HAN & JUL S2E2: The Things We Don’t Ask

But when silence stretches long enough… even the quiet begins to ache.

Three days.

Same city. Same time zone. No text. No call.

Jul told herself it wasn’t strange.

People got busy.

But this wasn’t just anyone. This was Han. The same man who had poured her a glass of wine in silence. Who had looked at her like the truth and touched her like he wasn’t afraid of it.

And now?

Nothing.

She let the kettle scream longer than usual. It was morning. She was barefoot. Her oversized tee smelled faintly of citrus detergent. Her hair was wrapped, and her eyes were puffy, not from tears, but from holding in the ones that had wanted to fall since Tuesday.

Tuesday. The day after, everything changed.

She didn’t expect a love confession. Not from him. But the absence of anything felt like a silent slap. No call. No message. Not even an emoji.

So, when Tola, her best friend, casually texted:

"Babes, I saw your boy out last night, Tall, expensive, hoodie guy. Not alone sha"

Jul laughed. Too quickly.

"That’s old gist, my dear."

But her heart? It clenched.

She paced. Sat. Stood again.

Her fingers hovered over her phone. Blocked. Unblocked. Typed. Deleted.

In the end, she did the one thing she swore she wouldn’t:

She went to his place.

The apartment door opened like it had a muscle memory of her presence.

Han didn’t look surprised to see her.

He just stepped aside and said, “Come in.”

No hug. No smile.Just that face. Blank, unreadable, but never unfamiliar.

She walked past him like she had every right to. Dropped her tote by the couch. Slipped off her slippers. Perched on the beige cushion with one leg tucked under her.

She wore a white tee and black biker shorts. A fresh coat of pink polish is halfway done on her nails, a picture of soft, contained storm.

Han wore a black hoodie and joggers. His laptop was open, screen lit, but his eyes had not read a line in the last ten minutes.

Orange light spilled through half-closed blinds, painting shadows across the marble.

Same apartment.

Different silence.

Jul didn’t speak. She picked up the nail polish bottle again like it was her armor.

Han finally said, “You didn’t text.”

She laughed softly. “Neither did you.”

He sat across from her. Not too close.

“Mu-seo-wo,” he murmured suddenly.

Jul blinked. “What?”

“Mu-seo-wo,” he repeated. “It means… I’m scared.”

She stared at him. Her voice is quieter now. “I thought you said I was the one who liked clarity.”

Han gave a lopsided smile. “I’m trying.”

Jul tilted her head, unsure if she wanted to soften or stay guarded.

He continued, “I wrote you a message every day. I just never sent it.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know if you wanted space… or silence.”

Jul stood up slowly and walked toward the balcony. “Or maybe I wanted neither.”

Outside, she pulled her phone from her back pocket.

There it was. Tola’s second message:

"They didn’t look touchy sha. But still. Be safe with that one. He’s too quiet for my liking."

Jul locked the screen. Slipped the phone into her shorts.

The city lights blinked in the distance like they knew. They were tired of watching people pretend they weren’t afraid of closeness.

Han stepped outside, joining her. No words. Just his presence.

She turned to him. “Say something else. In Korean.”

Han glanced at her. Smiled gently. “Annyeong.”(“Hi.”)

She rolled her eyes. “I know that one.”

“Gomawo.”(“Thank you.”)

“Han!”

He stepped a little closer. “Na-neun neo-ga bogosipeoss-eo.”(“I missed you.”)

She blinked. “Repeat it… slower?”

He chuckled softly and repeated it, one syllable at a time.

Jul tried to repeat it.

Terribly.

He laughed. “That was awful.”

“Be serious!”

“You sound like you’re ordering food, not declaring emotion.”

Jul nudged his arm. “Teach me something else. Something useful.”

Han looked at her for a moment, then said:

“Neo ttaeme maeil michigetda.”(“You drive me crazy every day.”)

Jul’s breath hitched.

“What does that mean?” she asked, even though she could already guess.

He told her.

She said nothing.

Then: “That’s a strong sentence for someone who ghosted me for three days.”

Han looked down. “I didn’t ghost you. I spiraled.”

“Same difference.”

He stepped back and leaned on the railing. “You scare me.”

“Because I don’t let you hide?”

“Because you let me hope.”

Jul swallowed hard.

She walked back inside first.

He followed, but more slowly.

Back in the living room, she sat again. He returned to his spot on the chair across from her.

This time, she didn’t pick up the nail polish.

She asked quietly, “Was there someone else?”

Han’s face didn’t change. “No.”

“Tola said...”

“She assumed. People always do.”

Jul nodded. “I don’t like wondering.”

“Then ask. Every time.”

“I don’t want to seem insecure.”

He shook his head. “I’d rather you ask than pretend.”

Silence settled again.

But it wasn’t cold. It was honest.

Jul exhaled, staring at the soft glow of the pendant light above.

“This isn’t easy for me,” she said.

Han replied, “It’s not supposed to be.”

She stood. “I should go.”

Han didn’t stop her.

But as she reached for her tote, he finally said, “If I said I missed you, would you believe it?”

She turned. “Say it in your language.”

“Na-neon neo-ga bogosipeoss-eo.”

This time, it didn’t sound foreign.

This time, she believed him.