May 16 “Sick Days”

Dear Diary,

Something felt off today.

Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just… different.

Like a light dimming ever so slightly in a room you've always known to be bright.

And the worst part?

I almost convinced myself I imagined it.

Because that's what you do when someone you care about starts pulling away.

You tell yourself you're being dramatic.

You tell yourself it's nothing.

You tell yourself it's just a bad day.

But when it's someone like him, someone who never cancels plans, someone who shows up even when you didn't ask — you start to wonder.

You start to worry.

1:14 PM

We were supposed to meet at the riverside café.

He made the plan three days ago. Said he wanted to show me the place where he goes when he needs to think.

"It's quiet," he said. "Feels like the city disappears for a bit."

I was excited.

Nervous, even.

I wore my favorite skirt. Curled my hair. Brought my sketchpad in case we found a bench to sit on.

But when I got there, he wasn't.

I waited twenty minutes before I checked my phone.

No message.

No call.

I thought maybe he got held up.

Then — finally — my phone buzzed.

Jung-Kyo: "I'm so sorry. Can't make it today. Exhausted. Might be coming down with something."

Just that.

No emoji. No voice memo. No "I'll make it up to you."

Just a tired, distant message.

And my stomach dropped.

1:33 PM

I sat on the bench anyway.

Ordered a lemonade and stared at the river for a while.

Tried to tell myself it was fine.

People get sick.

People cancel plans.

It's normal.

But the thing is…

This isn't normal for him.

He's the guy who brings tea when I'm sick.

Who shows up when I don't even ask.

Who walks miles just to sit next to me in silence.

And now he's distant.

Cold, almost.

Or maybe I'm projecting.

God, I don't know.

All I know is that I felt alone today in a way I haven't felt in weeks.

3:10 PM

I texted back eventually.

Me: "Totally fine. Rest. Let me know if you need anything."

He didn't reply for a while.

When he did, it was just:

"Thanks."

No heart.

No "Mi-Chan."

Just… thanks.

And I hate how much that hurt.

5:03 PM

I told myself not to spiral.

But the thoughts kept coming anyway.

Is he losing interest?

Did I scare him off by falling too hard too fast?

Was the kiss a mistake?

Did I imagine all of it?

Is this what it feels like when people start to fade?

I curled up on my bed, pulled his hoodie over my knees, and let myself cry — just a little.

Not the messy kind.

The quiet kind.

The kind that seeps out when you're not even sure what you're mourning yet.

6:12 PM

I made soup.

The same kind he brought me when I was sick.

I told myself it was just for comfort.

But I kept checking my phone between bites.

Kept waiting for his name to light up the screen.

It didn't.

7:24 PM

Chae-Sun came home around then and asked if I was okay.

I lied.

Said I had a headache.

She offered to make tea.

I said no.

I didn't want tea.

I wanted him.

8:01 PM

He finally texted again.

Jung-Kyo: "I'm okay. Just really drained. Sorry I bailed today."

Me: "You didn't bail. You needed rest."

Him: "Still. I hate missing our time."

That helped.

A little.

But it still didn't feel like him.

Even his messages felt… slower.

Like he was forcing them through something heavy.

I almost asked Are you really okay?

But I didn't.

Because I was afraid of the answer.

8:47 PM

I scrolled through our old messages tonight.

Read through weeks of notes, jokes, little moments we'd carved out like paper stars on a wall.

And the contrast felt brutal.

Back then, he messaged like he was leaning forward into the conversation.

Now?

Now it feels like he's stepping back.

9:36 PM

I wrote in my sketchbook tonight.

Not a diary entry.

Just words and colors.

Brushstrokes that looked like static.

Like worry.

Like something unraveling in the background that no one wants to talk about.

10:12 PM

He sent one last message before I went to bed.

Him: "Goodnight. I'll see you soon."

I stared at it for a long time.

Wanted to believe it.

Wanted to feel it.

But something in my chest whispered:

Something's not right.

10:59 PM

I'm lying in bed now.

Staring at the ceiling.

And I keep thinking about the last time we saw each other.

The way he smiled at me.

The way his fingers curled into mine.

The way he said, "You don't have to carry it alone."

And I wonder if he's trying to carry something now — something he won't tell me.

Because he doesn't want me to worry.

Because he thinks I'll run.

Because he's afraid of what it might mean.

I don't know.

But I do know this:

If he's sick…

If something is wrong…

If he's hiding it to protect me…

I wish he'd stop.

I wish he'd let me in.

Because I'd sit through any silence.

I'd hold his hand through any storm.

I'd stay, even if everything else fell apart.

I don't want perfect.

I don't need promises.

I just want him — real, tired, human him.

Whatever he's going through…

I want to face it together.

But first, he has to let me see it.

– Mi-Chan