When the door closed, the sound was like a heart sealing shut.
A fleeting gust of air.
Carried with it were all the words left unsaid—and the last of her warmth, as if she might never return.
"Celeste!!"
All three voices overlapped, calling out, but she didn't turn around.
What remained now was a world divided by a single door.
She had left.
They were left behind.
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Minutes, maybe hours.
They no longer kept track.
Time moved without them.
Jinwoo moved first.
He hurried into her bedroom.
The door hadn't been closed; her presence still lingered like a breath.
A neatly folded robe lay on the bed.
On the desk, the tiny polar bear he'd once given her sat slouched in the chair, its head bowed.
He walked over, slow, and sat at the edge of the bed—the place where she had slept, where he had stroked her hair through the night, where he had kissed her, just one last time.
Without a word, he picked up the bottle of her perfume and opened the cap.
The familiar scent reached his nose, and with it rose all the feelings he'd tried so hard to bury.
He took out his phone.
Dialed her number.
There was no ringing.
Only the cold, mechanical voice: "The number you have dialed is..."
He shut his eyes, tightly.
Daniel walked into her study.
The place she'd spent the most time—when she needed to think.
Where we first crossed the line—and let our hearts speak, unguarded.
Lined with documents, pens she favored, the last notepad she'd written in for a meeting.
Everything was in its place, but the room felt utterly empty.
He stood at her desk, running his fingers across her traces.
The second drawer on the left—where she kept a USB.
Her silver business card case.
Everything still waited for her. As if she might return.
He called her, too.
Same message. Same silence.
"…Of course,"
he muttered, a bitter smile on his lips.
"She turned it off."
Meanwhile in the living room, Noah hadn't moved.
He sat back on the couch, motionless.
Eventually, he stood.
Walked to the kitchen.
He opened a cabinet and took out an old bottle of single malt whiskey.
No ice. Just a full pour.
He downed it in one go.
The burn seared his throat like he wanted it to erase everything inside.
Time passed—he didn't know how much.
His glass was more than halfway empty when he looked up and saw Daniel sitting across from him.
Their eyes met.
Noah spoke first.
Low.
Rough.
But strangely calm.
"…How long have you known?"
Daniel closed his eyes.
Slowly lifted his head.
"…Does it matter now?"
It was both an answer and a surrender.
Just then—Jinwoo returned from her room.
His eyes were rimmed with red.
In his hand, still, her perfume bottle.
"…Does anyone know where she went?"
Noah, after a pause, shook his head.
Then, like the last thread of reason in the house, he finally spoke:
"She just needs time,"
he said gently, firmly.
"Time to think. To breathe. Don't chase her now. Not yet."
Neither of the other two argued.
That night, in the living room she had left behind—only understanding, regret, and the quiet ache of love remained, spreading like ink into silence.