HAN & JUL S1E6: She Waited For Him To Speak

She waited. He didn’t speak. And just like that… they both said everything.

The evening wore a different kind of silence.

It wasn’t the hush of dusk settling, or of lovers avoiding their truth. It was the silence of two people who’d already said too much and still hadn’t said enough.

Jul stepped out of the black car, heels kissing the curb as she paused beneath the soft glow of a streetlamp. Her burgundy dress clung to her figure, making her feel sacred. It is not too revealing, but it is not innocent either. She held a small black clutch, fingers taut, knuckles pale.

Behind her, the driver pulled the door shut.

She didn’t wait for Han.

Because she hadn’t come with him.

Because she didn’t know he would be here.

Again.

She adjusted her dress, raised her chin, and entered the gallery.

A quiet hum filled the space. Wine glasses clinking, murmurs over framed photographs and scattered sculptures. The exhibition was tasteful, intimate, and unfortunately familiar.

Jul worked here. Not the gallery itself, but the PR firm that helped sponsor the evening. It was her job to be poised, pleasant, and persuasive.

And yet, she wasn’t any of those things tonight.

Because somewhere in the crowd, Han was already watching her.

She knew it before she saw him. She could feel it in her neck, her pulse, the shift of her breath.

And her heart stalled when their eyes finally met across the room — her by the white walls, him near the sculpture titled “Unspoken Tensions”.

Han looked different tonight. No tailored suit. No luxury nonchalance.

He wore a soft black tee tucked into grey slacks, a watch glinted like intention, and a stare that didn’t flinch.

Jul’s colleague brushed past her. “Didn’t know your ex was coming,” he teased under his breath.

She blinked. “He’s not.”

“But he’s here.”

She didn’t respond. Just smiled the way you do when someone’s mistaken a wound for a fashion choice.

Later, by the exhibit’s far wall, Jul found space beside a canvas that looked like heartbreak in motion, streaks of red pulled apart by waves of blue.

Han appeared behind her, but didn’t speak. Just stood there, steady as ever.

She broke the silence first. “So, it wasn’t enough to surprise me at the rooftop dinner?”

Han’s voice was soft. “I was invited.”

“By who?”

“The same curator who commissioned the rooftop event. He’s my mother’s friend. I helped fund a few pieces. That’s why I was there. That’s why I’m here.”

Jul turned to face him, her expression unreadable.

“And it didn’t occur to you to mention that?”

“I didn’t think I owed you that information.”

“Right.” She laughed dryly. “Because clarity ruins the mystery.”

Han stepped closer. “Jul—”

“No,” she cut in. “You keep showing up. You look at me like I’m the only truth you know, and then you stand there like you're guarding it.”

He didn’t blink. “Would you rather I stay away?”

“I don’t know what I’d rather anymore.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then she added, quieter, “I just know that when I saw you earlier… a part of me was relieved.”

Han’s expression softened, but he didn’t reach for her. “I didn’t expect you to stay that night,” he said. “And I didn’t expect you to leave so early either.”

“I didn’t want to need you more than you needed me,” she replied. “So, I left before it got harder.”

Han nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”

She tilted her head. “But you didn’t stop me.”

His eyes met hers. “I didn’t know if you wanted to be stopped.”

There it was — the problem.

They never knew what the other wanted because neither dared to ask.

Jul exhaled. “You hold back so much, Han. You never say what you feel until it’s too late.”

“I’ve said what matters.”

“No, you’ve implied it. There’s a difference.”

A pause.

Then: “I’m scared, too.”

She looked up at him.

“Of what?” she asked.

“That if I reach for you, you’ll disappear.”

Her voice broke, just slightly. “You think I don’t feel the same?”

He took a step closer.

“But here you are,” he said.

“And here you are,” she whispered back.

A group passed behind them, breaking the moment again.

Jul turned toward the exit. “I can’t do this here. Not under white lights. Not when everything feels like performance.”

Han didn’t follow immediately. But when she looked back, there he was.

Outside, the night was quieter. They stood by the curb again, where her car had dropped her earlier. She crossed her arms — not in defiance, but protection.

Han spoke first.

“Come home with me.”

Jul blinked.

Not seductively. Not commandingly. Just…invitingly.

Her voice trembled. “Why?”

“Because I need to stop wondering if you’ll ever stay past morning.”

Jul didn’t answer right away.

Then slowly, almost brokenly: “Okay.”

Han opened the door. She slipped in. He rounded the car and joined her.

And this time, the silence between them wasn’t fear.

It was the quiet before everything changed.