Kim Jin-Seok

She knew him before she knew how to tie her shoelaces.

Jin and she had lived next door to each other for as long as they could remember. They knew each other's gestures, their silences, their quirks.

When he broke his arm at nine, she was the one who cried.

When she failed her first exam at twelve, he was the one who wrote her a list of things he could do.

—You know how to run fast. —That's no good. —It helps me catch up when I try to escape.

In high school, everyone assumed they were a couple.

"Aren't you dating?" they were often asked.

"Ew, no," she said, though her heart was racing just thinking about it.

"She's like my sister," Jin said, but he avoided looking at her when she was wearing her summer uniform.

When I got to college, something changed.

They no longer studied together. They no longer walked home like they used to. And yet, he was still there. Always. Every birthday. Every fall. She too.

But now there were third parties.

She started dating a boy from her literature class.

Jin stopped writing to her for weeks. He only replied in monosyllables.

—Are you upset? -No. -Sure? —I'm just busy.

But I wasn't.

I was jealous.

And he hated himself for it.

One night, after a fight with her boyfriend, she went to look for him. It was raining. Jin opened the door, half asleep.

—Did something happen?

She just hugged him.

—He said I would never love him as much as I love you.

Jin's heart stopped for a second.

—And is it true?

She didn't answer.

But he didn't let go.

The next day, they pretended nothing had happened.

They were back to their old selves.

Only they weren't anymore.

The problem with growing up with someone is that one day you wake up and realize you love in a way that's scary.

And one day, for no special reason, Jin invited her to his terrace.

I had made ramen, just like old times.

—Remember when we said that if we reached 30 without getting married, we would marry each other?

She laughed.

—It was your idea.

—I still hold it.

.