Sydney nodded. “Exactly. You’re not going to win him over by playing it safe, Yesoh. You’re going to have to put yourself out there, no matter how messy or awkward or embarrassing it gets.”
I stared at them, my chest tightening at the thought of it. “What if it doesn’t work?”
“Then at least you’ll know you tried,” Sydney said softly. “But if you give up now? You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
The room went quiet, their words hanging heavy in the air. I looked down at my hands, my mind racing. They were right. Icouldn’t just let Wynter go—not like this. If there was even the smallest chance of making things right, I had to take it.
No matter what it cost me.
The dorm room was quiet, save for the soft scratch of pen against paper. I sat at my desk, the dim glow of the desk lamp illuminating the open scrapbook in front of me. It was old now, the edges of the pages slightly worn from years of being flipped through, but it was still mine, still ours.
Sydney’s words rang through my mind “you have to be vulnerable too, even the playing field” and so I pondered for hours on how on earth I was going to do so. And then I remembered it—the scrapbook, the one from all those summers ago. The one that I hid away, the one that I’d been documenting all of Wynter’s life and work into since I was sixteen or so. I did so with zero intent that he’d ever see it—it was embarrassing how much time I dedicated to studying him and wanting to hold onto any fragments I could. Wynter may have had his secrets but I did too, ones that I hid even from you.
I hadn’t touched it in a long time, not since everything had fallen apart. But tonight, something compelled me to pull it out, to finish what I’d started so many years ago.
I flipped through the pages, running my fingers over the photos and clippings, each one a moment frozen in time. There he was, grinning with a mouth full of braces, holding up a medal from his first junior competition with his mother, back when she still cared to show. The next page showed him with a bigger smile, braces gone, his confidence beginning to bloom.
I had collected everything over the years: his first triple axel, his first win on the senior circuit, the moment he was named to the national team. There were candid shots too—him laughing with Cahya after practice, a blurry photo of him and Jax playing video games, him baking with Bae, flour dusted cheeks, helping Beck pierce her ears with an apple and needle, the quiet moments that showed who Wyn really was. My secret moments with him.
Each page was a labor of love, carefully arranged with captions in my messy handwriting: Wynter’s first win, the Olympic dream, the boy who never stopped believing.
I didn’t know why I’d started the scrapbook when I was sixteen. Maybe it was because I had always admired him, always been drawn to his passion and drive. Or maybe it was because I had been in love with him for as long as I could remember, and this was my way of keeping him close, even when he didn’t know.
But now, as I added the final photos—Wyn on the podium at last year’s World Championships, and one of us at the rink that Cahya had taken. I was annoyed at him for making me practice long hours but he still smiled brightly, his face lit with a smile that had made my heart ache. I realized it wasn’t just about admiration or love. It was about everything he was, everything he had worked for, and everything I wanted him to know he still was, even after all the pain I had caused.
The last page was blank. I stared at it for a long time, unsure of how to finish it. Then, with trembling hands, I picked up my pen and wrote:
Dearest Wynter,
My warm, bright, selfless Wynter. My living anomaly. My very own gentle paradox. This is everything I’ve seen in you since the beginning. Everything you’ve worked for, everything you’ve achieved. But more than that, this is about the personyou are when you swear no one’s paying attention—the one who inspires everyone around him, who would put his life down for his sisters, who chases his dreams and never lets go. The one I always saw. I know I hurt you, and I can’t take that back. But I wanted you to see this, to know how much you’ve always meant to me.
I offer you a secret in return from all the ones I robbed from you: I love you. My selfish, conceited, reckless self was born to love only you. And perhaps that is my own curse, my very own eternal punishment. But I take it with stride. I wear my adoration for you like one would wear their nation’s flag— knowing I would bleed for you if you asked. I am laying myself bare in front of you. I want you to know how proud I’ve always been. How proud I know Jiwon is, somewhere out there. How much I believe in you, even now when you despise me. All I ask is that you don’t hate me forever. I cannot bear it.
I know I am in no place to ask anything of you, so I hope and plead and pray that I don't ever become another weight you have to carry. If you choose to lock me out I understand but if you would dare—bleed for me too, with pride, then meet me on the other side, Wynter Andy Kwon, and give us another chance.
Earnestly,
Yesoh.
I set the pen down, tears blurring my vision as I read over the words. I sealed them in an envelope and taped it to the blank page. My words weren’t perfect, but they were mine. They were honest.
I closed the scrapbook, running my hand over the worn cover. It felt like a goodbye, but also like a beginning.
Cahya came by the next morning to in his own words make sure I didn’t off myself yet, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with something quieter, more thoughtful. He didn’tsay much as he stepped into the room, his eyes flicking to the scrapbook on my desk.
“What’s this?” he asked, picking it up carefully.
“It’s for Wynter,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected.
Cahya raised an eyebrow but didn’t question me. He flipped through the pages, his expression softening as he took in each moment, each piece of Wyn’s life that I had so carefully preserved.
“You’ve been working on this for a while,” he said, his voice quiet.
“Since I was sixteen,” I admitted, wrapping my arms around myself. “I didn’t think I’d ever give it to him, but…I need him to have it. Even if he never forgives me, even if this doesn’t change anything, he needs to know how much he matters.”
Cahya closed the scrapbook gently, turning to me with a small, almost sad smile. “You really love him, don’t you?”
I nodded, my throat tightening.
