Chapter Text
1.
Jinsol didn’t expect to see her again like this.
The lighting in the studio was dimmed. Assistants were moving back and forth, adjusting reflectors. A makeup artist crouched next to the model and fixed the last details of her makeup. The whole place felt dry and professional. Everyone was preparing for the shoot to begin.
She stood behind the monitor, flipping through the final revision of the day’s shooting plan, half-listening to the client representative droning on about various brand requirements. She wasn’t really paying attention. She had been through too many shoots like this, and the process was already ingrained in her bones.
Then someone pushed the door open.
The footsteps were light, yet they carried a strange rhythm. Every step was steady, neither hurried nor slow. Jinsol couldn’t tell why she noticed them. Maybe it was because the noise around her was so overwhelming that the sudden presence of quiet felt almost abrupt. She looked up and let her gaze move past the shoulder of the man who was still talking until it reached the person standing at the door.
All sound suddenly felt far away.
Seol Yoona was standing in the doorway in a black turtleneck. Her hair was longer than it had been a few years before and rested loosely over her shoulders. Her face still held the same shape—clear and sharp jawline, high brow, lips pressed together. The way she stood carried an inborn and impossible-to-ignore distance. She wasn’t looking at Jinsol. She was listening to her manager speak under his breath, her face blank and impossible to read.
Jinsol’s hand tightened unconsciously and crushed the shoot plan in her grasp. She felt something rise from her stomach, pass through her chest, and lodge in her throat, where she could neither spit it out nor swallow it down. It was too many feelings at once: bitter, sour, with a sweetness that shouldn’t have existed, a sweetness so wrong it felt almost shameful.
She had imagined seeing Yoona again countless times. In dreams, in sleepless nights, in those days when she went out of her way to avoid certain streets and certain cafes. She had imagined what Yoona would look like: furious, cold, untouched. She had prepared for every version of this meeting and rehearsed her reaction to each one.
But now, with Yoona standing in front of her for real, not through a phone screen or fragmented stories from mutual friends, but alive and breathing the same air, she realized none of that preparation had meant anything. Her thoughts cleared out in an instant. Her heart pounded against her ribs, heavy and slow, like a fist hitting her sternum again and again.
“Team Leader Bae?” Someone next to her called.
She snapped back, swallowed hard, pushed down the chaotic emotions, and pulled out a polished smile. “Yes, we’ll go with this plan.”
The person gave a quick nod and walked away.
Jinsol drew in a deep breath, placed the documents on the table, and made her way toward Yoona. Each step felt weightless, almost unreal, like walking on cotton. She reminded herself this was only work. She was the photographer, and Yoona was the model. They were client and contractor. Nothing beyond that. The past stayed in the past. Four years had gone by. Surely everyone had moved on by now.
She stopped in front of Yoona.
Yoona had just finished listening to her manager when she turned her head slightly. The instant their eyes met, Jinsol caught something shifting in the depths of Yoona’s gaze. It vanished too quickly, almost like a trick of the light. Then her expression settled back into place without the slightest change. She still wore that faint, polite calm that kept everyone at a distance.
“Miss Seol, I’m Bae Jinsol, the photographer for this shoot.” Jinsol extended her hand, her voice steadier than she had thought it would be. “Please take care of me over the next few days.”
Yoona glanced down at her offered hand and let her gaze rest there for about two seconds. The silence carried a certain weight. It felt like an appraisal, or maybe something colder by design. Then she looked back up at Jinsol. The corner of her lips moved ever so slightly, too restrained to be a smile, but not quite discourteous.
“Hello, Photographer Bae.” Her voice was deeper than Jinsol remembered, with a texture that came with maturity, the ending tone lifting slightly, carrying a certain careless indifference. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
She didn’t shake her hand.
Jinsol’s hand hung in the air for less than a second before she withdrew it. She smiled, wearing that perfectly practiced and flawless professional smile. “Then shall we go over today’s shooting content first?”
“Fine.” Yoona’s tone was as clipped as a command.
They took their seats on a sofa in the corner of the studio. An assistant brought them two glasses of water. Jinsol handed her the plan and sat across from Yoona at a diagonal, leaving exactly the right amount of space. She opened her own copy and started explaining the day’s theme, style references, and the ideas behind several important shots. Her voice stayed calm and professional, and she made sure no extra emotion slipped into it.
Yoona sat across from her with an easy posture, leaning into the sofa. One arm rested over the armrest while the other turned through the plan. She read it with care and asked a question now and then, all of them professional. She asked about lighting ratios, post-processing color grading, and the reasoning behind matching outfits with the set. Her questions were sharp without sounding inexperienced. It was obvious she took the work seriously. She wasn’t just a pretty face who knew how to pose.
Jinsol answered every question, keeping her explanations brief and clear. As she spoke, she realized she was becoming genuinely absorbed in the discussion. Talking through professional details with Yoona felt strangely familiar, like something from a long time ago, when they used to sit side by side discussing the specifics of a design project or arguing over what made the composition of a film work or fail. They had still been students then, living in a cramped rental with a broken fluorescent tube that gave off a dim yellow light, and neither of them had minded.
“Photographer Bae?” Yoona’s voice pulled her back.
“Hm?” Jinsol blinked and realized she had been staring at the document in her hands for a little too long.
“This set’s lighting diagram doesn’t match what we discussed earlier.” Yoona pointed to a notation on the paper, her tone flat, as if she hadn’t noticed Jinsol’s distraction.
Jinsol looked down and saw at once that Yoona was right. A mistake had slipped into the final revision. The lighting diagram annotations no longer lined up with the actual equipment placement. She was glad Yoona had spotted it. Otherwise, they would have run into trouble when shooting started tomorrow.
“Thanks for catching that. I’ll have the team fix it right away.” She picked up a pencil and made a note on the page.
Yoona didn’t say anything more. She closed the plan and stood up. She was about a forehead’s height shorter than Jinsol, but standing there, she didn’t lose any presence. She glanced at her watch, said something quietly to her manager, then turned back.
“See you tomorrow, Photographer Bae.”
“See you tomorrow.” Jinsol stood to see her out.
Yoona turned toward the door and took two steps before stopping. She didn’t look back. She only tilted her face slightly to the side, her voice low, as though she were saying it in passing.
“Bae Jinsol.”
Not “Photographer Bae”, but “Bae Jinsol.”
The way she said those three syllables carried a certain emphasis and cadence that belonged only to them.
Jinsol froze.
Yoona didn’t wait for a response. She pushed the door open and walked out. The door closed behind her with a soft click.
The studio was noisy again—assistants adjusting equipment, a lighting technician repositioning lights, someone on the phone, someone moving props. Jinsol stood in the middle of all that noise, feeling like everything around her was separated by a pane of glass. She could see it, hear it, but couldn’t touch any of it.
She looked down at her open hand. Light red marks crossed her palm, left there by her own fingernails. She didn’t remember when she had clenched her fist.
2.
The technical meeting that evening ran past ten. Jinsol didn’t return to her hotel until close to eleven. She placed her camera bag on the desk, took off her jacket and threw it over a chair, then dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
The hotel room was spacious. The brand’s partner had arranged it for her, upscale and lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city’s glittering nightscape. The curtains were still open. Lights lay scattered beyond the glass like stars, their glow casting soft, blurred shadows across the ceiling. Jinsol watched them for a while until her eyes began to ache.
She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.
Four years.
Four whole years.
She had spent four years trying to excise one person from her life—filling every hour with work, covering over old memories with new cities, new environments, new friends. She had thought she would succeeded at least most of the way. At least most of the time, she no longer thought of Yoona at random, inappropriate moments. She no longer went still at the sight of a certain coffee brand. She no longer felt her chest draw tight when she heard a particular song.
But today, all of that success turned to dust in a single second.
The moment Yoona appeared in that doorway, she knew. She had never truly let go. Her so-called “moving on” was just self-deception. She had only pushed the wound deeper and covered it with a thin layer of busyness and distance. Yoona didn’t even need to do anything. She only had to appear, and that thin layer tore apart. The wound opened again, and it hurt even more than it had four years ago.
Her phone buzzed. She fumbled for it and looked. A message from Haewon.
“Heard you saw her today?”
Short, no name, but Jinsol knew who she meant. Haewon was one of the very few people who knew the full story. They had been in the same department in college. Later, Jinsol moved overseas while Haewon stayed for graduate school, but they’d stayed in touch. When this project came up, Haewon had known first and even asked if she wanted to turn it down.
She hadn’t turned it down. She had said she was fine now.
Looking back, she had said she was fine far too early.
“Saw her.” She typed, then after a moment added. “She looks good.”
After sending, she felt the phrase was too light. Still, she couldn’t think of anything else to say. “She’s still beautiful”? “My heart nearly leapt out of my throat”? “Watching her walk away felt like a blade cutting through me”?
Those thoughts were too stupid. She couldn’t say them.
Haewon knew what she was like, so she didn’t push. She only sent “get some rest”. Jinsol placed the phone face-down next to her pillow and turned toward the scattered lights outside, her thoughts in complete disarray.
She remembered that time on the rooftop, Yoona leaning against her shoulder, her hair brushing against Jinsol’s face in the wind, tickling. The sky that evening had been beautiful—orange and purple mixed together like a poorly stirred cocktail. They had simply stayed there for a long while, until the sky turned fully dark and the stars appeared one after another.
“Sol.” Yoona had said.
“Yeah?”
“Will we always be like this?”
What had she answered then? “Of course.” She had said it so certainly, so matter-of-factly, like the road ahead had already been laid out and all she needed to do was take Yoona’s hand and keep moving forward.
She hadn’t known the heavens liked to play jokes. She hadn’t known that wanting to walk a road didn’t make it yours.
Her phone buzzed again. It was the project group chat. Someone had posted the next day’s work schedule and personnel assignments. Jinsol opened it, her eyes landing on the words “Model: Seol Yoona.” staying there for a long time.
She closed the chat and opened her photo gallery, scrolling all the way to the bottom.
There was an encrypted album. The password was Yoona’s birthday. Inside were over a hundred photos—all from four years ago: Yoona asleep with her head on the library table, Yoona in the kitchen with an apron tied around her waist, head down over a cutting board, Yoona turning around mid-stride on the school’s ginkgo-lined avenue. The last photo was the two of them together on the rooftop. The sky was just about to darken, and they leaned their heads against each other, smiling at the camera.
Jinsol looked at it for a few seconds, then switched off the screen and threw the phone aside.
She had no idea what she was thinking. Or maybe she knew too well. Her mind was too full. Too many thoughts crowded together and became a vast, silent whirlpool that dragged her deeper.
She closed her eyes and made herself think about tomorrow. Tomorrow still held too much: lighting, color balancing, test shots, team coordination. She fixed her mind on those things and clung to them like driftwood, trying to pull herself free of the whirlpool.
Eventually, after who knows how long, she fell asleep. There were no dreams of Yoona. Or maybe there were, and she just didn’t remember.
3.
On the morning of the actual shoot, Jinsol arrived at the studio half an hour before her team.
She needed to get herself into the right state. She had always had this habit before important shoots—arrive early, go over everything, confirm every detail. It wasn’t only for quality control. It was also part of how she prepared herself mentally.
The lighting tech was already adjusting the positions, assistants organizing clothing and props. Everything was proceeding in an orderly fashion. Jinsol walked over to the main set and looked through the viewfinder. The composition looked good, but the light ratio on the left was a bit too harsh. She had an assistant adjust the diffusion panel.
At nine sharp, Yoona arrived.
Today she wore a blue loose button-up with black wide-leg pants and flat shoes. Her hair was more casually arranged than yesterday, some strands falling beside her face, partially hiding one brow. She wore very little makeup—just a light base and some lip tint—but her features were striking enough that she hardly needed anything to look stunning.
Jinsol stood behind the camera, watching her through the lens. A lens was a good thing. It brought everything closer while still keeping a safe distance in place. Behind that layer of glass, she could look at Yoona as much as she wanted without worrying that her eyes might give too much away.
Yoona didn’t head straight to the makeup room. Instead, she scanned the studio first, her gaze lingering on various pieces of equipment before landing on Jinsol.
“Good morning, Photographer Bae.” She walked over, her tone as flat as yesterday.
“Morning.” Jinsol popped her head out from behind the camera with a smile. “Makeup first. Test shoot in half an hour.”
Yoona nodded and followed the makeup artist away.
An assistant sighed beside Jinsol. “Gosh, she looks even better in person than in photos.”
Jinsol didn’t respond. She bent her head and kept adjusting parameters. The assistant didn’t know that she had heard that same sentence many times.
Back then, she and Yoona weren’t together yet, just friends.
There was a club dinner once, and someone got drunk and said. “Yoona, you’re so beautiful, anyone pursuing you?”
Yoona hadn’t said anything at the time, just looked at Jinsol over the rim of her glass. The look had lasted for so long that everyone around noticed and started teasing them.
Later, Jinsol asked her. “Was that when you already liked me?”
Yoona neither admitted nor denied it. “In your dreams.”
Memories rushed in like water, impossible to block. Jinsol blinked hard and forced her attention back to the settings in her hands.
Half an hour later, Yoona came out of makeup.
The first set’s theme was “Urban.” The outfit was a sharply tailored black suit with clean lines. Yoona stood in front of the plain white backdrop, her whole presence like an unsheathed blade. Jinsol looked at her through the viewfinder and felt she was born to stand in front of a camera. Her face responded beautifully to light, every angle’s contours worth examining, and she had this peculiar ability—to understand instantly what the photographer wanted and deliver the most precise expression and posture.
“Good, hold that angle a bit longer.” Jinsol pressed the shutter, taking several shots in a row. “Chin up a little... yes, like that.”
Yoona adjusted her angle. Her expression shifted subtly from the cold urban feel just a moment ago to something a bit more languid and careless.
Jinsol’s shutter clicked more rapidly. She was no longer just doing her job. She truly enjoyed it. She enjoyed building these images with Yoona.
It was strange. A layer of cold machinery and technical language should have kept them apart. Somehow, it didn’t. Every time Jinsol met Yoona’s eyes through the viewfinder, she felt a strange intimacy. It was as if everything beyond that frame had fallen away, and only the two of them were left.
“Ten-minute break.” Jinsol lowered the camera after finishing the first set and announced to the team.
She moved to the monitor, imported the photos, and started to look through them. An assistant brought her some water. She took a sip without taking her eyes off the screen.
“Photographer Bae, those last few shots were incredible.” the retoucher said and leaned closer.
Jinsol answered with a soft sound and zoomed in on a close-up. Yoona’s eyes looked straight into the lens, light moving in her pupils. The expression was difficult to describe. It was neither entirely cold nor entirely empty. It held scrutiny, indifference, and something else she couldn’t name.
The Yoona in the photo was looking at the lens. But behind the lens was Jinsol.
She wondered suddenly if that look wasn’t just a modeling expression.
“Photographer Bae.” Yoona’s voice came from behind her.
Jinsol turned around. Yoona was already in her second outfit. Her whole aura shifting from sharp to warm. She held a cup of hot coffee and walked over, the hem of the coat swaying gently, her stride much more relaxed than in the morning.
“Can I see the photos we just took?” she asked.
“Of course.” Jinsol shifted sideways to make room.
Yoona leaned in. Her shoulder nearly touched Jinsol’s. A familiar scent drifted over. Jinsol stopped breathing for a second. Her whole body tightened without warning.
Yoona either didn’t notice or pretended not to. She bent her head and flipped through the images on the screen, her fingers moving nimbly over the trackpad, occasionally zooming in on a detail. She spent more time on certain shots than on others. One image caught her attention twice, and the corner of her mouth shifted ever so slightly, as though she approved, or perhaps something else.
“These are good.” She straightened, creating space between them, her voice still even. “You really are skilled, Photographer Bae.”
“Thank you.” The words left Jinsol dry and stiff.
Yoona studied her for a brief moment, then walked away with her coffee.
The assistant beside Jinsol leaned in and whispered. “Seol Yoona is so nice? I thought a model of her caliber would be super aloof.”
Jinsol turned back to the screen, her mind already elsewhere. She kept thinking about the moment Yoona had leaned closer, and how violently her heart had pounded. It had raced so hard she could still feel the aftershock moving from her chest down to her fingertips, leaving her fingers barely steady enough to hold the mouse.
It was embarrassing. She wasn’t a teenager anymore. She should be able to handle being close to someone she loved.
But she couldn’t.
The afternoon shoot went even more smoothly than the morning. After the morning’s work, Jinsol had gained a better sense of Yoona’s rhythm. She knew when Yoona needed more direction and when it was better to let her find her own interpretation. Yoona seemed to have adjusted to Jinsol’s way of shooting as well. Jinsol no longer needed to say much before Yoona delivered exactly what she wanted.
This kind of silent understanding was comfortable and unsettling at the same time. Comfortable because it was effortless, as if years had already worn it smooth and taught it how to move on its own. Unsettling because it was too effortless. How could two people who had spent four years apart slip back into that kind of unspoken understanding so easily? Unless some things had never truly been lost during those years apart.
During the last set, Yoona’s state changed noticeably.
This set was one she had been particularly looking forward to—the theme “Solitude.” Jinsol had thought Yoona would like this one when designing the plan. She knew Yoona too well. Yoona was someone who needed a lot of time alone, who savored those moments of talking to herself. In those moments, she was soft, unguarded, completely different from the person she showed the outside world.
Jinsol had arranged the set as a simple corner of an apartment. A dark sofa sat in place beside a floor lamp, with several books scattered nearby. She kept the lighting extremely restrained, leaving only a warm yellow light on one side of Yoona’s face while the rest dissolved into shadow.
When Yoona stepped into that scene, she transformed.
She kicked off her shoes, crossed the rug barefoot, folded herself into the sofa, picked up a book, skimmed a few pages, then set it aside and let her eyes drift somewhere far away. Her expression wasn’t arranged for the camera. It came on its own. It was that quiet, almost vacant stillness, as if she had truly returned home, peeled away every mask, and left only the most honest part of herself behind.
Jinsol stood a short distance away with the camera lifted, watching her through the lens. The studio was silent. Everyone was caught by the sight, and no one dared to make a sound. The shutter clicks seemed especially sharp in that silence.
Then Yoona lifted her eyes.
That look wasn’t aimed at the lens. It was aimed at Jinsol behind the lens. Her gaze pierced through the glass and met Jinsol’s eyes squarely.
There was something almost fragile in it.
Jinsol’s finger froze on the shutter, not pressing down.
They held each other’s gaze through the lens for several seconds. The rest of the room disappeared: the lights, the equipment, the staff, the whole world. Nothing remained but the two of them, and that thing in Yoona’s eyes that neither could put into words.
Then Yoona broke eye contact. Her professional expression slipped back into place.
“That’s enough for this set, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice a little hoarse.
“Yeah, that’s a wrap.” Jinsol lowered the camera. Her voice wasn’t much steadier.
4.
After wrapping, the team headed out for dinner together and picked a nearby hot pot place. Everyone was tired but still in high spirits, filling the table with dishes and ordering several bottles of beer. Jinsol didn’t really want to drink, but her assistant dragged her into a couple of glasses anyway.
Yoona sat on the opposite side of the round table next to her manager. She said almost nothing while eating, only reaching for food with her chopsticks every so often and touching the corner of her mouth with a napkin now and then. If someone addressed her, she answered with quiet politeness. If no one did, she simply ate in silence.
Jinsol stayed in her seat, joking around and chatting with everyone as if nothing was off, but her eyes kept drifting toward Yoona. She noticed the way Yoona held her glass, one hand around it and the other lightly cupping the rim when she drank. She noticed the way her eyes bent into a lovely curve whenever she smiled, yet today, not once had that smile been real.
Or rather, from the reunion until now, she hadn’t truly smiled at Jinsol even once.
The meal didn’t break up until nearly ten. People left in clusters. Jinsol stood outside the hot pot place, waiting for her ride as the night air carried the faint chill of early autumn. She had a couple of drinks, enough to leave her slightly lightheaded, though she wasn’t drunk yet.
“Photographer Bae.”
That voice again. Jinsol turned and saw Yoona stepping out of the restaurant. She already had her coat on, with her scarf hanging over one arm. She was by herself. Her manager was nowhere to be seen.
“You left your scarf inside.” Yoona held out a dark gray scarf.
Jinsol looked down. It was hers. She must have left it on the back of her chair so Yoona had brought it out for her.
“Thanks.” She took it, and her fingers brushed Yoona’s hand by accident. Her skin was cool, touched by the cold outside, and it felt strikingly different from the damp heat inside the restaurant.
Yoona snatched her hand back at once. Fast enough to make it seem like the touch had stung.
She stepped away and put a little more distance between them.
A car pulled up. It was Yoona’s. A black van stopped in front of them, and the driver stepped out to open the door. Yoona walked over, climbed in, and shut the door. The window slid down and revealed half of her face.
“See you tomorrow, Photographer Bae.”
“See you tomorrow.”
The window rolled up. The car drove away.
Jinsol stayed where she was, fingers tight around the scarf, watching the taillights fade into the dark street. People moved past her. The hot pot restaurant’s sign burned bright above her head. The city night was as lively as ever. But somehow, she felt as if none of the lights on this street belonged to her. She was only someone passing through, someone who had accidentally looked into another person’s life.
What about her own? She didn’t know. She only knew that when the car carrying Yoona disappeared into the night, it took something from her chest with it and left behind a hollow space where the wind could pass freely.
Back at the hotel, she didn’t rush to wash up. Instead, she sat in the chair by the window for a long time. Outside was still that city’s night view, the densely packed lights stretching out, the landmark building’s red aviation light flashing on its top.
She remembered some things.
Remembered that autumn, not long after she and Yoona had gotten together. The ginkgo leaves on campus were turning yellow. They walked along the path buried in fallen leaves, listening to the soft rustle under their feet. Yoona’s hand rested inside Jinsol’s coat pocket, her fingers laced with Jinsol’s. Neither of them said anything, but the quiet didn’t feel empty.
Back then she had thought this was forever.
Only later did she learn that “forever” is a cunning word. It always slips away just when you’re most certain of it, and when you look back, all you’re holding is a handful of air.
Her phone rang. She picked it up. A message from an unknown number. No content, just a period.
Jinsol stared at that period for a long time.
She knew who sent it. Yoona had a strange habit when texting—if she wanted to say something but didn’t know how, she had send a period first, then wait for the other person to answer.
And the other person here was only Jinsol.
This habit was a little secret between them. Yoona never texted anyone else like that, only Jinsol. The habit began because of something that happened when they were still together. One day, on a whim, Jinsol had said. “If we ever have a fight and can’t make up, send me a period, and I’ll know you’re thinking of me.” Yoona had called her childish, but then they really did fight once, and Yoona sent a period; Jinsol called and the person on the other end of the line said in a tearful voice. “Why aren’t you talking to me?”
Four years later, the habit was still there.
Jinsol’s fingers hovered over the screen for a long time before she finally typed a few words. “Not asleep yet?”
The message showed as read. But the other person didn’t reply immediately. After a minute or so, a response came back.
“Can’t sleep.”
“Me neither. You worked hard today.”
“Mm.”
Another single character. Jinsol stared at that and didn’t know how to continue. She wanted to ask so many questions like: how have you been all these years, how did you become a model, do you hate me, what did you feel when you saw me.
Yet every question felt too heavy, too large to fit on the fragile phone screen at such a late hour.
The chat fell silent for a long time.
Then Yoona sent another message. “You’ve changed.”
What did that mean? Jinsol frowned, typing faster than usual. “How?”
“You never used to say thank you to me.”
Jinsol’s fingers stopped on the screen. She knew what Yoona meant—that “thanks” when she handed over the scarf. Back when they were together, she had rarely said thank you to Yoona. Not because she was ungrateful, but because they’d been so close that a lot of things didn’t need to be said, the other person should just know.
Now she said thank you to Yoona. Because now they weren’t the same as before. Between them lay four years, an unexplained breakup, and many knots still untied. She had to be polite, had to be courteous, had to maintain distance. Not because she didn’t want to get closer, but because she wasn’t sure she still had the right.
“Because then was then.” She sent back.
The other end fell silent for a very long time. So long that Jinsol thought Yoona had gone to sleep, long enough that she put her phone down to go shower.
Her phone lit up.
A voice message from Yoona. Very short, just a few seconds.
Jinsol hesitated, then played it.
“...Jerk...”
Just one word. Not loud, with a little nasal quality, as if she had just been crying, or was about to.
Jinsol’s fingers tightened around the phone until her knuckles went white.
She wanted to call back. She wanted to hear Yoona’s voice. She wanted to talk to her about anything, even if it meant sitting there and listening to Yoona yell at her. Anything was better than this, better than being separated by a screen and left to guess what her expression looked like, what her tone meant.
But she didn’t call.
Because she didn’t know what to say when the call connected. Should she apologize? That felt too light. Should she say she never meant to leave back then? That sounded too much like an excuse. Should she say she still loved her? That felt too shameless.
She set the phone down and walked into the bathroom. Cold water hit her face, snapping her awake. She looked at herself in the mirror. Messy short hair, faint dark circles under her eyes, dry, chapped lips. She looked nothing like the confident Bae Jinsol from four years ago.
Four years could change many things. Could wear down a person’s edges. Could wear away their courage too.
She shut off the water and dried her face with a towel. By the time she stepped out, the phone had lit up again.
Not a voice message. A text.
“Bae Jinsol, you owe me.”
Then her profile picture turned gray. Yoona was offline.
Jinsol sat at the edge of the bed and read those words again and again. Each time felt like a small cut on her heart—not deep, but painful enough.
“I know.” she said to the air, her voice so soft she could barely hear it herself.
5.
On the second day of shooting, Yoona arrived earlier than yesterday and sat in the makeup room with her eyes shut as the artist did her work.
When Jinsol entered, Yoona opened one eye and looked at her through the mirror, then closed it again. That glance wasn’t the same as yesterday’s intentional distance, nor was it the same as the resentment in her late-night texts. It was something more difficult to pin down.
Jinsol didn’t dare think too much about it. She said good morning and went about her own business.
Today’s shoot was outdoors. The brand had arranged a private art museum—a huge white cube with minimalist lines and transparent glass walls. Light streamed in from every angle, casting regular geometric shadows on the floor. It was a technically demanding space: light changed quickly, color temperatures fluctuated, and parameters had to be adjusted rapidly.
Jinsol surveyed the space with her team in advance and chose the best shooting positions. By the time Yoona stepped out in her outfit, Jinsol was crouching on the floor, adjusting the height of the tripod.
“Photographer Bae.” Yoona stood behind her.
Jinsol turned her head. Sunlight streamed in through the glass wall and landed on Yoona, tracing her silhouette in gold. She had on a long white dress today, and the soft fabric moved faintly in the breeze. Her hair was styled in loose waves, with one side pinned back to show the graceful line of her neck.
“Wait, this light…” Jinsol got to her feet and crossed over to Yoona, tilting her head to look at her face. The light from the side lit her cheekbone in a clean, beautiful line, while the other side remained in gentle shadow. She looked like someone out of a Renaissance painting.
“Move a little to the left.” Jinsol reached for Yoona’s arm without thinking, then stopped halfway and drew her hand back.
Yoona noticed. Her eyes dropped to that retreating hand before she stepped left on her own.
“Like this?”
“Yes, and a little further back...” Jinsol stepped back, raised her camera, and looked through the viewfinder. “Good, stop.”
The shutter clicked.
Today’s shoot was more challenging than the first because of outdoor variables—light changed, clouds moved, even the wind affected how the skirt fluttered. Jinsol had to keep her focus sharp at all times, ready to catch each perfect moment as soon as it came. Yoona cooperated easily and understood what Jinsol wanted with barely any need to speak.
At lunch, Jinsol sat on the museum’s steps eating boxed lunch. She wasn’t hungry, put down her chopsticks after a couple of bites, and reviewed the morning’s photos on her camera.
“Not eating?” Yoona came over with her own lunch box and sat down beside her.
Jinsol was surprised she had approached voluntarily, but she still moved over to make more space. “Not really hungry.”
Yoona looked at the lunch box beside her, the food almost untouched. She didn’t say anything, just bent her head and ate her own meal. They sat side by side, each doing their own thing, neither speaking.
“This one.” Yoona suddenly pointed at Jinsol’s camera screen.
It was a photo she had just been flipping through. Yoona stood in front of the glass wall, sunlight hitting her through the angular structure, cutting her shadow into several pieces scattered across the white marble floor. Her expression was vacant, her gaze unfocused, as if she was thinking about something far away.
“What about it?” Jinsol asked.
“Keep it.” Yoona said. “Don’t delete this one.”
“I won’t.” Jinsol paused, feeling the response was too much, and added. “I’m not deleting any of the shoot photos. The client will need to select.”
Yoona gave no reply. She finished the rest of her meal, closed the box, and got to her feet.
“Bae Jinsol.”
“Yes?”
“You know I’m not talking about the shoot photos.”
Jinsol looked up and saw that Yoona had already walked several paces away.
She knew. Of course she knew.
She glanced back at the photo and held her gaze on it for a while. After that, she switched off the camera and carefully put it back in her bag.
Near the end of the afternoon’s shoot, a small thing happened.
A prop had issues and needed last-minute adjustment. Yoona stood waiting in the set, and Jinsol crouched down to fix the folds of her dress. She crouched low, almost touching the ground, focused on smoothing out each tiny crease.
“Bae Jinsol.” Yoona looked down at her.
Jinsol looked up.
“Your hair.” Yoona reached out and gently touched Jinsol’s forehead, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind her ear.
The touch was extremely light, yet the reaction it triggered was immense. Jinsol even forget how to breathe.
Yoona’s fingers slid near her ear, brushing the outer curve with the lightest contact. It didn’t seem accidental, but it also couldn’t be clearly labeled as intentional.
Yoona then withdrew her hand. “Is this prop ready yet?”
Jinsol stayed crouched on the ground, feeling like an idiot.
She knew Yoona had meant it. Years of knowing Yoona made her too familiar with the meanings behind those small gestures.
She stood up, cleared her throat, and managed to sound fairly calm. “The prop is fine. Continue.”
The corner of Yoona’s mouth flickered upward for a very brief moment, too fast to be sure.
But Jinsol caught it.
That smile made her heart clench painfully.