Dear Diary,
I swear I'm cursed when it comes to technology.
I woke up to the sound of my alarm blaring at 6:00 AM — the cheerful ringtone I once thought was charming now feels like it's personally trying to ruin my life. I rolled over, face still puffy from sleep, hair stuck to my cheek, and blindly reached for my phone… only to see three missed calls and a text that read:
"Is this some kind of soft block?"
And the sender?
Jung-Kyo.
Cue full-blown panic.
I hadn't texted him since the awkward tree-and-cherry-blossom moment. I thought I was giving him space. Letting things breathe. Letting me breathe. Apparently, I'd been giving him static instead.
7:03 AM I fumbled through my settings like a guilty criminal and—yep. There it was.
Blocked. His number was still blocked.
Diary, I could've buried myself alive from the shame.
It must've happened during the Great Emotional Shutdown of April 2th, when I went through my phone and blocked any number not labeled "Mom," "Chae-Sun," or "Emergency Pizza Hotline." Se-Jin had been calling from different numbers. I panicked. I just hit "block all" like a digital guillotine. And somehow… Jung-Kyo got swept up in the purge.
7:10 AM I unblocked him, heart racing like I was about to confess to a crime. Which, honestly, it kind of felt like.
I hovered over the message field. Should I explain? Apologize? Pretend it never happened and send a meme?
In the end, I sent this:
"Oh my god I didn't mean to block you I SWEAR. I thought you were my ex. Wait. That sounds wrong. I mean I thought your number was his number. This isn't helping. Please don't hate me."
And then I threw the phone across the bed like it might explode.
7:24 AM He replied.
"Relax. I figured it wasn't personal."
That's it. Just six words. So calm. So chill. So devastatingly mature.
But also… a little playful?
7:26 AM Then another message.
"Unless it was personal. In which case, ouch."
I snorted. Actually snorted. Alone, in my room. Like an unhinged llama.
7:28 AM
Me: "NOT personal!! Just technologically tragic and emotionally fragile!!"
7:30 AM
Him: "That sounds like a solid album title."
Okay. He was joking with me. Which meant he wasn't mad. Which meant I could breathe again.
7:32 AM
Me: "Thanks for not being weird about it."
7:33 AM
Him: "We're all weird. Just depends how brave we are about showing it."
I stared at that text for a long time.
Because something about it felt bigger than a joke. Bigger than the situation. Like a truth slipped between two parentheses.
9:11 AM I went about my day — or tried to. I went to class. Smiled when I had to. Took notes I'll never read. But everything felt a little off-kilter. Like the air had shifted, like I was walking at a different rhythm than the people around me.
Every time my phone buzzed, I felt a jolt. Every time it wasn't him, I felt… disappointed.
Which is stupid, right?
He's just a guy. A stranger I barely know.
Except… he's not.
Not anymore.
2:03 PM I was in the library, fighting off a nap with my third cup of convenience store coffee, when my phone buzzed again.
Jung-Kyo: "Hey. Are you free later?"
My stomach flipped so hard I thought I'd vomit.
Me: "Depends. Are you asking to borrow my notes or rescue a kitten?"
Him: "Neither. I owe you tea."
Me: "Oh? Since when?"
Him: "Since you stood in the rain and looked like a tragic music video."
4:42 PM I met him at the café two blocks off campus. The one with the chipped mugs and old jazz playing too softly to matter. It smelled like roasted beans and warm bread. There were couples tucked into corners, students buried in laptops, and somewhere in the back, someone softly humming.
He was already there. Sitting by the window. Casual white shirt, sleeves rolled, fingers tracing the rim of a mug. Like he belonged in every sad romance novel I'd ever pretended not to read.
When he saw me, he smiled.
Not the full-teeth kind. Just a slow, familiar curve — like he was happy I came, but wasn't surprised.
I sat across from him. Tried not to fidget.
"You're late," he said.
I raised an eyebrow. "By two minutes."
He shrugged. "A long two minutes."
5:03 PM We didn't talk about the block right away.
Instead, we talked about small things — the way we always do. Safe things. Favorite smells (fresh laundry and old books). Places we'd want to visit (he said Iceland, I said Morocco — we both agreed Japan in cherry blossom season was non-negotiable).
He asked about my classes. I told him they were okay. He asked how I was really feeling. I told him I didn't know yet.
And he nodded. Like that was a valid answer.
Then I said, "I'm sorry again. About the number thing. I swear I didn't mean to make you feel—"
"Mi-Chan," he cut in gently. "It's okay. I knew it wasn't me you were blocking."
"But it kind of was," I admitted, cheeks burning. "You got caught in the crossfire of… a really bad chapter."
He tilted his head. "I've read worse chapters."
That made me smile. Not a polite smile — a real one. The kind that aches at the edges.
5:29 PM He paid for our drinks before I could argue. I swore one day I'd return the favor, and he said, "You already are."
I didn't ask what he meant. I was too afraid I'd like the answer.
As we stepped outside, the sky had gone pale gold. The wind carried hints of spring and something sweeter. Like citrus and new beginnings.
We stood there for a moment — me with my hands stuffed in my sleeves, him looking at the street like he wasn't quite ready to say goodbye.
Then he turned to me.
"Would you tell me if you were hurting?" he asked suddenly.
The question caught me off guard.
"I mean… maybe. If I could find the words."
"I don't need the perfect ones," he said. "Just honest ones."
And Diary… I think that's the first time I felt it.
That soft pull.
The terrifying, beautiful weight of possibility.
6:02 PM He walked me halfway home.
We passed an old bookstore with yellowed posters in the window. I mentioned once I used to go there with my mom. He didn't say anything. Just slowed his pace, let me take it in.
At the corner, we stopped. Streetlight above us flickered.
He looked at me — really looked — and said, "I'm glad you unblocked me."
And I, with my whole chest burning and my heart doing jumping jacks, somehow managed to say, "Me too."
Then we parted ways.
He didn't hug me. Didn't touch me.
But somehow, he still left a mark.
8:12 PM Back home.
The jacket's still here. I really should return it.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I'm letting myself feel this strange, soft thing growing in my chest.
It's not love. Not yet.
It's something else.
Trust, maybe. Hope. Curiosity.
Or maybe just the beginning of something slow and real and terrifying in the best way.
And when I closed my eyes just now, I didn't see Se-Jin's face.
I saw Jung-Kyo's.
And that smile — that quiet, knowing smile — told me:
He's not going anywhere.
Not unless I ask him to.
And maybe… I won't.
– Mi-Chan