CHAPTER 20:THE YEARS BETWEEN BLOOM AND RETURN
When Monday came around, Jungwon High felt like a completely different world without Ji-hoon by her side.
The school corridors used to feel like battlefields—full of whispers and glares—but with him gone, it was like someone had dropped her in the center of a flashing spotlight.
And she hated every second of it.
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Back to Being the Target?
The moment Hae-won stepped onto campus, all eyes turned to her.
At first, she thought she was just being paranoid.
Maybe she had toothpaste on her shirt. Maybe her hair was sticking up.
Then she heard it:
> "Isn't that Ji-hoon's girl?"
"She's alone now, huh?"
"Wonder who's gonna snatch her next?"
The comments cut deeper than she'd expected.
She kept her head down, clutching her bag tighter against her side.
But no matter how fast she walked, no matter how small she tried to make herself, the murmurs kept growing louder and louder.
Somewhere in the crowd, a few girls snickered loudly, tossing their freshly curled hair over their shoulders like movie stars.
One even fake-coughed the word, "Loser."
Wow. New record. Less than five minutes into school and I'm already public enemy number one again.
Hae-won thought grimly, shoulders hunched.
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Boys Will Be Boys
At lunchtime, things got even worse.
She barely made it to the cafeteria without being ambushed.
Just as she was about to slink into her usual empty table by the window, a tray clattered loudly next to hers.
She looked up—and nearly dropped her chopsticks.
Three boys—popular ones—were grinning down at her like hyenas spotting a stray rabbit.
"Mind if we sit here?" one of them asked, not waiting for an answer before plopping down.
"You're Hae-won, right?" another one said, leaning in so close she could smell his cologne. "Ji-hoon's girlfriend. Or…ex-girlfriend now?"
The third boy wiggled his eyebrows. "Or maybe you're looking for an upgrade?"
Around them, the entire cafeteria went deathly silent.
Phones were whipped out.
Flash after flash.
Click after click.
Within seconds, Hae-won's face was splattered across the school gossip app.
> "She's moving on fast, huh?"
"Didn't even mourn for a day lol."
"Get it, girl. Play the field!"
She felt her face burn hotter than the school kimchi stew.
Mortified, Hae-won gathered her things in a frantic rush, knocking over her tray and sending rice flying everywhere.
The boys laughed.
The girls glared.
The gossip app exploded.
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A Furious "Best Friend"
Of course, Min-ji—Ji-hoon's supposed ex-girlfriend—had to make her grand appearance right then.
Wearing designer sunglasses indoors, she sauntered into the cafeteria like she owned it, a smug smirk plastered across her face.
She dramatically gasped when she saw Hae-won, then fake-whispered loud enough for the whole school to hear:
> "Ohhh... moving on already? So cheap."
The cafeteria burst into laughter.
Hae-won bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
If she didn't get out of there in two seconds, she was going to either cry or throw her tray at someone.
Maybe both.
She bolted.
Right out the side door.
Tray abandoned.
Dignity barely intact.
---
Unexpected Rescues
Hae-won spent the rest of the day hiding in the library.
She knew the gossip app was blowing up without even checking.
When school finally ended, she made a mad dash toward the gate—only to nearly trip over her own feet when she saw a familiar black car parked nearby.
Wait. No way. It can't be—
The window rolled down slowly.
And there, grinning like a king who had just reclaimed his throne, was Ji-hoon.
"Miss me?" he asked, cocky as ever.
Hae-won blinked, her brain short-circuiting.
"You're…you're back?" she stammered.
He laughed. "Not back back. I just had... unfinished business."
And with that, he threw open the passenger door.
"Get in, pretty girl. You owe me lunch."
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Damage Control
The moment they pulled into the nearest café, Ji-hoon shoved his phone in her face.
On the screen was a screenshot of the gossip app.
Photos of Hae-won and the cafeteria boys.
Photos of Min-ji smirking.
Photos of Hae-won bolting out like a startled deer.
Underneath it, Ji-hoon had commented:
> "Touch her again and I'll destroy you all.
P.S. She's still mine."
10k likes in ten minutes.
Hundreds of comments cheering him on.
Min-ji deleted her account out of pure embarrassment within an hour.
Hae-won stared at him, slack-jawed.
"You…you're insane," she whispered.
He grinned wickedly.
"And you love it."
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Sweet Revenge
That evening, Ji-hoon treated her to a full-course meal, a new pair of sneakers (because her old ones were "too ugly to be seen with"), and a new matching phone case: his and hers.
He even bought a giant teddy bear bigger than Hae-won and forced her to carry it back to her apartment.
Naturally, everyone at the grocery store gawked at them like they were celebrities.
Phones came out again.
Flashes everywhere.
The gossip app crashed from too many uploads.
Hae-won groaned.
"Can't we just have one normal day?"
Ji-hoon just threw an arm around her shoulder and ruffled her hair.
"Normal's boring. Let them watch. You're mine."
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New Normal
Back at her apartment, they spent the night laughing over cheesy variety shows, eating junk food, and building a pathetic attempt at a pillow fort.
It collapsed after five minutes.
Hae-won collapsed after that—right into Ji-hoon's arms.
And this time, when she closed her eyes, she didn't feel invisible.
She didn't feel broken.
She felt loved.
Adored.
And maybe, just maybe… invincible.
Seo Hae-won sat at her rickety desk in her cramped college dorm room, the hum of the fluorescent light overhead a familiar companion to late-night study sessions. Tomorrow's final exam in Advanced Organic Chemistry loomed like an ominous storm cloud, and the stack of textbooks to her left seemed to grow taller with each hour that passed. She rubbed her eyes and checked her phone—a reflex that had become second nature since those heady days at Jungwon High. But the screen remained stubbornly blank: no call, no message, no missed notifications.
She closed her eyes, remembering the day Ji-hoon had whispered, "I'll be back soon." His words had echoed in her chest for years, a promise she clung to as she walked across the graduation stage that June afternoon, trembling in her cap and gown, her heart full of hope that never faded.
Six years. He'd been gone six years now.
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Hae-won opened her notebook and stared at the flowchart she'd painstakingly sketched of reaction mechanisms. Her part-time job shifted through her mind: evening hours at the campus library, shelving books and reshelving returned lab equipment, scanning student IDs at the front desk. Money was tight—tuition, rent, books—but she'd managed. Not because she was cut out for hardship, but because she had to believe that every nickel saved now brought her closer to the day she'd see Ji-hoon again.
She glanced at the small silver bracelet still on her wrist—the one Ji-hoon had given her on the day he left. The tiny star charm gleamed under her harsh dorm-room light. She tapped it gently, as if willing it to flash him back into her life.
The radio on her desk crackled to life:
"...and in today's campus news, Professor Kim's Advanced Organic Chemistry class will hold its final exam tomorrow at 9:00 AM sharp. Students are encouraged to arrive early and bring two pencils, erasers, and a valid student ID—"
Hae-won scribbled "9 AM" in her planner. She'd be there, calculator in hand, ready to conquer.
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First Year: Foundations and Fervor
As a freshman, Hae-won had felt adrift—no longer under Ji-hoon's protective shadow, no longer the princess of viral gossip. At Jungwon High, she had been the center of a glittering storm of attention. But at Seoyoung University, she was just another wide-eyed transfer student trying to find her ground in the sprawling lecture halls.
She spent her first semester juggling foundational courses—General Chemistry, Differential Calculus, Introduction to Literature. She discovered the campus coffee shop, where she learned to love bitter black coffee in the pre-dawn hours. She found friends: Min Jae-hyun, the philosophy major who quoted Plato at breakfast; Kim So-ra, the math whiz who tutored her in calculus; Park Da-eun, ironically a different Da-eun who shared her love of sketching anime fan art during breaks.
At night, she would dream of Ji-hoon's voice calling her name. It was the only dream that ever felt real.
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Second Year: Part-time Reality
Sophomore year arrived with a rude awakening: tuition was due, rent was due, and ramen noodles only stretched so far. Hae-won took a part-time job at BrightLeaf Library, working the night shift from 8 PM to 2 AM three times a week. She scanned returned novels, stamped due dates, and quietly unfolded chairs for the late-night study crowd.
There, in the hush of the stacks, she found a measure of peace—amid the smell of old paper and polished wood. She developed a routine: textbooks until midnight, then shelving books to ward off sleepiness. Once, a student left behind an abandoned sketchbook from a geology major—pencil drawings of mineral structures so intricate she nearly gasped. She carefully shelved it in a special "Lost & Found Art" section, hoping its creator would return.
But despite her solitary comfort, loneliness crept in each morning—when the librarian handed her a brown envelope of her meager paycheck. She would count the notes inside: enough for bus fare and three meals. She placed the rest in her savings box labeled "Return Fund."
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Third Year: New Encounters, Old Promises
By her third year, Hae-won was academically solid—her name occasionally mentioned by professors as a student with "rare dedication." But her heart fluttered at the sounds of a new name she couldn't allow herself to cherish.
Lee Hyun-woo, the charming journalism major, approached her one rainy afternoon in the library stacks, offering his umbrella. "You look like you might melt in the downpour," he'd said softly, eyes kind behind round glasses.
For a heartbeat, Hae-won almost smiled. He invited her to coffee. She accepted once—and then spent the next week replaying every word Ji-hoon had ever said to her, wondering if Hyun-woo's gentle laugh could ever replace that memory.
She gently told Hyun-woo she was busy with exams. He understood but asked her to call if she changed her mind.
She never called.
Six years had taught her one thing: waiting meant being alone, and she wasn't ready to risk anyone's heart for a chance she couldn't guarantee.
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Fourth Year: The Silent Graduation
Senior year loomed, and Hae-won found solace in her busiest schedule yet: Advanced Organic Chemistry, Thermodynamics, and a seminar on Global Science Communication. She spearheaded a small student group that presented at a national science fair. Her research on green polymer catalysts earned a commendation. But none of it filled the gap in her chest.
One evening, after her final presentation, her phone buzzed with a single message:
> BrightLeaf Library: Your library fees are overdue. Please settle your account by tomorrow.
She stared at the screen and felt rage bubble. Overdue fees? After everything she'd done for that place? She spent her next paycheck clearing the fine—only to discover her schedule would force her to drop the library shift.
They hadn't even sent a goodbye.
Graduation day arrived: Hae-won lined up in cap and gown, tassel swinging at her temple. When the president shook her hand and handed her the diploma, she blinked back tears that nobody saw. She stepped off the stage holding her degree—a single sheet of heavyweight paper that felt heavier than any promise.
She whispered: "Ji-hoon… I'm here."
But across the miles, the only response was silence.
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Sixth Year: Final Separation and Farewell
It was the spring after graduation that the letter arrived—hand-delivered to her apartment by a somber courier. The outside was plain: ivory paper, no return address, just her name in Ji-hoon's neat handwriting.
Inside, on a single sheet, he wrote:
> "My Dearest Hae-won,
By now, you must think me a ghost of broken promises. I've tried every channel—emails, calls, letters—but each time, something slipped through the cracks. My work consumed me. Our company's expansion hit delays; my father grew ill; I traveled from London to New York to Dubai. And in every city, I saw petals drifting in the breeze, reminding me of you, reminding me of our promise.
I thought I would return sooner, but life had other plans. I'm back now—permanently. Please, meet me at Jungwon High's main gate this Saturday at noon. If you can forgive me, I want to start again. If not, I understand.
I love you, always— Ji-hoon
Hae-won's hands shook. Her breath caught in her throat.
All at once, memories flooded: the rooftop tears, the perfume of cherries in bloom, the thunder of applause in the courtyard. Her six years of silence tumbled down like a barricade.
She folded the letter carefully, placed it next to her diploma, and stared at the faded star charm on her bracelet.
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Epilogue: Crossing the Bridge
Saturday arrived, sky overcast with soft clouds. Hae-won stood at the old school gate—now manicured and modernized—her heart pounding as though she'd never left. Six years. Three thousand days. He'd told her to wait. And she had.
At noon sharp, a sleek black car pulled up. The door opened. His silhouette appeared—taller, with silver at the temples but the same straight posture she fell in love with.
Their eyes met—and for a moment, the years between them vanished. She took a tentative step forward; he closed the distance in two strides. Without a word, he knelt and took her hand.
"Will you bloom with me—this time, under one sky?"
Tears slipped down her cheeks. She nodded, voice barely a whisper:
"Yes."
He rose and brushed a stray hair from her face, smiling through his own tears.
And as petals drifted down in an imagined breeze, they walked through the gates—no longer as bully and bullied, no longer as ghost and survivor, but as two souls finally, irrevocably, entwined.