April 8 "A Ride I didn't Ask for"

Dear Diary,

It rained today.

Not the kind of rain that invites poetry — this was the loud, unromantic kind. Sideways wind, puddles with no bottom, angry clouds that refused to move on. I should've stayed inside, but I needed to turn in that stupid essay before midnight.

Of course, I didn't bring an umbrella.

Of course, the buses were late.

And of course, my phone died as I stood shivering under the overhang outside the library, holding my laptop case like it could shield me from the storm or from life itself.

I was soaked to the bone. Not just wet — I mean drenched. My socks squished inside my shoes with every step. My hoodie clung to my spine. My bangs dripped into my eyes. It was a cinematic level of pathetic.

Then a black car pulled up.

Window rolled down.

And there he was.

Jung-Kyo.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked. His voice was that same calm baritone — like the storm didn't dare touch him.

I blinked, unsure if I was hallucinating.

Before I could answer, he said, "Get in. You'll catch pneumonia."

9:03 PM I hesitated, Diary. Not because I was afraid of him — but because I didn't trust myself not to say something weird. Or worse… to cry again.

But the thunder cracked, and my spine shook like a tuning fork.

So I got in.

The car was warm. Quiet. That same scent again — cedar and orange peel. The heater was on low, and when I looked over, he was already reaching for something behind the seat.

He handed me his jacket.

I tried to protest. I really did. But my lips were purple, and my teeth were chattering, and he just draped it over my shoulders like it was second nature.

9:11 PM We didn't talk much at first. The rain beat against the windshield in a rhythm I didn't have the energy to fight.

Then he said softly, "Rough day?"

I didn't answer. Just stared out the window like the answer might be hiding in the blurry streetlights.

After a pause, he said, "You don't have to talk. Just breathe."

So I did.

For the first time in hours, I let out a breath that didn't feel like it had barbed wire wrapped around it.

9:26 PM He drove me home.

But when we reached my building, I didn't open the door right away.

He noticed. Of course he did.

"I can stay," he said. "Just until you feel okay enough to go in."

That sentence undid me more than anything Se-Jin ever said.

Because Jung-Kyo didn't ask to be part of my pain — he just offered to sit beside it.

And something about that… something about him… made me feel like I didn't have to apologize for existing in pieces.

We sat in silence for a while. The kind of silence that felt padded, not empty. Safe.

Then, without thinking, I said, "Do you ever wish you could rewind time?"

He didn't look at me. Just tapped the steering wheel gently, like the question needed music.

"All the time," he said.

His voice was so soft it almost disappeared.

"But then I wonder," he added, "what I'd have to lose to get it back."

9:41 PM Before I got out, I turned to him.

"Thank you," I said.

He met my eyes. "For what?"

"For not asking too many questions."

He smiled then — just a flicker of something genuine and rare.

Then he said: "Questions aren't always the way to understand someone."

He waited until I got inside before driving off.

Now I'm in bed, wrapped in his jacket because it's too warm to give up. The scent of it still clings to my collarbones, like a memory trying not to fade.

I don't know what today was, Diary.

I don't know what we are.

But I felt safe.

And after everything… that means more than I can explain.

– Mi-Chan