Comeback

Episode 1: The Unseen Gaze

Hongshu had always been there—watching, waiting, hoping. She stood at the edge of the basketball court, where Gwangshuk played under the afternoon sun. His movements were fluid, effortless, his laughter blending with the cheers of his friends. But his eyes… they were always searching for someone else.

Shinha.

Hongshu knew it too well. The way Gwangshuk's entire posture changed when Shinha was around, the way his voice softened, his gaze turned tender. It was a painful thing to witness, but she couldn’t stop looking.

“Hongshu?”

She startled at the voice and turned to see Shinha beside her, holding two bottles of iced tea. Her long hair was tied up in a messy ponytail, strands framing her face in a way that made her seem effortlessly beautiful.

“You looked lost in thought,” Shinha said with a small smile, handing her a bottle. “Here, I bought an extra one.”

Hongshu forced a smile. “Thanks.”

They stood together, watching the game as Gwangshuk scored another point. He turned towards the sidelines, looking directly at them—no, at her.

Shinha waved, and Gwangshuk’s face lit up. He jogged over, breathless but grinning. “Did you see that shot?”

Hongshu’s fingers tightened around the bottle.

Shinha laughed. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Show-off. You were good.”

He laughed along, eyes never leaving hers. Hongshu might as well have been invisible.

“I have something to tell you after practice,” Gwangshuk said, his voice holding a hint of nervousness.

Shinha tilted her head. “Oh? Sounds serious.”

Gwangshuk only smiled before running back onto the court.

Hongshu already knew what he wanted to say. And she knew it wasn’t meant for her.

Still, she stayed. Watching, waiting, hoping.

Comeback

Episode 2: The Confession

The day had come. Gwangshuk had asked to meet Shinha after practice, and Hongshu’s heart twisted with the knowledge of what was about to unfold. She had prepared herself for this moment, but nothing could ease the ache in her chest.

It was late afternoon when the final bell rang, signaling the end of school. Hongshu lingered in the courtyard, watching as Shinha made her way toward the basketball courts, a slight spring in her step. Gwangshuk was already there, leaning against a bench, his hands in his pockets. His eyes were anxious, but when they landed on Shinha, they softened.

Hongshu took a step back, wanting to remain unseen.

Gwangshuk stood up straighter as Shinha approached. “You wanted to talk?”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about something... something important.”

Shinha smiled warmly, unaware of the storm brewing behind her. “You can tell me anything, Gwangshuk.”

Hongshu, from the shadows, watched the scene unfold. She saw how Gwangshuk’s hand trembled slightly as he reached out to hold Shinha’s, and her stomach churned.

“Shinha,” he began, his voice steadying, “I’ve been feeling this way for a while, and I can’t hide it anymore. I—"

He was interrupted by a sound from behind them. Hongshu had made a noise, perhaps a sigh too loud, and both Gwangshuk and Shinha turned toward her. She had stepped too far into the light, and they noticed her then, standing a few feet away, her face pale.

“Oh, Hongshu,” Shinha said softly, her tone shifting into concern. “You’re here. What’s wrong?”

Gwangshuk’s eyes followed Shinha’s gaze. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice holding a note of care.

Hongshu looked up at him, forcing a smile, though the pit in her stomach only deepened. “I’m fine. Just… I’ll go.” She turned to leave, but Gwangshuk stopped her with a gentle voice.

“Hongshu, wait. Please.”

She halted but didn’t turn back. “I… I didn’t mean to intrude. Go ahead.”

But Gwangshuk wasn’t going to let it go that easily. He walked toward her, his presence warm but overwhelming. “You’re not intruding, Hongshu. I—"

He stopped himself, glancing between Shinha and Hongshu. Then, with a deep breath, he spoke again. “I wanted to tell Shinha that I like her. I’ve liked her for a while, and I think it’s time she knew.”

The words were a slow, brutal admission. Hongshu’s heart seemed to stop, but she managed to nod, forcing herself to speak. “Of course. I… I’m happy for you, Gwangshuk.”

Shinha smiled brightly at Gwangshuk, but Hongshu noticed how the smile faltered slightly when she saw Hongshu’s face.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Shinha asked again, concern lacing her voice.

Hongshu swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, even though it felt like her entire world was slipping away. “Yeah. I’m fine. I should go.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away, her heart breaking with every step. She could hear their voices behind her, but she didn’t look back.

The confession had been made, and Hongshu’s feelings, so carefully hidden, were left in the dust.

Comeback

Episode 3: Silent Tears

The days following Gwangshuk’s confession were some of the hardest Hongshu had ever faced. The pain wasn’t new—it had always been there, a quiet ache in her chest, but now it was a heavy weight. She had watched Gwangshuk with Shinha countless times before, but now the reality of his feelings had made everything feel sharper, clearer, and unbearably more real.

Hongshu found herself unable to escape the way Gwangshuk looked at Shinha, the way his smile deepened when she was near, the way his laughter echoed in her ears. It wasn’t just the obvious moments. It was the little things—the way he adjusted his backpack when he was next to her, the way he remembered the smallest details about her, how his eyes seemed to soften when she spoke. Shinha was everything Hongshu had never been.

She couldn’t compete with that.

It had been a week since that day by the courts, the day Gwangshuk confessed to Shinha. Things had shifted, but only slightly. They were still the same group of friends—Gwangshuk, Shinha, and Hongshu—but now there was a distance between them that wasn’t there before. Hongshu noticed the way Shinha would look at her, her eyes searching for any sign of discomfort, any indication that things weren’t okay. She would smile, try to make small talk, but the words felt too heavy, too awkward.

Today, they were all sitting at the lunch table in the cafeteria. Shinha was talking about a new movie she wanted to see, her voice light and excited. Gwangshuk was nodding along, his attention fully on her. Hongshu watched, picking at her food, doing her best to keep her emotions in check.

“Hongshu,” Shinha said, turning to her with a friendly smile. “You haven’t said much today. Are you feeling okay?”

Hongshu forced a smile, her stomach churning. She had been asked this question so many times in the past week. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, her voice not as convincing as she had hoped.

But Shinha wasn’t convinced. Her brow furrowed slightly, and her gaze lingered on Hongshu. “You sure? You’ve been kind of quiet lately.”

Gwangshuk looked up from his food, his eyes catching the exchange between the two girls. He seemed to sense the tension, but he didn’t know what to say. He could only look between them, unsure of how to help.

Hongshu swallowed hard, wanting to say something, anything, to make the moment feel lighter, but the words caught in her throat. The pain was still too fresh. She had been avoiding them both, trying to bury the feelings that were rising up in her chest. She couldn’t let them know what she was really feeling.

“I’m fine,” Hongshu repeated, her voice breaking slightly. “I just… I’ve got a lot on my mind. You know, school stuff.”

Shinha gave her a concerned look, but she didn’t push it further. Instead, she smiled again, though it was tinged with uncertainty. “Okay, if you say so.”

The conversation shifted back to the movie, but Hongshu couldn’t focus. Her mind kept drifting to the last week, to Gwangshuk’s confession. She thought about how she had tried to hold herself together, tried to be strong for both of them. But the truth was, she was falling apart.

She excused herself from the table, mumbling something about needing to catch up on homework, and walked out of the cafeteria. She wasn’t sure where she was going, only that she needed to be away from them. Away from the reminder that Gwangshuk would never see her the way he saw Shinha.

The school grounds were quiet, the wind gently rustling the leaves of the trees as she walked through the empty courtyard. Hongshu found herself at the edge of the school, sitting down on one of the benches beneath a large oak tree. She pulled her knees to her chest and let out a shaky breath, finally allowing herself to feel the weight of the emotions she had been holding in for so long.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and before she could stop them, they spilled down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly, trying to regain some semblance of composure, but it was no use. The pain was too much.

“I just… I wanted him to see me,” she whispered to herself, her voice breaking. “But he never will.”

It wasn’t fair. She had been there for him through everything. She had supported him, cheered him on, and stood by him when he needed someone to talk to. But it had never been enough. He had always looked at her as a friend, someone who was just… there. She wasn’t the one he wanted.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. She quickly wiped her eyes, hoping whoever it was hadn’t seen her tears. But when she looked up, it was Gwangshuk.

His expression softened when he saw her, and for a brief moment, Hongshu thought maybe he had come to check on her. But then he opened his mouth, and the words that came out of his mouth shattered her heart once again.

“Hongshu,” Gwangshuk said gently, taking a step closer. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

She blinked, surprised. “Help you with what?”

He hesitated, looking a little uncomfortable. “Well, Shinha… she doesn’t really know much about basketball, and I thought maybe you could help her understand the game better. You’re good at explaining things, and I thought…” He trailed off, clearly not sure how to phrase it.

Hongshu’s heart dropped. He had come to her, not because he cared, but because he needed her to help Shinha. He needed her to help the girl he loved.

“Sure,” she said, her voice flat. “I’ll help.”

But inside, it felt like a thousand pieces of her were breaking. She was nothing more than a tool to help him win Shinha’s heart. That was all she would ever be.

Gwangshuk smiled, oblivious to the storm swirling inside her. “Thanks, Hongshu. I really appreciate it.”

He walked away, and Hongshu was left alone once again, the weight of her unspoken love pressing down on her chest.

Comeback

Episode 4: The Breakthrough

It had been another two weeks since that painful moment when Gwangshuk had asked for Hongshu’s help with Shinha. Despite the hurt that lingered in her heart, Hongshu found herself agreeing to help, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the act of being close to him would ease some of the aching loneliness that seemed to follow her wherever she went.

The truth was, helping Shinha understand basketball had given Hongshu a sense of purpose. It wasn’t a perfect distraction, but it was something. She spent hours going over the rules, teaching her the strategies, even rehearsing plays with her in the school gym after hours. Shinha was grateful, her excitement palpable as she began to grasp the game’s complexity.

But through it all, Hongshu remained in the background, still invisible in Gwangshuk’s eyes. He was always kind to her, but his attention was never on her, not the way it was with Shinha. It was painful, but the sadness had started to numb, replaced by a quiet acceptance.

That day, as they were finishing up another long session in the gym, Shinha was particularly happy. She had finally understood a play, and her smile was infectious. Gwangshuk was there too, of course, leaning against the wall, watching as they practiced.

“You’re really good at this,” Shinha said to Hongshu, her voice full of genuine admiration. “I don’t think I would’ve gotten it without your help.”

Hongshu smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s nothing. You’re picking it up quickly.”

Gwangshuk looked at her, a rare moment where his gaze seemed to linger. “Hongshu… thanks. For helping us both. It really means a lot.”

There was sincerity in his voice, and for the briefest of moments, Hongshu felt like she mattered. But then Shinha bounced over to them, her energy shifting the focus back to her.

“We should grab dinner after this, all three of us! I know this amazing place that serves the best spicy ramen.”

Hongshu nodded, her heart sinking. It would be another night spent in the background. Another night pretending that everything was fine, when in reality, she was slowly crumbling inside.

As they made their way to the restaurant, Hongshu walked a step behind them, her mind far away. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a one-sided love story. It was more than that. It was a story of acceptance, of understanding her place in the world, even if that place wasn’t where her heart wanted to be.

Comeback

Episode 5: The Realization

The following week, Gwangshuk’s behavior began to shift. At first, Hongshu didn’t notice it, but then it started to become clear. He was calling her more often, asking for help with small things—homework, studying for tests, even advice on what to wear for a school event. It was strange, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like he was trying to connect with her in ways that went beyond basketball or Shinha.

One afternoon, Gwangshuk asked Hongshu to meet him in the school library. He’d mentioned that he needed her help with organizing some papers for a project, and she had agreed without thinking much of it.

When she arrived, she found him sitting at a table, looking a little nervous. He waved when he saw her. “Hey, Hongshu. Thanks for coming.”

“No problem,” she said, trying to sound casual, but her heart was pounding. She couldn’t help but wonder if this meeting had anything to do with Shinha. But when Gwangshuk started talking, it became clear that it was about something else.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” he began, avoiding her gaze as he shuffled through some papers. “About… everything, really. About you, and Shinha, and how I’ve been handling things.”

Hongshu felt her pulse quicken. “What do you mean?” she asked, though her voice betrayed the tension she was feeling.

“I don’t know… It’s just that, ever since I told Shinha how I felt, I realized I’ve been kind of ignoring you. You’ve been there for me, always. You’ve helped me, supported me, and I guess I never really showed you how much I appreciated it.” He met her eyes then, and there was something in his gaze that she hadn’t seen before—something uncertain, maybe even guilty. “I didn’t mean to make you feel left out.”

Hongshu’s breath caught in her throat. This was more than she had expected. He was apologizing, acknowledging her in a way that felt almost too much to bear. And yet, despite the sincerity in his words, her heart ached. Was this his way of apologizing for loving Shinha? Did he truly care for her, or was he simply trying to ease his own guilt?

“I… I didn’t feel left out,” Hongshu said softly, forcing the words out. “I’m just glad to be here for you. That’s enough for me.”

Gwangshuk looked at her with a mix of confusion and frustration, as though he were trying to figure something out. “But it’s not enough, is it? Not for you. I know I’ve been selfish, Hongshu. I’ve been so caught up in my own feelings for Shinha that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. What you’ve been doing for me…”

Hongshu’s chest tightened. “It’s fine, Gwangshuk. Really.”

But he wasn’t done. He stood up and walked toward her, closing the distance between them. “No, it’s not. I owe you more than that. I owe you the truth. And the truth is… I don’t know where I stand with you anymore.”

Hongshu’s heart stopped for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he hesitated, his voice faltering slightly, “I’ve been so focused on Shinha that I didn’t realize how much you mean to me, too. You’ve been here for me in ways I didn’t even see until now.”

Hongshu looked away, her vision blurred. “Gwangshuk, I—”

“I’m not asking you for anything. I just…” He trailed off, his voice softer now. “I need you to know that I do care about you. Maybe in a way that’s different than what you want from me, but it’s real. You’re important to me, Hongshu.”

The words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. Hongshu didn’t know how to respond. Was this his way of acknowledging their friendship? Or was it more? Was there a chance—however small—that he could love her, the way she had always loved him?

But in her heart, she knew the truth. It wasn’t love. Not in the way she wanted it. It was gratitude. It was guilt. And no matter how hard she tried, it would never be enough to fill the hole inside her.

“Thanks, Gwangshuk,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But I think… I think you should focus on Shinha. She’s the one you really care about.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Gwangshuk standing there, staring after her, still unsure of what he had said or how to fix what had always been broken.