Geum Seong-je

The club was full. Low lights, heavy music, laughter mixed with alcohol.

I saw it from afar.

Seongje sat at a table in the back, surrounded by his friends. They all seemed relaxed, laughing, drinking, taking up too much space as if the place belonged to them. He, on the other hand, remained the same: serious, resolute, with that presence that always stood out even without trying.

She was by his side.

He was not part of the group. It was noticeable.

She leaned towards him more than anyone else, touched his arm when he laughed, and leaned close to whisper in his ear even when the music wasn't very loud. Her gestures were clear, confident, and unashamed.

And Seongje didn't move.

He didn't walk away. He didn't keep his distance. I was just listening.

From where I stood, I could see everything without him noticing. I stayed still, hidden among tables and bodies coming and going. No one paid any attention to me. No one knew what I was seeing.

His friends seemed amused by the situation. They laughed, drank, some glanced at the girl and then at Seongje, as if it were perfectly normal. As if it didn't matter.

The club lights illuminated the scene at times: her smile, her constant closeness, the way she invaded his space without anyone stopping her.

I felt jealousy growing slowly, heavy, digging into my chest. It wasn't explosive. It was silent, like a wound that doesn't bleed but hurts more.

I'm at a nightclub and I see Seongje sitting at a table with his friends. A girl who isn't part of the group is standing too close to him and openly flirting with him. I observe the scene from another table without Seongje noticing I'm there. I don't intervene or approach; everything is experienced through my inner emotions: the silent jealousy, the glances, the dim atmosphere of the club, and the growing tension while he remains oblivious to my presence.