May 8 “I Think I’m Falling”

Dear Diary,

I wrote it today.

The words I swore I wouldn't.

The words I thought were still months — maybe years — away.

I wrote them in the corner of a napkin while sitting in the quietest corner of the art building, legs folded under me, coffee going cold beside my sketchpad. I wasn't even trying to be poetic. I wasn't aiming for some grand revelation.

It just… spilled out.

I think I'm falling in love with him.

And then I stared at it.

For a long time.

Heart thudding in my ears like it was trying to warn me.

Or cheer me on.

Or both.

Then I did the most predictable thing imaginable.

I scribbled it out.

Hard.

The kind of scribble that tears the paper slightly.

Because that's how it feels.

Like something in me is tearing — in the best and most terrifying way.

1:03 PM

It wasn't even a romantic morning.

There weren't grand gestures.

Just a routine coffee meetup at the bakery café with the dusty pink booths and the old jazz record that skips every twenty-seven minutes.

He was already there when I arrived. Reading something. A novel, I think. The cover was worn. His fingers rested gently on the page like he was holding the story together.

He looked up and smiled when he saw me.

And I swear, Diary…

It was different.

It wasn't just kind.

It wasn't just fond.

It was like the world slowed down — like his eyes found something they'd been looking for and were relieved it was still there.

I sat across from him, suddenly aware of how loud my heartbeat was.

"Did you eat?" he asked.

I nodded. "Kind of."

"Which means no."

He flagged the server and ordered a croissant and tea for me without asking what I wanted.

And here's the weird thing:

I loved that.

Not in a possessive way.

But in a someone's paying attention kind of way.

Someone notices what I need before I do.

1:34 PM

We talked about small things.

Final projects.

Weather.

How he once got stung by a bee at a piano recital and still finished the song.

I told him about the time I tried to bake cookies for my mom's birthday and nearly set the kitchen on fire. We laughed.

A lot.

But underneath the laughter was this thread — something soft and humming. A growing awareness neither of us wanted to name yet.

I caught myself watching the way he sipped his coffee.

The way he nodded when I talked.

The way his lips curled slightly when I mentioned a childhood memory, like he was tucking it away for safekeeping.

And somewhere between "you always add too much honey" and "I can't believe you've never seen Spirited Away,"

I felt it.

Not the idea of love.

Love itself.

Like it had quietly moved in.

Set down roots.

Started redecorating.

And suddenly, I was just… in it.

No fireworks. No confetti.

Just the knowing.

2:03 PM

After he left — a meeting, of course, always a meeting — I stayed behind.

Sat there with my untouched tea and the croissant half-eaten and my heart sitting too high in my chest.

That's when I pulled out my notebook.

And wrote it.

I think I'm falling in love with him.

Just that.

Sixteen words.

And they changed everything.

2:09 PM

I stared at the sentence like it had teeth.

Like it might bite me back.

Because now that I've seen it in ink, I can't un-know it.

It's not a maybe anymore.

It's a beginning.

2:12 PM

I thought about calling Chae-Sun.

But I didn't.

Because I didn't want advice.

Or jokes.

Or even comfort.

I just wanted to sit in this moment alone.

To be present with it.

To own it.

4:37 PM

Later, I went for a walk.

Alone. Headphones in. Music low.

The sun was setting and the sky looked like melted sherbet. Soft pinks and pale gold. One of those skies that makes you want to take pictures you'll never post.

I kept thinking about the way he looked at me this morning.

Not like I was fragile.

Not like I was broken.

But like I was real.

Like everything I'd tried so hard to hide was somehow the very thing he was choosing.

And Diary?

That terrifies me.

Because love — real love — makes you visible.

Fully.

There's nowhere to hide in it.

And I've spent so long hiding behind humor, behind ambition, behind hurt.

What happens if he sees it all and decides it's too much?

Or worse…

What if he sees it and decides he loves me too?

Then what?

Then it's real.

Then it can be lost.

Then it can break.

6:11 PM

I'm home now.

Dinner was soup. Again.

My appetite's been weird since the dream.

He texted around six:

Jung-Kyo: "Made it through the meeting. Barely survived. Thinking of suing for emotional distress."

Me: "Do you want me to testify on your behalf?"

Him: "Only if you wear your lawyer voice."

Me: "Objection, your honor. My client is too handsome to be prosecuted."

Him: "That's going in the court record."

We joked.

We bantered.

And I felt every word like it was a lifeline.

Every emoji like a breath.

8:03 PM

He said he might stop by tomorrow.

Bring snacks. Watch something.

Nothing serious.

But even now — just the thought of him in this space again, feet on my rug, tea in his hand — makes my chest warm.

This is how it starts, isn't it?

Not with declarations.

But with ritual.

With showing up.

With being known in the small, quiet ways.

And then suddenly, you're writing sentences you can't take back.

8:24 PM

I Went back to the napkin.

The one I scribbled on.

I smoothed it out.

Looked at the blacked-out sentence beneath all the pen marks.

And then…

I wrote it again.

On a clean page.

This time, no edits.

No shame.

Just truth.

I think I'm falling in love with him.

And you know what, Diary?

I didn't cry.

I didn't panic.

I just smiled.

Because it feels good to feel again.

Even if it's terrifying.

Even if it hurts later.

Right now, it feels like flying.

Like maybe, just maybe…

I'm allowed to fall.

– Mi-Chan