The lunch lull had hit the little family spot. Dishes weren't clanking anymore. Just these soft voices from a couple old folks hanging out at the corner tables. You know, the kind that stick around after eating. Minjae's mom was back there behind the counter. She polished those side dishes like it was nothing. Years of doing it made her hands move all steady and sure. Her face looked calm enough. But her ears. They were tuned right in. Always listening.
She wasn't trying to eavesdrop. Not deliberately, anyway. But when the back room door creaked open and a familiar name reached her ears in hushed tones, her hands slowed.
"…I told him already," Yura said, her voice edged with impatience. "I confessed to Minjae a month ago."
"You weren't the only one," Seori replied, almost sulking. "I said it during that late shift. He didn't run away, but he didn't give an answer either."
"Same here," Yuri admitted softly. "I told him how I felt. I didn't expect anything in return. Just wanted him to know."
Minjae's mother blinked. Her son? Her very private, very stubborn son? She inched closer to the hallway, her conscience weakly protesting, but her curiosity winning. The staff door, left ajar, gave her just enough of a gap to hear every word.
"Do you think he's avoiding it on purpose?" Seori asked, frustration clear in her voice. "He's kind… but sometimes too distant."
Yura let out a sharp exhale. "He's too used to hiding parts of himself. Whatever it is he's protecting, he's buried it deep."
Yuri stirred her tea, the faint clink carrying through the quiet. "Still… I don't regret telling him. Even if he never says anything."
A brief silence followed, heavy but not uncomfortable. Three women, united in quiet longing, each carrying her own answerless confession.
"Seriously, that Yoo Minjae," Seori muttered under her breath, exasperation and fondness mingling.
"And you're not going to run?" Yura asked quietly, tilting her head toward the others, half-smiling. "Even if it gets messy?"
Yuri shook her head, calm and sure. "No. We'll take our chances."
And then—
"Well, well."
The three of them jolted upright.
Standing at the doorway was Minjae's mother, apron dusted with flour, her expression pleasant—too pleasant.
"Ma'am—!" Seori scrambled to her feet, eyes wide. "We didn't mean for you to—"
"Didn't mean for me to what? Hear every detail?" she said lightly, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Because I heard everything. And I must say—thank you."
Yura blinked, then chuckled, raising her hands in mock surrender. "We're not usually this loud… hope we didn't overwhelm you?"
Minjae's mother's grin widened. "…For loving my son," she said simply.
The room fell into stunned silence.
"Grateful… for what?" Yuri asked cautiously.
Standing tall, Minjae's mother stepped forward, her gaze warm but sharp enough to strip away pretense. "I've always wondered if anyone would see past that stiff exterior of his. Turns out, he's got three."
"W-we didn't plan it that way," Seori stammered, cheeks pink.
"I didn't think we were competing," Yuri added quickly.
"You're not," she replied with a calm certainty. "You're each your own person. But you all confessed to the same man. That's quite the situation."
"I'll back off if he chooses," Yuri began, but Minjae's mother held up a hand.
"No, no. I'm not here to judge. Just to ask a tiny question."
Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she looked at them one by one.
"If—hypothetically—Korea allowed it," she said, lips curving into a grin, "would you all be my daughters-in-law?"
Dead silence.
Seori nearly choked on air. Yura coughed violently into her napkin. Yuri froze, expression carefully blank, though the faintest pink touched her ears.
"…Excuse me?" Yura finally managed.
"You heard me," Minjae's mother said cheerfully. "If it were legal, I wouldn't mind having three wonderful, loyal, smitten daughters-in-law. My Minjae would never be lonely."
"That's—!" Seori squeaked.
"Not allowed under current law," Yuri interjected quickly, desperate to ground the conversation.
"Yet," Minjae's mother added with a wink.
Seori buried her face in her hands. "Oh god…"
Yura, on the other hand, burst into helpless laughter, clutching her stomach. "I—I can't believe you just said that—"
Yuri looked down, her head dipping in that sorry way. Still, a small smile pulled at her mouth, even if she didn't want it to.
Minjae's mom watched them squirm just a bit longer. Then her face eased up. That playful spark in her eyes faded out, replaced by something nicer, more solid.
"Now jokes are over with," she said, soft like. "I can't say what Minjae will pick in the end. But I know he values you all, every one. And that's probably holding him back from saying anything yet."
Her words hung there in the room, kind of wrapping around everything, warm and thick, no getting away from it.
"You're welcome anytime," she went on. "The whole bunch of you. And if you're for real about my boy, you should show up this weekend. I'll have food going. He'll be around."
The three of them traded looks, part worried, part set on it.
Minjae's mom grinned bigger, already heading back to the kitchen. "And who can tell," she tossed over her shoulder, tone easy but with that edge to it, "maybe I'll just put out six places instead of three."
Nobody cracked a smile that time. But nobody turned it down, either.
The low buzz of the place, that smell of broth bubbling away, bits of talk from other folks eating, it all felt right, steady. Each woman straightened up a little more, carrying this promise they didn't need to spell out just now.
They eyed one another, exasperated in a way, amused too, and totally getting the odd pull, that warm tug, that got them together like this.
No one jumped in with words right off. Didn't need to. The quiet they shared, it said plenty.