What We Carry With Us

"Sometimes it's not the past that haunts us—it's the fear it'll come back and change everything."

Yuna woke to soft sunlight filtering through her curtains and the quiet hum of weekend stillness.

She didn't have class. No deadlines. Mina had left early to visit her aunt. And the only thing waiting on her desk was the final draft of the letter she'd submitted for the literary review, printed neatly and pinned to her corkboard like proof she was still growing.

She made tea, curled her feet beneath her in the armchair, and opened her journal. Her hand hovered over the page.

Then her phone buzzed.

Eli: Need some air. You free?

They met at the campus park—an open stretch of trees near the south gate, where students sprawled across benches with books, earbuds, or coffee cups. It was Eli's favorite place to go when things felt heavy.

Yuna saw it in his posture the moment she arrived.

He wasn't smiling.

"Hey," she said softly.

Eli offered a faint smile but didn't lean in for a hug. Instead, he gestured toward the path. "Walk with me?"

They walked in silence for a while, letting gravel crunch beneath their shoes.

Then Eli said, "My dad's in town."

Yuna blinked. "Here? In Havenbrook?"

He nodded. "He called this morning. Said he was stopping by unexpectedly."

"And how do you feel about that?"

Eli exhaled through his nose. "Complicated."

Yuna waited.

He finally continued. "My dad's the kind of man who loves achievement. Not people. He didn't cry when my brother died. He just told me to be strong. Said someone had to be the man now."

"That's a cruel thing to say to a grieving teenager."

"It was. But it's how he operates. He's never liked that I quit music. Said I was wasting talent. That I was weak."

Yuna touched his sleeve. "You're not weak."

"I know," he said quietly. "But being around him makes me feel seventeen again. Like I haven't changed at all."

They sat down on a bench near the willow trees. The breeze tugged at Yuna's braid, loose pieces of hair catching in the wind.

"Do you want to see him?" she asked gently.

"I'm not sure."

"What does he want?"

"He said he's here for work. But he asked if we could have dinner."

"Alone?"

"He said… I could bring someone. If I wanted."

Yuna studied him. "Do you want me to come?"

Eli didn't answer right away.

Then: "Yes. But not because I need you to protect me. Just… so I don't feel like I'm pretending alone."

Yuna nodded. "Okay. When?"

"Tomorrow night."

They parted quietly after that. No kiss. No long embrace. Just a shared glance that said this is hard, but I'm not running.

Back at her apartment, Yuna stood in front of her closet longer than usual. Not because she cared what Eli's father thought—but because this felt different. Like the next step in something fragile and real.

She finally chose a soft gray sweater dress and a deep green coat. Not too formal. Not too casual. Just herself.

The restaurant Eli chose was quiet and elegant—tucked into a side street near the train station, with low lighting and deep booths. When she arrived, he was already waiting at the door.

"You look beautiful," he said, offering a small smile.

"You look nervous."

"I am."

He reached for her hand. "Thank you. For being here."

Yuna squeezed his fingers. "Always."

They sat just moments before a man in a crisp suit approached the table.

Mr. Jeong was tall, rigid, and carried the kind of stillness that felt more like judgment than grace. His eyes flicked to Yuna—assessing, not rude, but not welcoming either.

"You must be Yuna," he said.

"I am," she replied, calm.

They exchanged brief pleasantries before falling into conversation—well, more like a resume review. Mr. Jeong asked about her studies, her goals, whether she intended to get a "practical job."

"She's a writer," Eli said firmly.

"A difficult industry to break into," his father replied.

Yuna smiled, sweet but clear. "So is emotional maturity, and I'm doing fine with that too."

Mr. Jeong raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Eli looked down, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

They ordered. The food arrived. The tension never really lifted, but it softened enough to breathe.

Until Mr. Jeong said, mid-bite, "Your mother said you were seeing someone. I assumed it wouldn't last. But here you are."

Eli set his fork down slowly.

Yuna could feel the shift.

"I'm happy," Eli said carefully.

Mr. Jeong nodded once. "Then I suppose it's a phase you're choosing to stay in."

Silence.

Yuna reached under the table and gently placed her hand on Eli's knee. Not to hold him back.

To anchor him.

"She's more than a phase," Eli said.

His father gave him a long look.

"Just don't forget who you used to be," he said. "You had potential."

Yuna leaned forward slightly. "He still does."

Mr. Jeong blinked.

Eli turned to her, surprised.

"Potential isn't about achievement," she said, voice steady. "It's about who you are when no one's watching. And I've never seen anyone carry as much quiet strength as your son does."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Mr. Jeong cleared his throat. "Well. If you're both content, I'll respect it."

He didn't mean accept.

But respect was enough.

When they stepped outside, Eli exhaled like he hadn't breathed the whole meal.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That was… a lot."

"You don't owe me an apology."

"I do. For bringing you into it."

She touched his face gently. "You brought me beside it. That's different."

He closed his eyes.

"You were incredible in there," he whispered.

"I just said what I saw."

They stood in the cold, cars passing quietly, the city lights reflecting in the glass behind them.

"I don't want to become like him," Eli said suddenly.

"You won't."

"I already feel like I'm fighting shadows."

"You're becoming someone else entirely," she said. "Someone who chooses softness without losing strength. Someone who listens. Stays. Opens up."

She stepped closer.

"You're not your father's reflection," she added. "You're your own story."

Eli looked at her.

And in that moment, he wasn't guarded.

He was just there.

Present. Whole.

He pulled her into his arms and held her like she was the one keeping him tethered to something real.

Later that night, Yuna wrote one line:

"Being seen by someone who still stays—maybe that's the bravest kind of love."