Episode 10: Laughter, Then Silence

Later that afternoon, Eunji sat curled up on a couch in the back corner of the studio cafe, her favorite mug of chamomile in her hands. Rora and Hyeri had already claimed the squishy chairs across from her, their conversation flowing easily, laughter rising and falling with each ridiculous story.

But Eunji was quieter than usual.

“No sketchbook today?” Hyeri asked, glancing around as if expecting to see it tucked under her arm.

Eunji shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “Left it at home.”

Rora paused mid-sip of her drink. “Wait, what? Eunji not sketching? Is the world ending?”

Eunji chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I just… didn’t feel like it today.”

“That’s rare,” Hyeri said gently. “Everything okay?”

She hesitated for a second, then shrugged. “I think I just wanted to be present. You know? Not watching everything like I’m about to turn it into a sketch.”

Rora nodded, sensing there was more she wasn’t saying but choosing not to push. “Sometimes living the moment is enough,” she said, repeating the words from earlier, this time more softly.

Hyeri raised her mug. “To presence, then.”

Eunji clinked her cup against theirs with a quiet smile.

They slipped back into conversation, letting her silence exist without pressure. The topic drifted to upcoming critiques and rumors of a guest artist visiting the university. Rora pulled out her phone to show them an absurdly dramatic video of her cat knocking over an entire pile of paint tubes.

Eunji laughed, genuine this time.

She was grateful for them—for how they anchored her when she didn’t realize she’d been floating.

When Eunji returned to her apartment that evening, the city had already begun to settle. The sky outside her window was streaked with purple and fading gold, the kind of soft twilight that made everything feel like a painting.

She placed her keys gently on the counter, the silence of her space greeting her like an old companion. The fridge hummed. Somewhere outside, a dog barked once, then stopped. She didn’t bother turning on the lights right away. The quiet was comforting, even if a little hollow.

She crossed to the small shelf near the window where a collection of postcards leaned against a framed photo. The newest card was from Istanbul. Before that, Madrid. Before that, Buenos Aires.

Her parents had always promised they'd never be gone too long.

But they always were.

Her fingers lingered on the postcard from Paris. A sunset over the Seine. On the back, her mother’s handwriting read: “Keep chasing what makes your heart full, Eunji.”

Eunji traced the words slowly, her throat tightening. Some days, those words felt like a promise. Today, they felt like a question.

She sat by the window with her cold tea, looking out over the rooftops. Her sketchbook lay untouched on the coffee table, the pencil beside it still sharp, still waiting.

Maybe she was, too.

Maybe tomorrow, she’ll find the lines again.

But tonight, it was enough to feel the stillness and let it hold her. Quietly, honestly.

Just her and the silence.

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