He watched her from dusk until dawn. He watched her as the first light slowly filtered in through the thick curtains, barely enough to break into the cool darkness of the previous night.

Like a timer, it woke her. He closed his eyes and felt her move out of bed.

When next he opened them, she was gone.

Their marriage was failing. He knew it was. With each day gone without words exchanged, he knew... one day he would lose her. He could already feel her growing further and further away from him.

It pained him.

He wished he could go back. If he could only undo what had happened.

The day he married her had been like a dream. He never knew himself to be so happy.

A vision in white, with summer petals floating in through the open doors all around her, she glided towards him like a daydream. He could see, even through her veil, the nervous smile on her full lips. He could see how beautiful she looked. He couldn't see anything else.

I love you. Only you. Do you no longer believe me?

"Let's go somewhere, far away."

When he first suggested it, she had looked away; buried her nose in her book and continued reading until she fell asleep.

He couldn't leave things as they were and risk losing her. He didn't want to believe she no longer wanted to be with him. So even though every time afterwards had been the same, he never stopped trying.

But today was different. This time, she looked at him.

He knelt before her and took her hands gently into his own.

"Soo-yah... drop everything. Come with me."

"Where would we go?" Her voice was a soft whisper, the uncertainty in her eyes matching the coldness of her hands.

"Anywhere. Wherever you want."

They found themselves on the island of Jeju, overlooking lush green plains. The air was fresh and cool, the sun bright but not hot.

He smiled as he watched her, bright-eyed as he hadn't seen her in weeks.

He missed seeing her like this.

They had adjusted to each other quickly enough during the first two years of their marriage. He had made sure to end every argument with sweet kisses. He had made sure to remember every anniversary, every event important to her. He had made sure she was always happy.

Her smiles had come more easily then, for she was easy to please but also quick to anger.

His time was all she wanted; he made sure to give her more.

"Shall we visit the lighthouse?" he asked.

She opened her eyes, blinked away the sun, and nodded. They got on their bikes and rode off together.

At the top of the lighthouse they stood, looking out over the sea. They were inches apart, close enough to touch should they have wanted to. And all around them was noise - the sound of the ocean waves, the laughter of children, the careless chatter of families and friends, the footsteps of strangers. Yet the air between them held none but their usual silence.

"Excuse me?"

They both turned to find an elderly couple smiling at them. In the woman's outstretched hand was a camera.

Soo complied eagerly. Being a make-up artist, she knew how to manipulate light to her advantage. He watched her direct the happy old couple with a smile. He felt like it had been years since he'd last heard the sound of her laughter. He wished he knew how to make her laugh again.

"Thank you, we've been arguing about this the entire trip," said the old woman after Soo had taught them how to review their pictures. "Is he your boyfriend?"

"Oh... he's... my husband," Soo replied. She tried to mask the tension with an awkward little laugh. He saw her unconsciously touch the wedding band on her fourth finger.

"She's a sweet little lady. You're a very lucky man," the old man informed him. All he could do was smile and nod his agreement.

"Any children?" the old woman asked eagerly, looking at them as though hoping a small child would suddenly pop out from in between the cracks on the floor.

The air between So and Soo grew, if it were possible, even thicker.

"Ah, no," Soo replied with a little smile. "We're thinking about it, though."

They stayed on in silence long after the old couple had left. They watched the sunset together.

In the remnants of light from the fallen sun, he took her hand and held it tightly. Her ring pressed against his own, cold against warm.

"Let's go back," she suggested quietly, finally pulling away.

He found her in the dark later that night, sitting on the porch floor, looking out over the dark shoreline.

He switched off his phone to dissuade further calls from his family and left it on the table inside.

We can't run from each other forever. Will you not hear me out?