside and within. Minho sat on a bench, the cold and damp seeping through his clothes, making his situation feel even more bleak. With a bottle of beer clutched in one hand and a cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers, he stared blankly into the darkness. The rain fell relentlessly, mingling with his tears, creating a blur of emotion and regret. The soothing patter of the rain did little to comfort him; instead, it seemed to accentuate his loneliness and the futility of his attempts to escape his problems. Each swig of beer and puff of smoke was a futile attempt to numb the crushing weight of his failures and the hopelessness that had consumed him. As the night deepened, Minho's sobs became one with the sound of the rain, each droplet a reminder of the path he had chosen and the dreams he had shattered.