The days passed like faded copies of one another, bringing nothing new but a growing weariness that crept silently into my chest.
I would go out, meet people, smile, laugh at the right moments, say the words everyone expected, and play my part in this daily drama with a skill that almost deceived even myself.
I dated, loved, made friends, socialized… but all of that was just on the surface. Deep down, there was an emptiness that expanded with a terrifying silence.
Strangely, the loneliness didn't disappear in the presence of people; it only became more pronounced. It was like something alive, feeding on noise, growing amidst laughter, and flourishing in empty conversations.
At the end of each day, I would return to my dark apartment, slowly opening the door as if stepping into an inescapable reality. No sound, no one, just me… and the other me that no one knew.
I would sit on the sofa, staring at my phone as if it were my only window to life. I would wait for a call… a message… any sign that I wasn't completely forgotten.
The minutes drag on, slow and heavy, almost audible as they fall upon my chest. I open apps aimlessly, reread old conversations, smile at moments gone by, then feel a pang of sadness… because I know those moments are over, and the people who once filled my days barely remember me now.
Sometimes, I want to call anyone, not because I have anything to say, but because I just want to hear a voice… any voice to break this silence that's consuming me.
But every time, I hold back, thinking: What would I say? How would I justify this emptiness? How would I explain that, despite everything, I still feel alone?
Loneliness is no longer just a fleeting feeling; it's become a part of me, dwelling within me like a shadow. I carry it with me everywhere. It lessens slightly when I'm around people, but it never truly disappears.
Instead, it waits… patiently… until I return, until I close the door behind me, until I sit in that dark corner where no one can see me, no one can hear me.
And there, at that precise moment, I realized the truth I'd been trying to escape all day: that everything I did, everyone I met, all the emotions I experienced… weren't enough to fill that void.
It was as if I were running in circles, searching for something I didn't know, and simultaneously afraid to find it.
Then came the day that changed everything, and it was because of someone Michael introduced me to. His name was Do-hyun, meaning wisdom, but he was the complete opposite.
The day began, as usual, with heavy steps toward the hospital, where there wasn't even time to catch my breath. The emergency room was suffocatingly crowded; the sounds of machines mingled with the calls of nurses, and patients' faces shifted between pain and hope. The hours stretched endlessly, and each case I dealt with left a deeper mark on me than the last.
Some left on their own two feet, others left for good… and with each loss, I felt something inside me break silently.
When the shift finally ended, I felt no relief, only a crushing emptiness. I went home to change, as if trying to shake off the remnants of the day, but its scent lingered.
As I wandered aimlessly around the apartment, my phone vibrated. A message from Michael. He told me he was coming to pick me up for dinner at his house.
I paused, staring at the screen, thinking, "Finally, something can change the gloom of this day." An hour later, the doorbell rang. I answered, and Michael asked for help with my dress because the zipper was behind me. When I turned to look at him, I saw his small ear was red, and I laughed shyly and thanked him.
"Shall we go now, Princess?" he asked.
"Yes."
When we arrived, Michael knocked on the door to let the owner know we were there. This was the first appearance of the second idiot in my life.