Silent Wounds

The night after the trek ended quietly for Ha-eun.

She reached her home, set down her bag, and changed into dry clothes. The silence of her small room pressed around her as she sat at her desk. Opening her notebook, she began scribbling lines for her journalism project, the ink flowing softly under the lamp. Yet her thoughts strayed, circling back to fleeting images—raindrops, laughter at the restaurant.

By morning, her phone buzzed.

It was Ji-ah.

“Yaa, come over to my place today,” Ji-ah said brightly.

Ha-eun frowned. “Why? Did something happen?”

“Nothing serious,” Ji-ah laughed. “It’s just… we’re all unemployed, so it’s just to spend time together. And don’t forget to bring some food, okay?”

Ha-eun sighed softly as the call ended.

“I’m not unemployed,” she muttered under her breath, but her voice held no sharpness—just quiet honesty.

She dressed neatly, packed her bag, and stopped by a nearby bakery. The warm scent of freshly baked bread and sweet cakes welcomed her. She carefully chose a small box of pastries, thinking her friends would enjoy them.

Just as she turned to pay, her eyes caught a familiar silhouette in the corner. Min-jae. He was sitting with a girl but she didn’t recognize him.

Box in hand, she stepped outside into the bright morning light. Behind her, Min-jae also stood, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked out.

They ended up side by side on the street, close enough to notice each other. But neither looked. Neither spoke. They crossed the road together like strangers—two people sharing the same path, yet worlds apart.

Ha-eun hailed a cab and climbed in. As the car pulled away.Min-jae was already walking in the opposite direction, disappearing into the crowd.

By the time she reached Ji-ah’s house.

Perfect! This scene adds a mix of embarrassment, comedy, and hidden tension—great for showing Ha-eun’s position in the group and Min-jae’s playful side. Let me write this out fully, blending the humor with Ha-eun’s emotions:

Ha-eun reached Ji-ah’s house, clutching the small box of pastries carefully in her hands. She rang the bell softly, hearing laughter and voices from inside.

The door creaked open, but before she could step in—

SPLAT!

Something cold and sticky burst against her shoulder. The box slipped from her hands, cakes tumbling to the floor. Ha-eun froze, eyes wide, as she realized… it was an egg.

The room went silent. Everyone stared, stunned, unsure of what to say.

Ji-ah shot up immediately. “Ha-eun!” she gasped, rushing forward.

But before she could reach her, the front door swung wider—and there was Min-jae, pausing at the sight of Ha-eun, egg dripping down her sleeve. His lips twitched, his shoulders shaking slightly as he tried—desperately—to hold back his laughter.

“What… happened to her?” he asked, his tone just a little too calm, betraying his struggle not to laugh.

Ji-ah grabbed Ha-eun’s hand quickly, glaring at the others.

“It’s just… Dong-wook’s stupid plan. He was going to hit Min-jae with the egg, but you came first. We didn’t know you’d be the one to step inside.”

Laughter broke out around the room—Joon-ho and Dong-wook doubling over, unable to stop themselves.

Joon-ho wiped tears from his eyes, grinning sheepishly.

“Sorry, dongsaeng-a. We really didn’t know.”

Dong-wook nodded, still chuckling.

“Yeah, me too. It wasn’t meant for you. Honestly.”

Ha-eun stood frozen, face burning with embarrassment, not knowing what to say. Her heart pounded—part humiliation, part anger.

Finally, Seo-yeon came storming in from the kitchen. She took one look at the mess, then turned her fiery glare on the boys.

“Again? Seriously? Your stupid pranks—on this little girl? Yaaaaa, you jerks!” She threw her hands in the air dramatically. “Perks of being unemployed, huh? Oh goshhh…”

The room erupted again, but this time the laughter was more nervous, trying to dodge Seo-yeon’s fury. Ji-ah gently tugged Ha-eun inside, whispering softly, “Don’t mind them… they’re idiots.”

Ha-eun nodded faintly, though her chest still felt heavy. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh, cry, or run away.

Ha-eun slipped into the washroom, the door clicking shut behind her. The muffled laughter outside only made the silence inside heavier. She stood at the sink, scrubbing at the egg stains on her clothes, but her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

Her gaze lifted to the mirror. The girl staring back wasn’t just today’s Ha-eun—it was the girl from her school days, cornered by cruel laughter, mocked for things she never chose. She could almost hear those voices again, echoing in the back of her mind.

Her lips parted, words slipping out like a confession.

“I hate it… when people laugh at someone as if their pain is a joke.”

Her chest tightened as tears welled up, blurring the face in the mirror. She bit her lip hard, but her voice still quivered.

“Don’t make me regret choosing to be here… choosing to open myself up again.”

Her hand pressed flat against the cold glass, as though she could steady the broken reflection staring back at her.

“To them, it’s nothing. Just a little joke, a little laughter.” Her voice cracked, low and bitter. “But to me… it cuts deeper than any wound. A wound that bleeds without blood.”

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The weight of her own memories pressed down, suffocating in its silence. She closed her eyes, let a tear fall freely, and whispered—

“Don’t let them see you break.”

When she opened her eyes again, her reflection looked fragile but resolute—like someone fighting to hold herself together in a world that never noticed her scars.

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