sim jaeyun. 002

you met jake when you were six, barefoot in your grandmother’s garden, holding a half-eaten popsicle and a lot of shyness. he had just moved in next door, with a bright smile, a backpack too big for his little body and messy hair. he said hi first. he always did.

that day, he asked if you wanted to play catch. you said no. he played anyway, just to make you laugh. and you did.

from then on, it was jake and you. inseparable. he walked you home even when it was safe, stood in front of you when dogs barked, gave you the last candy every time. “you’re my best friend,” he’d say, and your heart would race.

you were fourteen when he kissed you behind your grandmother’s shed. soft, awkward, real. he said sorry, then kissed you again. your grandmother saw and just smiled, like she always knew.

he was your first love.

you were sixteen when he showed up at your door in a too-big suit jacket, holding flowers.

“mrs. choi… can i date your granddaughter?”

“as long as you never make her cry.”

“never,” he swore.

he took you out for burgers and milkshakes. danced with you at prom. brought you tea during finals. left notes in your notebooks, little “you got this” scribbles with hearts at the end.

years passed. he went to college nearby but came back every weekend, still bringing your grandmother oranges and calling her “halmeoni".

and now, he stands in front of her again. older. nervous. a small velvet box in hand.

“i love her. i’ve loved her since we were kids. i want to keep loving her for the rest of our lives.” he kneels. “will you give me your blessing?”

she smiles. “you had it the moment you shared your cookies with her.”

that night, you come home and find him waiting. you see the nerves, the box, and you already know.

he takes your hand. “come with me to the garden.”

just like when you were six, you follow him barefoot into the grass.

this time, he gets on one knee.

“you were my first everything… let me be your last.”

and of course — of course — you say yes.