"Are you going to give up on yourself?" The words came gently, but they carried the weight of a challenge.
She blinked, taken aback.
"...What are you asking? I don't quite understand."
I let the silence stretch for a moment, then leaned forward, my voice low but deliberate.
"Whatever you're fighting for—if it's not for your happiness—do you still think it's worth it?"
The question seemed to strike a chord. Her uncertainty was written all over her face. Her shoulders sagged slightly, as if the burden of her thoughts had grown heavier.
"Maybe my parents were right all along," she murmured, almost to herself. "Maybe I should have been the good child they wanted, obedient, following their plans for my life. I thought I could handle things my own way, but... this world, it's so cruel. It tore apart everything I was struggling for. Everything I believed in."
I could see the flicker of despair in her eyes, and it pained me to witness it. But I refused to let her stay there, drowning in the shadows.
"Life isn't over yet," I said softly, but with a quiet intensity that cut through the gloom.
She looked up at me then, her gaze filled with a fragile mixture of hope and disbelief, as if daring to wonder if there might still be a way forward.
"If only I had truly listened to Mom and Dad—maybe life wouldn't feel this miserable. I remember the day I left home so clearly. Mom's voice still echoes in my mind: "Let's see how far you can go." Her words were sharp, laced with disbelief, almost daring me to prove her wrong. But beneath them, there was something else, something she didn't say outright: Just let me go for a fleeting moment, nothing more. I felt bad for myself Even now, her warning haunts me"
"Some existing light can lead you down the wrong path."
"My parents had everything mapped out for me, even arranging my marriage to someone they believed was right for me. But I resisted, I rejected it all—I wanted a life of my own, free from their plans. They never thought I'd actually do it, never believed I'd leave home and stay gone for years."
I listened carefully. She continued.
"But now, here I am, tangled in my own choices, questioning everything. Was it because I trusted Hak Seng too much? Or is it that I've lost trust in myself? Am I the one who's confused?"
I leaned closer, my voice firm but gentle, and said,
"You are strong and brave—that's who you are. You walked away from a life of comfort, from a house that had everything handed to you. You fought for your freedom, carved out a life for yourself, and survived on your own for years. That's what I admire most about you. Not every woman can do that. So many remain trapped, cradled by their parents' wealth. But you… you chose differently. And now, just because a man betrayed you, you think it all means nothing? Do you really believe he had that much power over you? Even now, you're handling this pain alone. Where is he? He's gone, but you're still here. Yet you're letting him take pieces of you. Why? Why are you doing this to yourself?"
She looked away, her voice trembling as she murmured,
"You don't know how hard it's been for me."
"I do know," I said softly. "But you told me he meant nothing to you. So why now? Why are you letting him haunt your choices? Is he still controlling your thoughts?"
"…No," she whispered, her answer barely audible.
"Don't lie to me," I said softly, my voice firm but pleading.
"I'm not lying," she replied, her voice trembling with resistance.
"Then why do you look so upset?" I asked, searching her face for answers.
"I…" Her words faltered as she turned her gaze away, unable to meet my eyes.
Frustration bubbled up inside me, but I refused to let it show. Gently but firmly, I took hold of her wrist and turned her back toward me.
"Look at me," I urged, my voice cracking slightly. "Please, just tell me how you really feel. Whatever you think of me doesn't matter right now. I just need you to talk to me. I won't judge you, I won't pry, and I won't complain anymore. I'm sorry for being harsh before. I just…"
My words trailed off as her tears began to flow. She nodded silently, her shoulders shaking as she wept.
Her voice trembled, each word carrying the weight of an internal battle she had fought silently for too long.
"I knew," she began, her gaze fixed somewhere distant, as though staring into the void of her own fears.
"What you said is right, and I knew that I wanted an independent life. I want freedom— but giving up my dream is still not enough?" Her lips quivered, a faint defiance in her tone faltering under the shadow of what came next.
"But…" she hesitated, the words heavy like a stone in her throat,
"I have to go back to my parents now, and I don't know what they plan to do." Her breath hitched, the confession cracking her composure.
"I am scared that I can't fight anymore. It's harder for me now… harder because you came into my life."
Her final words struck a chord deep within me, unraveling the silence I had clung to for so long.
"Solin," I began, my voice trembling with raw emotion, "come to me. Come into my life. Can we start anew, together? I swear, I will take care of you for the rest of my life, you are my priority I can give you the freedom you always wanted. Just lay your burdens on me—I want to carry them for you. I want to protect you, to be by your side more than anything."
The weight of my words seemed to hang in the air, and for a moment, I feared they might crush us both. She hesitated, her chest rising and falling as if struggling to contain the tide of emotions I had unleashed.
Then, in a voice so soft it almost broke me, she responded,
"I know how you feel about me… Just give me some time. But my parents are…"
Her words faltered as her gaze drifted to meet mine. I stood frozen, stunned by the vulnerability in her eyes, by the unspoken promises that lingered there. Her eyes are brimming with vulnerability, a storm of gratitude and regret swirling in their depths.
"You didn't know them," she added, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried a rawness that pierced the air between them. The unspoken truth lingered—her freedom had always been her own, untouched by the shackles she could never seem to break. And now, the thought of losing the fragile hope she had stirred within her was almost too much to bear.
I clutch her tightly in my arms, my hands trembling as I feel the fragile quake of her body against mine. Her breath hitches, and I know—without her saying a word—that she's teetering on the edge of tears. In this fragile moment, I feel her soul laid bare, her unspoken emotions wrapping around me like a vice. The depth of what she feels for me is palpable, overwhelming. And it shatters me.
It shatters me because her love, so pure and profound, sharpens the edges of my pain. The fear gnaws at me, relentless and raw. The thought of losing her, of having her ripped away, is a wound that bleeds even as I hold her. I can't bear the idea that her parents might take her from me, pull her back into a life I can never touch, a past I can never erase.
I don't want her to leave. God, I don't want her to leave. But in the quiet, shameful corners of my heart, a voice whispers what I try so hard to ignore: I am unworthy of her love. Who am I to hold onto someone like her?
I'm just a man burdened by a fractured past, a man haunted by shadows I can't seem to escape. My own mother, distant and cold, never forgave me for a tragedy I never caused. Her absence is a quiet void, a wound disguised as indifference. She calls so rarely, her voice devoid of warmth, as if I were some forgotten echo of a son.
And yet, here she is—this beautiful, fragile, resilient woman—holding me together when I don't even know how to hold myself. How can I be enough for her, when all I've ever been is broken?
The sun rose gracefully from the east, casting its golden light across the horizon as I steered my car northwest. The journey unfolded like a serene painting, with lush greenery stretching as far as the eye could see.
Rice fields swayed gently in the morning breeze, their vibrant hues blending harmoniously with the shimmering surface of a lake that ran alongside the road.
Continued...