What We Pretend
Mina couldn't sleep.
Or eat.
Or think.
Or function like a human being who wasn't deeply, irrevocably confused by her own feelings.
It had been two days since Jae saw them kiss. Since Minseo disappeared into silence. Since everything tipped into something she couldn't shove back into its tidy little box.
And now she stood in front of the café bathroom mirror, gripping the sink, staring at herself like she could somehow shake the feelings off.
You don't love him.
It was supposed to be fake.
You paid him, Mina.
And yet...
She couldn't forget the way he looked at her.
Or the way he didn't look away.
"I'm so stupid," she muttered to her reflection.
Behind her, Hana leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, watching.
"Took you long enough," she said.
Mina groaned. "Don't start."
"You've been moping around here like a character in a breakup montage."
"We didn't even date."
"Right," Hana said. "You just fake-dated, caught feelings, kissed, and now you're having a full-blown existential crisis. Totally not romantic."
"I'm going to die here."
"No, you're going to stop being a coward and go tell him."
Mina turned slowly. "What if I'm too late?"
Hana shrugged. "Then at least you'll know."
That was the thing, wasn't it?
Not knowing hurt worse.
---
Thirty minutes later, Mina stood outside Minseo's apartment building.
She hadn't texted. She hadn't planned.
She just ran—shoes untied, heart hammering, lungs full of humid July air.
She buzzed the intercom.
No answer.
She buzzed again.
Still nothing.
She was about to leave when the front door opened—Soojin stepped out, surprise flashing in her eyes.
"Mina?"
"I need to talk to him," Mina said breathlessly. "Please."
Soojin paused, then gave a small smile. "You're about thirty minutes late."
Mina's heart dropped. "What?"
"He left for the airport."
"No," she whispered.
"He didn't take the job yet," Soojin added quickly. "He told Ms. Kang he'd make his decision once he landed. But if you want to stop him…"
Mina was already sprinting toward the street.
---
Inside the taxi, every red light was personal. Every minute was a scream.
"Can you go faster?" she begged the driver.
"Miss, this is Seoul traffic, not a time machine."
But Mina wasn't listening. She clutched her phone, fingers trembling, rereading old texts like they were evidence in a trial.
Minseo 🕶️💘
> You make me want to be real.
Minseo 🕶️💘
> Just say the word, and I'll stay.
Tears burned in her eyes.
She hadn't said it.
And now she might never get to.
---
At the airport, Mina shoved through the crowds, heart in her throat, scanning every face.
Gates. Signs. People. Too many.
Then—she saw him.
Minseo. Hoodie. Rolling suitcase. Headphones in.
Just about to scan his boarding pass.
She ran.
"Minseo!"
He turned.
Eyes widened.
Mina didn't stop.
She crashed into him—arms around his chest, breath heaving, eyes wild.
He froze, stunned.
"Mina?"
She pulled back, voice breaking. "Don't go."
He stared at her, dazed.
"I know I'm late. I know I messed this up," she said, barely breathing. "But if this was pretend, then why does it hurt like this? Why do I miss you like a person and not a performance?"
Minseo just looked at her, eyes soft, unreadable.
And then—
He smiled.
"Thank god," he whispered. "I was really about to board that plane."