“Saying goodbye doesn’t mean anything. It’s the time we spent together that matters, not how we left it.” – Trey Parker

The line was long. Extending far out the door curving past the side café business. Only thirty minutes had passed. His facial muscles were already sore from the tenuous smiles he had to keep wearing.

“Look bright. It’s your big day. Don’t let your readers down.” His agent had chanted repeatedly at the light of dawn when he’d woken up to meet her in their publication office.

Sehun hadn’t slept in the count of two days. He was nervous. He was excited.

He was a little nostalgic.

From a small-time freelance writer to suddenly debuting successfully after numerous failures he questioned many times, if he deserved this. Suddenly seeing his name tagged online, his face plastered across news reading sections - this still felt unreal.

The book signing tour had just hit off. Starting in the capitol he would travel with his agent down south to the east coast then west and back. The rest of his year was booked. His bank account had increased by three more zeroes. In his entire life he had never felt so swell.

Moving into a studio at last – a dream he had always wanted to fulfill. Boxing up his belongings in the cramped apartment had proved difficult. The memories that scarred the walls. The laughter that had resonated in his tiny home. The pieces of his heart. All left behind.

“I really love your book. It made me cry so many times. I’ve never read anything so touching before.” A giddy reader came up.

Sehun repeated a thanks, agreed to shake her hand, and signed her book.

“Your writing is really beautiful.” The next reader handed him her book. “I really admire you.”

Nothing he hadn’t heard from the first twenty readers.

He knew. His story was gut wrenching. Soul moving.

Only writing the truth about what everyone went through once in their life.

Putting the most honest part of himself on paper for the world to see.

Oh Sehun didn’t consider himself a romanticist. He liked non-fiction. His bookshelves always crammed with sci-fi and mystery books. The romance genre out of his niche. As a freelance writer he investigated real life stories of inspiration, kindness, and humanity. Of people struggling through depression, cancer, and restoring faith in a cruel world filled with more self-entitled persons than offering a hand.

On the side when there was no contract job, he wrote for himself. He listened to music. He observed the world around him. The passersby that went about their daily routines. He looked for inspiration and submitted short stories to magazines. Once in a while when he felt like he had a successful piece he’d find a publisher in hopes of getting a book out.

It never worked out.

Writing always did so much for him. Releasing the tension in him. Giving him a place of security. In the quiet times of his soulful world his imagination could run loose. Putting on the shoes of another person and pretend he was successful, a person that had everything he never did, or that he was an intelligent officer cracking codes and catching criminals. In the stories he could pretend to have an entirely new identity.

The escape gave him many denominals to choose from. It was fun. It gave him a sense of being, a sense of purpose.

“Will you be writing a sequel? I really hope you write a happy ending next.”

“I’m not sure.” Gripping his pen, he asked, “What is your name?”

He hadn’t slept for two nights. The entire time spent trying to make a phone call.

The landline never reached.

Taking a break Sehun reached for the nearby water bottle. Sweeping through the crowd. Majority of them women. Young to middle aged. A few men tucked in between. Hoping, maybe, to catch a familiar face among them.

There was no one he recognized.

The disappointment was something he had anticipated.

She wouldn’t come.

She wouldn’t be coming.

“Do you think we can meet again?”

“I don’t know, Sehun.”

“I made it difficult, didn’t I? I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

Oh Sehun wasn’t a romanticist.

He didn’t dream of walking down a snowy lane holding the hand of someone important. Candle lit dinners or sweet dates by the harbor watching the sun set. Ending the night with a kiss on her doorstep. Buying chocolates and sweets. Surprising her with gifts. Yearning for hugs and intimacy.

But he had ended up doing all of that.

Becoming like the crowd.

They hadn’t met somewhere special. He hadn’t run into her around the bend or been on a blind date. She wasn’t an acquaintance of a friend. In a very ordinary way, his life had crashed into hers.

Similar to what he always heard; life happens.

That was them. And Sehun knew it was meant to happen. From a small seedling to a bright flower that would wilt when the cold arrived.

Beautiful in the moment before it is gone.

Things like that also happens.

Cherish what you have they always say.

Some of those memories belonged to only them, so he wouldn’t share them. He would never talk about it. He would never tell a soul.

In the future if anyone asked, he would say he first started it. On a rainy day, it was, when he first stopped by the restaurant. A tiny but cozy building tucked at the corner of the block behind the shopping mall. Wall paned windows with a glowing silver label high on the arched purple painted wall. Sehun had taken one of the glassy tables by the window where the street spanned outside. A line of traffic impatiently waiting to cross the red lights.

Then he returned the next day for the solace of the atmosphere, because the coffee was good and the food inexpensive. The next three days he came back and sat in the same spot. Window viewing. Observing the patrons in the restaurant. And then he saw her.

That marked the moment that restaurant became a favorite.

Carrying the same laptop case, he always sat in the same spot. Ordered the same grilled cheese sandwich with a side of black coffee. Before leaving he would eat the creamy alfredo – the special on the menu.

During the time there he would jot down notes, he would write, and he would watch her work. Smiling gracefully while chatting with regular customers. Moving eloquently from the kitchen to the lobby. The simplicity about her was eye catching. Once in a while he would catch her yawning cutely. Maybe…he even fell in love from afar until they talked one day.

Her name was Kim Namjoo.

The restaurant was hers. She had a sister and parents she helped provide for, but her life was not simple. When she was with him freedom reigned. Wings sprouted from her back. He got acquainted with her laughter, the scenery of bliss she brought with her. Creating, together, a beautiful illusion.

Sehun who was no romanticist felt his world open up. He dreamt of tomorrows and next years. Dates and anniversaries. Nightly phone calls and morning greetings.

Like that, he became the world’s happiest man.

Namjoo was the first person interested in reading his stories. In his cramped apartment, at the restaurant, or on a bench somewhere in the park she’d sit with him while he wrote. Accompanying him through the quiet. Make a remark about something he had missed.

She was his cheerleader. His editor. His manager. His lover. Going the distance with him to meet with a publisher who rejected his script.

Kim Namjoo never gave up on him, even when her life started falling apart. When her sister failed her, when her parents turned away, and his parents disrespected her. She never faltered in his presence.

She smiled.

She patted his back.

She still managed to encourage him to be his best.

He didn’t understand back then that silence could be love. Hiding and withholding the pain; pretending to smile in cruel times a form of comfort.

All for him.

And then one day she let him go.

It happened…just like that.

Sehun didn’t go back to the restaurant. What he did, instead, was lock himself up.

Contrary to expectations, he had ended up penning a romance story. Thinking about the chocolate roses he surprised her with on her birthday. The ticket he ordered specially for her to go see the musical she always talked about. That time they hid under the roof of a butcher shop when rain suddenly broke out and kissed for the first time. The cup of latte he bought her with a heart drawn in it.

He thought about the night they first slept together. Of when she woke up and found his drafts on his desk, going through them while he slept. Discovering that he was more than a writer.

His first book, he wondered, if she knew, was about them.

This thing that once spanned between them like a butterfly hatching from a cocoon. Come to be beautifully before flying away.

Sehun wondered if Namjoo knew this book was about their unfulfilled story.

If she would receive his message.

That he was lucky to have something that made saying goodbye so hard.

That the pain of parting would never compare to when they would meet again.

That…he would be resilient in his waiting for her.

***hahahahha that's it. It's a oneshot if you didn't see