Page 10 of Tell Me Where It Ends

“I didn’t know any of that,” I whisper.

“You never ask,” he says. Two words landing like a ten-ton truck. He’s right. I’ve been the sun in our orbit for eight years, never once asking about his planets. Shame burns hot.

He clears his throat. “Anyway. That’s me.”

We sit in silence, no longer heavy but gentle. Outside, the pre-dawn sky stretches pale blue. Time feels suspended.

Part of me wants to stay like this.

Part of me wants to run.

Part of me is still thinking about Suho.

My phone buzzes on the cushion—a missed call, then a text. I glance at Shin. He isn’t looking. I angle my body, shielding the screen out of pure guilt.

Still here. Five more minutes, then I’m gone.

Suho has been waiting the whole time.

But while Suho demands, Shin adapts. He gives me a small, unreadable smile, quietly unfolding a blanket to set up his sofa bed, ready to stand guard over my disastrous life for one more night.

What do I do?

?Stay here with Shin.

Turn to page 58

?Sneak out to meet Suho before he leaves.

Turn to page 40

?Clear my head and go for a walk. Alone.

Turn to page 48

4b

My Lover, Kim Suho

My fingers type before my brain can object.

I’ll be there in a few minutes,I write, and press send.

The stupid, stubborn, nostalgic part of me—the part that still thinks a grand gesture can fix a train wreck—takes over.

Maybe it’s foolish. Maybe it’s just another way to end my career (as if I haven’t already racked up a few). But my life has always been a highlight reel of things left unsaid, and I’m not adding this to the collection.

A single thought cuts through the haze: Shin.

I hesitate. He deserves honesty. He deserves more than this. But if I tell him, he’ll try to stop me. He’ll look at me with that quiet, disappointedexpression that’s worse than yelling. And I can’t face that look while chasing a ghost.

If I wait one more second, I’ll lose my nerve. So I leave without a word and switch off my phone. I’ll deal with the fallout later—the family motto, in practice.

The hallway stretches endlessly, too still, each step echoing like a drumbeat of bad decisions. I tug a cap low, mask my face, shove my hands deep into my coat pockets. My legs feel like wobbly rubber, but I walk faster anyway, ignoring the dull ache in my throat.

By the time I reach the parking garage, it’s a concrete cavern—cold, empty, smelling of rubber and oil.

And there he is. Leaning against his black SUV, looking impossibly calm, as if he’s stepped straight out of a movie I should’ve stopped rewatching years ago.