Jul hadn’t meant to sit beside another man. Not deliberately. Not spitefully. It was simply the seat offered. One chair away from the only exit, away from the gaze that had tracked her across the rooftop like heat without flame.

For four weeks, they healed in each other’s arms. Soft mornings. Shared laughter. Korean lessons whispered into skin. But on a quiet Thursday night, Jul’s phone lit up with a photo. A moment misread. A truth withheld. And just like that, the warmth turned cold. Not from absence, but from knowing too much.