Jiwoon stepped into his cozy office, the familiar scent of leather, old books, and a hint of coffee greeting him like a silent companion. The door clicked softly behind him, shutting out the chatter of the production floor. In his hand, he carried the thick script he had just received from Kang Mirae.
He placed it carefully on the small wooden table in the center of the room. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting stripes over the stack of papers. Jiwoon sank into the couch with a quiet sigh, leaning back and letting his eyes wander to the neat rows of awards, the framed photos of past projects, and the cluttered shelf of memorabilia that reminded him of his early days.
Habitively, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through articles and interviews about himself. The youngest director to win the Golden Lotus Award… rising star… visionary… The words blurred together, each headline more hollow than the last.
Somewhere deep inside, Jiwoon felt a void he could not name. The thrill of winning, the applause, the accolades—they all seemed distant, muted, as if he were watching someone else live his life. The spark that had driven him through sleepless nights of filming, revisions, and endless edits now felt dimmed, reduced to embers struggling to ignite.
He tapped through another article, staring at his own face on the screen, smiling in publicity photos, and felt a strange emptiness.
Is this really what I wanted? he wondered. Is this all there is?
Before he could dwell further, the door opened quietly, letting in a familiar, lively presence.
"Jiwoon! There you are."
A voice, warm and teasing, filled the room. Jiwoon looked up to see Park Minho, an old friend and fellow director, stepping in with his usual confident grin. Minho had a way of entering a room and immediately filling it with energy, as if the air itself had decided to follow him.
"Hey," Jiwoon replied, the corner of his lips twitching into a faint smile.
Without asking, Minho flopped onto the couch opposite Jiwoon, stretching his legs comfortably. His eyes immediately landed on the script lying on the table.
"So?" Minho asked casually. "How was the meeting with Kang Mirae? You said it went well earlier."
Jiwoon shrugged, leaning further into the couch, letting the tension of the day melt slightly. "It went… well. She's as intense as everyone says. Creative, loud… chaotic. But she knows her story."
Minho picked up the script, flipping through the pages with a casual curiosity. Then he paused.
"This… this is different," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I've read a lot of Mirae's work. Usually, it's tragic, melodramatic… tears and heartbreak. But this—this is playful. The dialogue, the pacing—it's almost like she's… mocking herself. And the characters—they're constantly bickering at each other."
Jiwoon glanced at the script, letting his fingers trace the edge of the paper. "It's a rom-com. Rivalry story."
Minho chuckled, but there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Yeah, but… there's something strange. I feel like I've seen this before. Not in her past scripts… something else. Something familiar."
Jiwoon frowned slightly. "Familiar?"
Minho leaned back, flipping a few more pages. "The back-and-forth between these two… the timing of their dialogue… the way they try to outsmart each other… it's precise, like she's seen this exact dynamic somewhere. Maybe even lived it."
Jiwoon's gaze lingered on the page. The banter, the teasing, the tension—it tugged at a distant memory he couldn't immediately place.
Minho smirked, tapping a finger against the script. "I know why it feels familiar. This isn't just a generic rivalry romance. Mirae… she's taking real-life inspiration."
Jiwoon stiffened slightly. "Real-life?"
"Think about it," Minho continued, still grinning. "Somebody had to have… a history. A kind of rivalry. Two people constantly clashing, teasing, challenging each other… yet secretly—well, you know. And Mirae captured it perfectly. Whoever these characters are, she's writing from experience."
Jiwoon didn't answer immediately. His mind wandered back to university days, back to arguments and competitions he could vaguely recall. The way one person had always pushed him… the constant tension that had somehow spurred him to do better.
Minho leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly. "I swear, Jiwoon, this could be your story."
Jiwoon held the script closer, scanning lines of dialogue with new attention. There was something almost uncanny about the way the characters' personalities mirrored… a past he hadn't thought about in years. A memory tucked away, now poking through the layers of time like sunlight through blinds.
For the first time in a long while, Jiwoon felt a spark—not from awards, accolades, or recognition—but from the curiosity, from the recognition of a story that felt almost eerily familiar.
A story that he hadn't realized he'd been part of.
He leaned back on the couch again, fingers tapping lightly on the script, mind buzzing with questions he didn't yet have answers to. Somewhere in the playful chaos of the story, he felt a thread—a connection he couldn't ignore.
And for the first time in months, Jiwoon realized he wanted to see where it led.