He said he didn’t want anything from me. Maybe he really meant it. Given the look on his face even after the day we’d had. If so, had he truly planned to only look at me for these three weeks? The moment I thought that, my lips moved on their own.

“...Those three weeks will be over soon.”

Even at the sudden topic, Kwon Yido didn’t seem particularly flustered. He simply looked at me with calm eyes and waited for what came next. From the start of this meeting until now, he hadn’t once let go of his tension.

“What will you do after that?”

I was always curious about his intentions. He still had lingering feelings for me, and when he showed it, it was consistently gentle. He was showing me with his whole body that he liked me, and yet it was strange that he didn’t get greedy.

“Well... start one more venture, maybe.”

His answer was clearly a joke. He let out a small huff and looked away. Covering the corner of his mouth with one hand, he turned his head the other way and said,

“We made a promise, so after that I shouldn’t be coming by. You don’t need to worry about that part.”

“......”

This man really doesn’t understand anything. After hearing me sob and spit everything out, after spending that night with me, this was what he had to say. Don’t worry? Did he think I was worried he’d keep bothering me?

“...I can’t read you, Mr. Kwon.”

The words came out like a breath. He looked back at me. My solar plexus felt cinched tight, so I tried to sound as unaffected as possible.

“You say you’re sorry, but you don’t ask me to forgive you. You come to the office every day, but you don’t ask me to see you, either.”

“......”

“How is any of this different?”

He didn’t answer my question right away. No—more accurately, he couldn’t. His expression was still composed, but his lips, parting and closing, were full of hesitation.

“Forgiveness...”

The single word that finally slipped out seemed on the verge of breaking. He paused, letting his gaze drop. When he spoke again, his voice was flat, as if stating a fact.

“...I don’t have the right to ask for it.”

A self-mocking light crossed his face. Like that time when he said he didn’t even have the right to plead.

“I’m not the one who decides that.”

“......”

I just had the thought. What he wanted from me didn’t matter all that much. What really mattered was what I wanted from him. The way he stood there like a condemned man waiting for judgment—he was, in the end, placing the choice in my hands.

“...You’re asking me to decide something hard.”

But this, too, took courage. If the first thing needed was forgiveness, then now it was the conviction to continue. Could we avoid repeating our mistakes? The courage to be sure and try anyway.

“If I say I can’t forgive you, can you accept that?”

At my quietly posed question, his eyes came back to me. Seeing he didn’t open his mouth, I asked again:

“If I say the three weeks are over so don’t show up in front of me, can you do as I say?”

As I went on, my mood sank. More precisely, a faint, nameless displeasure rose. He’d come to me saying he couldn’t breathe after just three months apart. What exactly did he think these three weeks would change?

“You’re not going to disappear from in front of me forever.”

The last words came out in a small mutter. To that, he answered as calmly as possible:

“...If that’s what you want.”

“......”

“Then that’s what I should do.”

Why did that get under my skin? Was I disappointed at the thought of him giving up everything, or was I annoyed at him acting like someone already preparing for the end? Or was it just absurdity at myself, for having secretly hoped?

“...All right, then.”

Unable to stand the suffocating feeling, I rose first. He must have realized I was upset, but still he couldn’t look my way. Tearing my gaze away by force, I wrapped up the conversation.

“Let’s stop here for today.”

***

Is it possible to forcibly put aside lingering feelings? When I gave him up, my life was bundled in with it. I had prepared to leave everything, and so I could resign myself without regret. If even the slightest remnant had remained, I wouldn’t have been able to throw myself away so easily.

Then what about Kwon Yido?

He laid all the groundwork for me and, in the end, even gave me freedom. What I had taken for deprivation—the breakup—now, thinking back, was the finest independence. I no longer move by anyone’s orders, and I no longer look to others for the value of my existence. Since everything turned out as he wanted, could he, too, give up without regret?

'Thank you for all your hard work.'

The three weeks I promised with him flashed by in a blink. We held our meetings at the usual time, with a cup of coffee between us, and traded formal talk about work. Since I didn’t start any personal talk, naturally he grew quieter as well.

'This is our last meeting, isn’t it.'

That was what I said after the last meeting ended. His three weeks ran exactly through the day of the event, so meeting at the company would end there. He kept his mouth shut, but I added one more line.

'...I’ll see you at the venue tomorrow.'

Three weeks with him. When that ended, there were words I had to say. There was something I had to give him, and there were feelings I had to deliver. Of course, I had to ask him many things first.

'Get home safe.'

What expression had he made at that? I couldn’t say for sure, but I knew his eyes had wavered. And that his lips had parted like he might say something. But in the end, he left without saying a word.

“Thank you to everyone joining ‘Sejin’ for this event.”

And so today, the long-awaited collaboration product with the Seonho Foundation launched. I arrived at the venue early in the morning and personally greeted the people involved. I’d tossed and turned all night organizing what I wanted to say to him, but my condition wasn’t bad.

“I’m Jung Sejin, the head of ‘Sejin.’”

The charity event held with the launch was structured so people could attend without invitations. Naturally, unlike last time, there were more general visitors than corporate folks. Maybe because we’d promoted the event heavily in advance, more people showed up than expected and shared their impressions of the new product.

“For this collaboration with the foundation, a portion of the proceeds will be donated to low-income children...”

As the event went on, I moved busily inside, handling different tasks. I introduced products to visitors and exchanged brief greetings with several partner staff. All the while I kept scanning the area closely, but unfortunately, I didn’t see the person I was looking for.

“Sejin, congratulations on the launch.”

Running into me mid-event, Lee Heena greeted me and winked playfully at Lee Taeseong. There was no need to explain why Taeseong forced his face stiff. When I promised to let him leave early, I also knew the way the corner of his mouth had twitched.

“Director, great work.”

“Thank you for your hard work!”

By the time the ceremony wrapped, my mood had sunk beyond words. The sun was setting, and even though the work was over, I felt no joy at all. With winter close now, the sky fell to night all the faster.

“At least we can finally breathe. Though, of course, we’ll be busy until the event period wraps...”

The staff looked around the venue with faces that were both relieved and wistful. The prep had been long, but the result was over in a flash, they said. They hadn’t realized three weeks would be this short, and so on.

“Director?”

“...Ah.”

I snapped back to myself. I forced a pleasant smile. When I slipped my hand into my pocket, I felt the small box I’d brought along.

“Everyone, go on home and rest. You can come in late tomorrow.”

Ordinarily we’d have held a company dinner, but for several reasons we decided to do it after the collaboration with the foundation fully concluded. We’d just had a dinner the week before, and the ceremony being over didn’t mean sales were done. We decided to stay on our toes a few more days, and once everything was wrapped, we’d go eat something good again.

“Get home safe!”

“See you tomorrow!”

I saw the staff off and headed toward the parking lot with Mr. Kim. One hand in my pocket, still fiddling with the square box. In the other, I gripped the phone that hadn’t rung once the whole event.

“Shall I take you home?”

When Mr. Kim asked that, I stopped without meaning to. No particular reason—just a sudden surge of irritation. The sky already darkening, the day almost done, and my still-level emotions—all of it displeased me.

“...No.”

He hadn’t come.

The event was already over, and I still hadn’t seen his face. He’d said the three weeks ran through today; when today ended, he wouldn’t come find me.

Why did he keep doing whatever he pleased. After showing up just fine under the title of liaison all this time, he didn’t show even a hair on the important day. I hadn’t decided how to start or what to say to him, but I certainly hadn’t wanted to be prevented from even starting like this.

'You’re not going to disappear from in front of me forever.'

Maybe he had promised himself an ending alone, again. Like when he told me our engagement was over. Maybe he’d decided on his own, without consulting me at all. To disappear from my sight forever. So I wouldn’t be bothered by him.

“Take me somewhere else, not home.”

I had to see him. With that thought, I started walking again. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but my three weeks weren’t over yet. Even if we were going to part, I wanted to tell him this was a selfish choice.

But that anger didn’t have long to go. As I turned my head in annoyance, not far away I spotted a familiar face.

“......”

“......”

Our eyes met. In the middle of the parking lot. No—in front of my car, the one I was supposed to take. One person, in a wool coat down to the knees, staring quietly at me. A man tall even from a distance, features perfect as if sculpted.

“...Kwon Yido?”

Hands in his pockets, he was looking at me. Just by standing there, he matched the season of the cold wind too well. Under a sky sinking into dusk, he looked almost unreal.

Was I seeing things? That thought came—and then the answer I heard was undeniably real.

“Looks like the event’s over.”

His characteristically low voice slipped into my ear. When I couldn’t say anything, a small apology followed.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Something came up.”

“...Ah.”

So he hadn’t given up on me. That fact was a relief. He hadn’t ended the three weeks alone and disappeared. The simple fact of it almost made me cry. Maybe crying becomes a habit; given how I °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° react to these trifles.

“......”

I walked toward him slowly. Noticing, Mr. Kim discreetly widened the distance. About three steps left between us. From there, I spoke to him.

“...That makes two times, now. You not coming to my launch events.”

Hadn’t I said it to his face? That from twice on, it’s not a mistake. I knew he was busy, but couldn’t he spare even a moment? He’d even come to the office on the day of the accident—why did he always skip these public events?

“Don’t say you were busy. Give me an excuse, at least.”

I hadn’t planned to show this kind of hurt. Even thinking that, my lips moved on their own. His mood was too quiet; if he didn’t say something, I’d think he was a phantom.

After a long silence, he answered in a very small voice.

“...I didn’t think I could face it.”

“Face what?”

“You, Sejin.”

His lips moved, barely audible. Me? There was no need to ask. What came next explained everything.

“Because now... you really don’t need me anymore, and I couldn’t bear to see it.”

A tight ache spread under my ribs. No matter how many times I felt that clenching in my heart, I never got used to it.

“That’s why I couldn’t come. That day.”

On the day of the first launch event, he’d told me he bought roses for me. Yet he hadn’t come, and in the end I never received them. Had he been thinking that, then—that it was too hard to see with his own eyes the freedom he himself had given me?

“...Then what about today?”

I asked slowly. Fine, not that day—but why not today? He’d said he was late because of work, but he knew as well as I did that wasn’t convincing.

“Today...”

He hesitated even more than before. His expression was so calm it didn’t look like hesitation, but still. Then, as if he had steeled himself, he said in a level tone:

“I thought I might start having regrets.”

“......”

There was no need to ask what regrets. From the start, he had been preparing for just one thing. Even now, meeting my eyes with an expression empty of hope.

“...So did you get rid of them all?”

In my pocket, I thumbed the small square box. What he would say didn’t feel all that important. I already knew what I was going to say, and in these last few days, I had come to one conclusion.

But the answer that followed was enough to wipe my mind blank.

“Almost.”

“......”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. What reached me felt terribly calm, and the next words were the same.

“I’ve let go of almost all of it.”

Every thought I’d been holding scattered without a trace. My gaze wavered, and my grip on the box went slack. The words I’d been about to say vanished behind my throat; all I could do was open and close my mouth, silent.

Almost, was it? In only three weeks, he had let go of almost all his lingering feelings for me. Saying it with emotions this tranquil, this even.

“...Ha.”

My empty head began to fill with something else. Injustice and futility, a sense of betrayal, and things like disappointment in him and embarrassment at myself.

“Good for you. That you’ve almost let go.”

I had prepared what I wanted to say to him, and he’d been preparing our end. At the edge of a season cold enough to sting my nose. In the season when he had let me go before, he was saying it again—that he would let me go.

“...Looks like I worried for nothing.”

What on earth had I been expecting. We had already broken up; we could never go back. He had already given me up, and there I was, thinking of holding on to him.

“...Goodbye.”

“......”

“We won’t be seeing each other again, will we.”

With that, I started walking again. I meant to pass him by and part from him forever. The thing I had brought to give him—I could just toss it somewhere. And the feelings I hadn’t managed to discard—time could erase them.

“......”

But I couldn’t pass him. The moment I lifted my head without thinking, our eyes met in the air. And at the same time, tears pattered down that expressionless face.

“......”

“......”

Time felt stopped. Under a clear sky with no rain, drops fell only from his eyes. Sliding helplessly down his cheeks, they hit the ground—plink, plink.

“...Ah.”

His lips moved belatedly. His lashes, trembling, were already soaked through.

Once, twice, he blinked. Then, with his head bowed low, he covered his face with one hand.

“...Sorry.”