The problem was Chae-won. She was fiercely loyal. She would never leave Yoo voluntarily.
Kang Chae-won learned to cry silently by the age of twelve. The nuns at St. Theresa’s orphanage called it a blessing—she never disturbed the other children. But the truth was simpler: she had run out of tears for herself. Her tears were reserved for the characters in the dog-eared romance novels she found in the donation bin, for the stray cat that limped across the courtyard, for anyone but herself. More Than Blue -Seulpeumboda Deo Seulpeun Iyagi...
She should have been frightened. Instead, she felt a strange, electric kinship. She sat down beside him. “Then you’ll need a witness. I’m Chae-won.” The problem was Chae-won
But she knew. She had always known.
They got married that night, in the rain, on the rooftop of their building. The officiant was a stray cat. The witnesses were the neon signs. Yoo slipped a ring made of twisted paper onto her finger. She gave him a kiss that tasted of salt and ramyeon. Kang Chae-won learned to cry silently by the age of twelve
Yoo got a job as a lyricist at a small music label. Chae-won became a junior editor at a publishing house. Their life was a choreography of avoidance—avoiding the word “terminal,” avoiding the topic of the future, avoiding the truth that hummed between them like a live wire.