The city hummed far below, a distant symphony of honking horns, laughter spilling from street vendors, and the low rumble of evening traffic. Up here on the deserted high-rise rooftop, the sounds felt muted, almost unreal. Min-jun stood at the edge, hands gripping the cold metal railing, the wind tugging at his hair. Beside him, Jin leaned casually against the same railing, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.
"Did I just fail?" Min-jun asked quietly, his voice barely rising above the breeze.
Jin glanced at him, eyes softening at the sight of his friend's defeated posture. "Maybe yes. But I don't understand why you didn't tell the truth to him before."
"Why?" Min-jun echoed with a bitter chuckle, staring down at the tiny people moving through their lives—couples walking hand in hand, families laughing, strangers chasing their own small joys. "Nice question. I didn't have any idea if this was really coming."
He sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. Jin gave a faint smile and placed a reassuring hand on Min-jun's shoulder.
"I know you want to see everyone happy," Jin said. "But you also deserve happiness."
Min-jun slowly lifted his head, meeting Jin's steady gaze. The words landed somewhere deep inside his chest, cracking the armor he'd been wearing since the café.
"You're right," Min-jun replied after a long pause.
Jin looked back out at the glittering city lights. "You should also be happy."
Min-jun nodded, a fragile determination settling over him. "Okay. From now on, I'll…" His voice wavered, confidence dipping. "I'll try my best to be good, like I always did." He looked away from Jin, eyes tracing the horizon. "And have fun."
Jin turned to him with a big, encouraging smile. "That's my man. Have fun. Live a little. The world doesn't stop just because one chapter ended."
Min-jun managed a small smile in return, though it didn't fully reach his eyes. Below them, the city kept moving, indifferent to broken hearts. For the first time in weeks, Min-jun felt a faint pull toward something new—something that wasn't Jennie. It was small, fragile, but it was there.
Across town, in his quiet apartment, Esler stood near the large window overlooking the same sprawling city. A glass of deep red wine rested in his uninjured hand, the liquid catching the warm glow of the table lamp. The bandage on his other hand felt tighter tonight, a dull reminder of unresolved tension.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, thumb scrolling through contacts until he reached one labeled Mr. Knight. His finger hovered over the call button. For a second, he looked away, gaze drifting to the rain-streaked window.
Did I hurt him?
The thought gnawed at him. The alley confrontation, the shattered glass, the weight of unspoken words—it all pressed heavier than he wanted to admit. He shook his head once and tapped the screen.
The call rang. Once. Twice. No answer.
He tried again. And again. Each unanswered ring tightened something in his chest. After thirty minutes of persistent attempts—voicemail never picking up, no callbacks—Esler finally stopped. With a sharp sigh, he hurled the phone onto the bed. It bounced once before settling silently against the pillows.
He took a long sip of wine, the rich flavor doing little to ease the frustration simmering beneath his controlled exterior. Whatever bridge he had hoped to mend tonight remained broken. Or perhaps it had never existed.
Jennie lay sprawled on her bed, the engagement ring glinting softly under her bedside lamp. The house was quiet—her parents had gone to bed early after another round of wedding planning calls. She scrolled idly through her phone, curiosity pulling her toward Esler's social media profiles.
At first, the photos were exactly what she expected: polished images with colleagues at academic events, a few formal family gatherings where he stood tall and composed. But as she kept scrolling, older posts surfaced. Her thumb slowed.
There he was—clumsy and grinning, covered in what looked like cake frosting at someone's birthday, eyes crinkled in genuine laughter. Another photo showed him in a ridiculous oversized sweater, attempting to build a snowman with friends, one arm comically broken off. He looked… young. Playful. Nothing like the stern professor who had scolded her for being two minutes late.
A soft smile tugged at her lips. She hadn't imagined this side of him existed. Photo after photo revealed a man who teased friends mercilessly, who danced badly at parties, who once tried (and failed) to cook something that ended in a kitchen disaster. The mature, distant figure from her lectures and their dinner date felt like only one layer of him.
Then she reached one particular photo.
Jennie sat up abruptly, heart skipping. She stared at the screen, zooming in slightly. In the image, Esler stood with a small group of friends at what looked like a university trip years ago. But it wasn't just him. There, in the background, partially visible but unmistakable, was another face. And beside it, a familiar name in the old caption.
Her breath caught.
She immediately tapped Luna's contact and pressed call.
The phone rang twice before Luna picked up, voice sleepy but alert. "Jennie? It's late—what's wrong?"
"Hey," Jennie said, voice urgent. "We need to talk."
The line stayed quiet for a beat. Luna's tone shifted, sensing the weight behind Jennie's words. "Okay… I'm listening. What did you find?"
Jennie hesitated, eyes still fixed on the shocking photo glowing on her screen. The pieces of Esler's past were suddenly shifting, revealing threads she hadn't expected—connections that blurred the lines between professor, groom, and stranger. Questions multiplied in her mind, each one pulling her deeper into the mystery surrounding the man she was supposed to marry.
Whatever this was, it changed things.
And she wasn't sure she was ready for the answers.