Sooah found herself staring at Jaemin's side of the bed for what felt like hours. He lay still, his breathing steady, his body angled slightly away from her. His presence in the room was palpable, yet he seemed so distant, as if there was an invisible barrier between them.
The Jaemin she had known years ago would have pounced at the mere opportunity of sleeping beside her. He would have wrapped his arms around her, whispered things in her ear, and begged her to let him hold her through the night. It had been overwhelming, suffocating even. She had hated how needy he was back then.
But now…
This Jaemin was different. He was a man of self-control, almost to an unsettling degree. He didn't even shift in his sleep, didn't reach out to her, didn't so much as graze her skin. It was as if he were content to exist in his own space, completely unbothered by the fact that she was lying just inches away from him.
And that realization unsettled her.
For years, she had resented the boy who had clung to her, who had demanded so much of her attention and affection. But now, lying beside this version of him—a man who seemed indifferent to her presence—she found herself longing for even the smallest sign of affection.
The shift in her emotions left her feeling vulnerable and confused. She had wanted Jaemin to grow up, to stop being the desperate, emotional boy he had been. But now that he had, she couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. This man, with his calm demeanor and quiet restraint, felt so out of reach.
The next morning, Jaemin was up before dawn, as always. Sooah woke to the sound of soft footsteps and the faint hum of the shower. By the time she made her way to the kitchen, he was already seated at the table, his breakfast half-eaten, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
"Good morning," she said softly, still feeling a little out of sorts from the night before.
He glanced up briefly, nodding in acknowledgment. "Morning."
His attention returned to his tablet, where he was reviewing some documents for work. Sooah stood there for a moment, watching him. He was always so composed, so focused. It was as if nothing could shake him.
"Do you ever take a break?" she asked, trying to inject some lightness into her tone.
Jaemin looked up again, his expression neutral. "There's too much to do."
"You work harder than anyone I've ever known," she said, a hint of admiration creeping into her voice despite herself.
"It's necessary," he replied simply.
Sooah bit her lip, unsure of how to continue the conversation. She wanted to say more, to ask him why he was pushing himself so hard, but she knew she wouldn't get a straight answer. Jaemin had built walls around himself, and she wasn't sure how to break through them.
As the days passed, Sooah found herself growing more and more aware of Jaemin's self-imposed distance. He slept beside her every night at her request, but he never initiated anything more. He didn't reach for her hand, didn't lean in for a kiss, didn't even brush against her accidentally.
At first, she thought it was his way of respecting her boundaries, but now she wasn't so sure. It felt more like he didn't need her anymore, like he had become so self-reliant that he didn't see the point in seeking comfort or connection.
And that realization stung.
One evening, as they sat together in the living room, Sooah decided to broach the subject.
"Jaemin," she began hesitantly, "do you ever… miss the way things used to be?"
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… us," she said, her voice faltering. "You used to… you know… care more about being close to me."
His eyes softened slightly, but there was no warmth in his smile. "I learned to stop wanting things I couldn't have," he said simply.
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. "You could have had me," she said quietly.
Jaemin shook his head. "Not the way I was. You were right to leave me, Sooah. I wasn't someone worth staying for back then."
Sooah felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "But you're different now," she said.
"Yes," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "And I intend to keep it that way."
His words left her speechless. She wanted to tell him that she had been wrong, that she didn't care about the mistakes he had made in the past. But she knew it wouldn't matter. Jaemin had built his life around proving that he didn't need her approval, and now he was too far removed to go back to who he had been.
As their wedding day approached, Sooah found herself grappling with a strange mix of emotions. She had thought that getting back together with Jaemin would bring closure, that it would heal the wounds of the past.
But the truth was, this new Jaemin was a stranger to her. He was everything she had wanted him to be—controlled, composed, successful—but he was also distant, untouchable.
And for the first time, she realized that she missed the boy he had been.
She missed his warmth, his vulnerability, his unwavering love for her. She missed the way he had looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.
But that boy was gone, replaced by a man who had endured hell to become someone she barely recognized.
And as much as she wanted to believe that they could rebuild what they had lost, she couldn't shake the feeling that it was already too late.