[No-Ah]
A week passed.
Which was weird.
Because Kei wasn't ignoring her.
Not exactly.
He still replied.
Eventually.
Sometimes.
With messages so short they looked like he was being held hostage by punctuation.
Are you alive?
yes
That's reassuring.
good
And then nothing.
No follow-up.
No sarcasm.
No unnecessary argument that somehow turned into a conversation about something completely unrelated.
Just—
stop.
No-Ah stared at the chat.
What kind of conversation was that?
The old Kei would've turned "are you alive" into a full debate about whether "alive" was a subjective concept.
This Kei treated words like he was rationing them.
It was annoying.
Very annoying.
And somehow—
unsettling.
Because over the past few months, talking to Kei had become…
normal.
Not normal-normal.
That would be ridiculous.
But normal enough that the absence of it felt wrong.
Which was also ridiculous.
☆ ☆ ☆
One evening, Yun-Ra didn't even look up from her laptop.
"You're doing it again."
No-Ah froze.
"I'm not doing anything."
"You just stared at your phone like it owed you money."
"…I was checking the time."
"At 9:14, four times in a row?"
Silence.
Yun-Ra finally glanced up.
Her expression: unimpressed.
Then she went back to typing.
The traitor.
☆ ☆ ☆
[Kei]
This was stupid.
Completely.
Utterly.
Stupid.
Kei knew it.
His manager knew it.
Even Mrs. Yoon probably knew it from whatever executive dimension she operated in.
And yet—
here he was.
Staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him.
Across the room, his manager didn't even bother hiding the sigh.
"You're looking at her contact again."
Kei locked his phone instantly.
"No."
"You were literally mid-scroll."
"I wasn't."
"You froze when I spoke."
"That's called awareness."
"That's called denial."
Kei looked away.
His manager pinched the bridge of his nose.
"For someone trying to protect her, you're spending a concerning amount of time emotionally haunting her contact name."
Kei hated that.
Because it was accurate.
Every day, he almost texted her.
Then stopped.
Then told himself that was discipline.
It wasn't discipline.
It was restraint that hurt.
☆ ☆ ☆
His phone buzzed.
Hope flared instantly.
Then died immediately.
Food delivery.
His manager laughed.
Kei briefly considered becoming someone who lived off-grid in the mountains.
☆ ☆ ☆
[No-Ah]
Ten days.
At first, she thought she was imagining it.
People got busy.
People disappeared for a day or two.
Normal.
But Kei was not "normal absence" kind of person.
He was "why are you still talking while I'm trying to sleep" kind of person.
So this silence felt wrong.
She opened the chat.
Stared at the last message.
Three days ago.
Three.
Days.
That shouldn't feel like anything.
But it did.
She locked her phone.
Unlocked it again immediately.
Because that was normal.
Just checking.
Not waiting.
Definitely not waiting.
☆ ☆ ☆
[Kei]
Day twelve.
His phone buzzed.
Once.
Kei didn't move.
Not immediately.
Because he already knew.
That was the worst part.
He always knew now.
No-Ah.
Are you mad at me?
Kei stared at it.
Long enough for the screen to dim.
Then wake.
Then dim again.
His thumb hovered.
Didn't move.
Across the room, his manager noticed instantly.
"…Don't tell me it's her."
Kei didn't answer.
Because anything he said would be wrong.
"I'm not mad."
Too empty.
"I'm busy."
Too fake.
"I'm not mad at you."
Too late.
His thumb tightened.
He deleted everything.
Started again.
Stopped again.
His breathing felt too loud.
"You don't have to reply immediately," his manager said.
Kei's voice came out flat.
"I do."
Silence.
Because if he didn't reply now—
he might say something honest.
☆ ☆ ☆
Kei typed:
I'm not mad. Just busy.
He stared at it.
Busy.
A lie that sounded safe.
That was the problem.
Safe didn't mean right.
But he sent it anyway.
☆ ☆ ☆
[No-Ah]
It appeared instantly.
Of course it did.
I'm not mad. Just busy.
That was it.
Twelve days of silence reduced to that.
No explanation.
No tone.
No Kei.
Just—
distance.
She stared at it longer than she should've.
Then read it again.
And again.
Something shifted in her chest.
Not relief.
Not anger.
Something sharper.
Because it didn't sound like him.
It sounded like someone trying very hard not to be him.
☆ ☆ ☆
Yun-Ra glanced over.
"You're making that face again."
"What face?"
"The 'I am not emotionally involved' face."
"I don't have one."
"You do. It's just not convincing."
No-Ah locked her phone too fast.
☆ ☆ ☆
[Kei]
No reply.
Not immediately.
That should've been fine.
That should've been expected.
But Kei still looked.
Like the screen owed him something it refused to give back.
☆ ☆ ☆
Then—
buzz.
Kei froze.
No-Ah.
Busy for twelve days?
Just that.
No emoji.
No cushioning.
No softness.
Just impact.
Kei stared.
Once.
Twice.
Longer the third time.
His thumb hovered.
Didn't move.
Because this wasn't silence anymore.
This was being seen.
☆ ☆ ☆
Across the room, his manager spoke carefully.
"…What did she say?"
Kei didn't answer right away.
Because now there was no safe version of anything left.
☆ ☆ ☆
[No-Ah]
She didn't mean for it to sound sharp.
But it did.
It came out exactly like the thought she had been avoiding for twelve days.
And now it was sent.
She stared at the chat.
Waiting.
Not for comfort.
Just for something that made sense.
☆ ☆ ☆
[Kei]
He started typing.
Stopped.
Deleted.
Typed again.
I didn't mean it like that
Paused.
I've just been too busy
Paused again.
Too weak.
Too late.
He stared at the screen.
Then added:
It wasn't about you
His thumb hovered.
Then—
Kei realized the problem wasn't what he said.
It was that he couldn't say what he meant without breaking everything else.
☆ ☆ ☆