The fluorescent lights of the J.C. International office hummed, casting a sterile glow over my desk. Another day, another mountain of paperwork. Another soul-crushing meeting with Mr. Kim, the insufferable team leader whose garlic breath seemed to permeate the entire office. I winced as he launched into his tirade about the "disastrous" performance of the marketing team, his voice booming across the small conference room. Ms. Park, seated beside me, stifled a yawn, her eyes glued to her phone. Young Jae, the intern, looked like he was about to burst into tears. I, on the other hand, felt a familiar wave of dread wash over me.
This was my life now. Endless meetings, pointless presentations, and a constant barrage of emails. Three years ago, I had envisioned a glamorous career in marketing, fueled by passion and ambition. I had dreamt of creative campaigns, of innovative ideas that would shake the industry. But reality had a cruel sense of humor. Instead of brainstorming sessions and vibrant campaigns, I was drowning in spreadsheets, my creativity stifled by endless bureaucratic procedures.
The meeting finally ended, leaving me feeling drained and disillusioned. I glanced at the clock – 11:30 AM. Another two hours until lunch. Another two hours of staring at my computer screen, pretending to be productive. A wave of nausea washed over me. I had to get out of here.
As I walked down the hallway, a familiar tune drifted from the office stereo – a nostalgic pop song, its melody sending a jolt of unexpected emotion through me. I stopped, my hand instinctively reaching for the pendant hanging around my neck – a silver locket containing a faded photograph of me and Dohwa, taken during our senior year of high school.
Dohwa. The name brought a bittersweet smile to my lips. I hadn't thought about him in years. He had been my first love, the boy with the kind eyes and the shy smile who had held my hand under the moonlight during countless summer nights. We had drifted apart after graduation, our lives taking different paths. I had pursued a "practical" career, while he, I vaguely remembered, had followed his passion for music.
The locket felt heavy in my hand, a reminder of a life I had left behind. A life filled with dreams, with possibilities, with… happiness.
I took a deep breath, the familiar scent of old photographs filling my senses. It was a poignant reminder of what I had sacrificed for this… this monotony.
As I turned the corner, I nearly collided with a tall figure emerging from Mr. Kim's office. He froze, his eyes widening in surprise. It was Lee Dohwa.
My breath hitched. He hadn't changed much. His black hair was still neatly styled, a small mole still sat beneath his left eye, and his lashes, as long as I remembered, cast a slight shadow over his eyes. He was even more handsome than I recalled, his features sharp and his gaze intense.
"Haera?" he breathed, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.
"Dohwa," I whispered, my voice trembling.
He stepped closer, his eyes scanning my face, searching for something I couldn't decipher. "I… I didn't expect to see you here," he finally said, his voice still a bit breathless.
"Me neither," I replied, my gaze darting around the sterile office. "What… what are you doing here?"
He hesitated, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I… I'm starting a new position today. In marketing."
My heart plummeted. Marketing? The department I was about to abandon?
"Marketing?" I echoed, my voice barely a whisper.
He nodded, his smile widening. "Mr. Kim was kind enough to offer me a position. He said he heard I was quite talented."
Talented? I scoffed inwardly. Talented at what? Playing guitar in some smoky jazz club?
"I… I see," I managed to say, my voice devoid of any emotion.
He stepped closer, his eyes holding mine. "It's good to see you again, Haera."
"You too," I replied, my voice a mere shadow of its former self.
The air between us crackled with unspoken words, a tension building that had nothing to do with the fluorescent lights or the sterile office environment. It was a tension born of years of unspoken feelings, of paths not taken, of what ifs that lingered in the shadows of our hearts.
And as I watched him walk away, his broad shoulders filling the narrow hallway, I knew that my decision to resign had just become a whole lot more complicated.
My hands trembled as I continued down the hall, the image of Dohwa, his confident stride, his eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and something else – something I couldn't quite decipher – seared into my memory. Marketing. He was in marketing. The department that had become my prison, the department I was so desperate to escape.
My resignation letter, tucked neatly into my purse, suddenly felt heavy, a burden I no longer wished to carry. What if I stayed? What if I gave it another try? What if I could prove to myself, to him, that I could succeed?
The thought sent a jolt of adrenaline through me. Could I really do it? Could I face Mr. Kim, his condescending remarks, the endless paperwork, the soul-crushing monotony, all while knowing that Dohwa was just a few offices away?
The image of him, his dark hair tousled, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, flashed before my eyes. The memory of his hand in mine, the warmth of his skin against mine, sent a shiver down my spine.
I stopped abruptly, my mind racing. What if staying meant seeing him every day? What if it meant rekindling the spark that had died years ago? What if it meant… falling for him all over again?
The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. Terrifying because I was afraid of getting hurt, afraid of being disappointed. Exhilarating because… because he was Lee Dohwa. The boy who had once held my heart in his hands. The boy who had unknowingly become the soundtrack to my teenage years.
I took a deep breath, the familiar scent of old paper and stale coffee filling my nostrils. This was not how I had envisioned my resignation day. I had imagined a sense of liberation, a feeling of finally breaking free from the chains of corporate life. Instead, I felt a strange mix of confusion, excitement, and a terrifying sense of déjà vu.
My gaze drifted towards Mr. Kim's office, the door slightly ajar. I could almost see Dohwa inside, settling into his new desk, his laughter echoing down the hallway.
Suddenly, a wave of determination washed over me. I wouldn't let this opportunity slip away. I wouldn't let fear dictate my decisions.
With a newfound resolve, I turned and walked back towards Mr. Kim's office.