- | Kim Minji

The echo of your own pride still resonates within the four walls of the room, but there's nothing left to salvage. Minji stands before you, her suitcase half-closed, her gaze averted—that same gaze she so often used as a shield when arguments dragged on too long. They'd both been testing each other's strength for months, playing a game to see who would give in first, who would back down within a certain time. And you were unable to bend your ego in time. "It doesn't matter whose fault it was anymore, Minji," you say in a whisper, crossing your arms over your chest to hide the trembling. She stops, sighs deeply and, for the first time in a long time, looks you in the eyes without a trace of her usual defensiveness. —No, it doesn't matter anymore... — she admits in a quiet voice, and in that tone slips all the weight of the truth they tried to disguise — I... met someone. The sentence lands like a thud on the floor. It hurts, not from the surprise—because deep down you knew their silence would be filled by unfamiliar faces— but from the certainty that their story has finally come to an end. It's official: they're exes, two strangers with too much shared history and a pride so heavy it cost them the love of their lives.