I met Han Seo-yeon when I was thirty-one.
At the time, I was working as an editor at a small publishing house in Seoul. The office was near Hapjeong Station, inside an old building that looked like it could be torn down for urban renewal at any moment.
She joined later as a marketing planner.
The first time I saw her, she was wearing an ordinary white shirt and black trousers, her hair tied low, holding a stack of planning documents.
She wasn’t the type you’d remember at first glance.
At least that’s what I thought then.
I truly remembered her on her third day at the company.
That afternoon during a meeting, the department head rejected the promotional proposal she had spent a week working on.
She didn’t talk back, just lowered her head and put the documents away.
After the meeting, I went to the break room to make coffee and saw her standing by the window.
I asked, “Are you okay?”
She turned around, looking puzzled.
“What?”
“The proposal.”
“Oh, that.”
She shrugged.
“I’ll just redo it.”
Her words sounded light, but her eyes were clearly red.
I didn’t call her out on it, just pushed the freshly made coffee toward her.
“Drink up.”
She glanced at it.
“Yours?”
“Yeah.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll make another cup.”
She didn’t say thanks, just took it and had a sip.
A few seconds later, she said, “It’s too bitter.”
For the first time, I found this person a bit annoying.
But somehow, we ended up getting close.
Maybe because our seats were near each other.
Maybe because we often worked overtime together.
Or maybe just because she talked a lot, and I didn’t really mind listening.
She would come over during lunch break to ask what I wanted for dinner.
“Lee Do-hoon, army stew?”
“We had that yesterday.”
“Then knife-cut noodles?”
“Too far.”
“Gimbap?”
“Whatever.”
She hated it when I said “whatever.”
She would frown every time.
“You’re really hard to deal with.”
I would usually just reply,
“Then stop asking me.”
Yet she still asked every day.
Our first time drinking alone was on a Friday night.
After the company dinner, everyone else left by subway one after another.
She stood at the Hongdae street corner, hands in her coat pockets.
“Are you heading home?”
“What else?”
“Let’s have another drink.”
I looked at her.
“Can you still drink?”
She said, “I can.”
As it turned out, she couldn’t.
Halfway through the second round, she was already lying on the table badmouthing her ex.
I sat across from her listening for nearly an hour.
Finally, I couldn’t help but ask, “So do you hate him, or do you still like him?”
She lifted her head.
“Both.”
“That’s troublesome.”
“Relationships are always troublesome.”
After saying that, she lay back down.
A moment later, she suddenly looked up at me.
“Do-hoon.”
That was the first time she called me without using my full name.
“What?”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-one.”
“Three years older than me.”
“So?”
She suddenly smiled.
“Can I call you oppa then?”
I frowned.
“No.”
“Why?”
“It’s weird.”
She deliberately dragged out her voice.
“O—ppa—”
I got goosebumps all over.
“Han Seo-yeon, if you call me that again, I’m leaving.”
She laughed so hard she fell back onto the table.
From that day on, she really did call me oppa once in a while.
Mostly when she wanted something from me.
“Oppa, help me look at this copy.”
“Oppa, give me a ride to the station today.”
“Oppa, I forgot my umbrella.”
I always complained she was annoying.
But I never actually refused.
People at the company gradually got used to us always being together.
Someone once asked if we were dating.
Seo-yeon burst out laughing on the spot.
“Me and him?”
Her tone was as if she had heard something absurd.
“No way, he’s more like my brother.”
Everyone laughed along.
I laughed too.
But that night on the subway ride home, I kept thinking about that sentence.
More like my brother.
Up until then, I had never really thought about what we were.
Friends, but a little closer than friends.
Colleagues, yet way beyond colleagues.
But lovers?
We had never held hands.
Never kissed.
Never said we liked each other.
So no.
That was the first time I realized a relationship could be stuck in the middle.
And after being stuck for so long, even you wouldn’t know where to go next.
When Seo-yeon was twenty-nine, she went through a breakup.
The guy was her university classmate.
They had been together for almost two years.
She had thought they would get married.
Then he suddenly suggested breaking up.
The reason was his mother didn’t approve.
That night she didn’t call me crying.
She just sent one message.
“Are you home?”
I replied,
“Yeah.”
Ten minutes later, she said,
“Can you come out?”
I went out wearing sweatpants.
She was sitting on a bench in Han River Park.
Holding soju she had bought from a convenience store.
I walked over and sat down.
“What’s wrong?”
She handed me her phone.
It was the breakup message.
After reading it, I only asked,
“What do you want me to say?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t say anything.”
She was quiet for a long time.
Then suddenly leaned over.
Resting her forehead on my shoulder.
“Do-hoon.”
“Yeah.”
“Am I hard to love?”
I frowned.
“Why ask that?”
“Otherwise why does everyone end up not wanting me?”
At that moment, there was actually one sentence in my heart.
I wanted to say, not everyone.
At least not me.
But in the end, I just reached out and pulled her hat straight.
“Don’t overthink it.”
She didn’t move.
“Will you not want me someday too?”
My hand paused for a moment.
Then I said,
“I’m not your boyfriend.”
She gave a soft laugh.
“Right.”
Those two words suddenly made me a little regretful.
For a long time after, I kept thinking.
If I hadn’t said that that night, would things have been different?
After her breakup, we saw each other even more often than before.
We ate dinner together after work.
On weekends we occasionally went to exhibitions together.
When she moved, I helped.
When her sink got clogged, I fixed it.
When her mom sent kimchi from Busan, she would share a box with me.
When my mom called to urge me to go on blind dates, she would laugh beside me.
“Go ahead.”
I glared at her.
“What’s so funny?”
“Auntie has good judgment.”
“What do you mean?”
“She knows if you keep dragging it out you’ll end up alone.”
I said, “You’d be happy if I ended up alone?”
While eating fried chicken, she said,
“Then I’ll visit you once in a while.”
I stared at her.
She didn’t notice.
Some feelings are like that.
Clearly hidden in all the everyday moments.
Yet there’s never a single sentence that can prove it.
When I was thirty-three, I really started going on blind dates.
Not because I wanted to get married.
Just because my parents were nagging too much.
The first time after meeting someone, Seo-yeon immediately asked,
“How was it?”
“Average.”
“Was she pretty?”
“She was okay.”
“Will there be a second date?”
I looked at her.
“Do you care that much?”
She immediately looked away.
“Just curious.”
I deliberately asked,
“If I really got a girlfriend, what would you do?”
She gave a small smile.
“What do you mean what would I do?”
“You couldn’t come find me in the middle of the night anymore.”
“Am I that annoying?”
“Yes.”
“Then I won’t.”
She said it very decisively.
But inside I felt strangely uncomfortable.
I asked,
“That easily?”
She paused for a moment.
Then said,
“Of course. If you have a girlfriend, I should keep my distance.”
It made sense.
So reasonable that I couldn’t argue back at all.
After that day, I never went on another blind date.
My mom was so angry she ignored me for two weeks.
Seo-yeon asked why I stopped.
I only said,
“Too much trouble.”
She nodded.
“True.”
We went back to how we were before.
As if nothing had changed.
But something had already changed.
Because I started to realize I didn’t want her to stay away from me.
When Seo-yeon was thirty-one, she met Park Sung-ho.
A friend introduced them.
He worked at a logistics company.
He was very quiet.
The first time they met, he even seemed a bit reserved.
But he was good to Seo-yeon.
He would pick her up from the company.
He remembered she didn’t eat raw onions.
When she worked overtime, he would bring her late-night snacks.
I used to do those things too.
It’s just that no one ever thought they meant anything.
Now when another man did them, it was called being a boyfriend.
The first time she formally introduced him to me, the three of us had dinner in Yeonnam-dong.
She said,
“Sung-ho, this is Do-hoon.”
After a pause, she added,
“My very close brother.”
The cup in my hand paused for a moment.
Park Sung-ho smiled.
“I’ve heard Seo-yeon talk about you a lot.”
I smiled too.
“What did she say?”
“That you’ve always taken good care of her.”
I looked at Seo-yeon.
She lowered her head to pick up food.
Without looking at me.
That night when I got home, for the first time I didn’t message her to say I had arrived.
Half an hour later, she asked first.
“Did you get home?”
I stared at my phone.
In the end I only replied,
“Yeah.”
She sent back a goodnight sticker.
We used to do this often.
But I knew, it wouldn’t be the same anymore.
A year later, she told me she was getting married.
That day we were having coffee near the company.
She showed me the ring.
“What do you think?”
I looked at it for a while.
“It looks nice.”
She smiled.
“Sung-ho picked it.”
“Mm.”
“Aren’t you going to say congratulations?”
I looked up.
“Congratulations.”
Her smile faded a little.
After a long time, she suddenly said,
“Do-hoon.”
“Hm?”
“Aren’t we a bit strange?”
I looked at her.
“How so?”
She lowered her head, turning the cup in her hands.
“Knowing each other for so long.”
“And then?”
She gave a small smile.
“We’re clearly not siblings, yet we’ve always acted like we are.”
In that instant, something lightly hit my chest.
I looked at her.
I really wanted to ask,
Have you ever, even for a second, not wanted to just be a sister?
But she was wearing a ring.
So I only said,
“It’s just habit.”
She was silent for a few seconds.
Then nodded.
“Maybe.”
The wedding was held at an ordinary wedding hall in Seoul.
When she walked in wearing a white dress, I sat toward the back.
There was no slow motion like in movies.
The lights were bright.
The emcee followed the script.
Someone was taking photos.
Someone was checking messages with their head down.
Everything was ordinary.
Ordinary, just like the years between us.
When she came to our table to toast, she glanced at me.
I raised my glass.
“Happy marriage.”
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
After a pause,
she called out again,
“Oppa.”
I smiled too.
“Yeah.”
At that moment, I suddenly understood clearly.
This name would stay with us for a lifetime.
Later she had a child.
Once at a gathering, she held her daughter and said,
“Call him uncle.”
I played with the child for a bit.
Seo-yeon laughed beside me.
I laughed too.
Everything was fine.
We were still friends.
We contacted each other once in a while.
We sent messages on birthdays.
We said Happy New Year during the holidays.
No falling out.
No loss.
It was just that we could never get any closer.
Many years later I finally understood.
Some feelings didn’t not happen.
They just weren’t acknowledged.
We had shared countless meals together.
Been there for each other through the hardest nights.
Knew each other’s habits.
Remembered each other’s preferences.
Even knew what the other person was like before anyone else who later appeared in our lives.
But we had never said we loved each other.
So everyone thought it didn’t count as love.
Even we convinced ourselves of that.
Brother.
Sister.
It was good.
Safe.
Wouldn’t lead to loss.
But back then, neither of us realized.
The reason some relationships can never be lost is because from the very beginning, they were never truly possessed.