“I know I fucked up,” he said quietly. “Not just the cheating when we broke up the first time. The way I left this time. Texting you like some coward instead of facing you. I couldn’t look you in the eye and say it was over. I knew if I did, you’d ask why, and I didn’t have a good enough answer. You’ve always been the brave one in this relationship. Always the one who said the hard things first. I leaned on that. And when I couldn’t anymore, I just… ran.”
Aria felt her throat tighten, but she didn’t interrupt. She let him speak.
“When we first met,” he continued, voice low, “we were so young. Barely out of our teens, both trying to claw our way into this industry. You needed me back then—someone who understood the pressure, the late nights, the way the spotlight burns. I needed you too. You kept me grounded when everything else was spinning. But the past couple of years… as your career took off, as you started filling arenas and headlines started following you instead of me… you didn’t need me anymore. Not like that. I think we both saw it coming. I just refused to admit it until it was too late.”
He let out a small, bitter laugh. “The first breakup—when I cheated, that wasn’t just me being selfish. It was me trying to prove to myself that someone still needed me. That I still mattered to somebody. Pathetic, right? But I couldn’t handle being the one left behind. So I made sure I left first.”
Aria stared at him, the words landing heavy but not shattering. She’d suspected pieces of this for a long time. Hearing him say it out loud didn’t hurt the way it once would have. It just felt… final.
“I’m not angry anymore,” she said softly. “Not really. I was, for a while. But I’ve moved on. I’ve found someone who doesn’t needme to need him. He just… wants me. All of me. The messy parts, the ambitious parts, the parts that scare people. And he’s not afraid of any of it.”
Min-Jae’s jaw tightened, just for a second. “This Jax guy, right? Doesn’t seem like your type.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged, but the gesture was too casual, too forced. “He just seems… too sure of himself. Too comfortable in his own skin. I thought you liked guys who were a little uncertain, a little hungry. The ones who looked at you like you were the answer. ”
Aria felt a spark of protectiveness flare in her chest—hot, immediate.
“He is sure of himself,” she said, voice steady. “In every way that matters. He’s sure enough to let me shine without dimming himself. Sure enough to stand beside me instead of behind me or in front of me. Sure enough to admit when he’s wrong, to fight for what he wants without games or ultimatums. He’s not pretending to be less so I can feel more. And yeah—that’s new for me. But it’s good. It’s really fucking good.”
Min-Jae’s smile was thin, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m glad. Really.”
But she could see it—the flicker of bruised ego, the way his shoulders stiffened just slightly, the quick glance away. She’d hit a nerve. Not because he wanted her back—she believed him when he said he knew it was over—but because she’d described something he’d never quite managed to give her.
He pulled out his phone, angled it toward them—casual, quick—snapped a photo of the two of them standing there, coffees in frame, studio lights soft behind them.
“For old times’ sake,” he said, voice light but eyes darker than before. “No caption. No post. Just… us. Once.”
She didn’t stop him.
He pocketed the phone, gave her a small, sad smile that didn’t quite hide the edge beneath it.
“Take care, Aria.”
He left.
She stood there for a long minute—chest tight, but not broken—reflecting on the closure that had just settled over them like a quiet exhale. Then she turned back to the mixing desk.
Hours later—voice raw, track finally locked—it was Sunday evening in Seoul. She reached for her phone to send Jax the finished file and wish him luck before his race started.
Dead.
She found a charger in the corner, plugged it in, waited for it to wake up.
Ten missed calls from Jax. All from the last few hours.
Her stomach dropped.
She called him back immediately.
Straight to voicemail.
She tried again. Voicemail.
She stared at the screen—heart hammering—then opened her messages.
No new texts.
