Dive // Jaeyi x Seulgi

Chapter 2

Jaeyi exhaled, tilting her head back to the sky. Ahjumma never pushed, never demanded. She simply extended an open hand, warm but firm, as if she already knew Jaeyi would eventually take it.

She almost ignored the message. Almost.

Instead, she found herself standing outside the small, cozy community center an hour later, staring at the soft glow of the lights inside. Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag.

This was stupid.

She had survived just fine without talking. Without sharing. Without vulnerability.

But then the door opened, and Ahjumma's knowing eyes met hers.

"Ah," she said with a smile. "You came."

Jaeyi hesitated. "Just for the soup."

Ahjumma chuckled. "Of course." She stepped aside, letting Jaeyi in without further comment. No pressure. Never any pressure.

Inside, a handful of people were already seated in a loose circle—some familiar, others new. They murmured quiet greetings, but no one pried. That was the rule here: you shared if you wanted, listened if you didn't.

Jaeyi took her usual spot near the back, arms crossed, expression unreadable. She had no intention of speaking. She never did.

A woman named Yuri spoke first. "I used to be terrified of the dark," she admitted. "Not the dark itself, but what it reminded me of. The nights I spent locked in my room after my father decided I talked too much. But I've been leaving the lamp off lately. Just to see if I can."

A man named Hwan spoke next. "My son barely speaks to me. I wasn't there when he needed me, and now he doesn't need me at all. I wonder if it's too late."

One by one, voices wove stories of pain, of loss, of trying to mend what felt irreparable. Jaeyi listened, pretending she wasn't.

She caught Ahjumma watching her from across the room, not with expectation, but with quiet patience.

Jaeyi glanced away, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Her fingers traced the smooth edges of her phone, her mind drifting to a name she hadn't spoken in so long. Seulgi.

Would she be here if she had stayed? Would she be one of them? Would she have let herself say she was hurting?

She pushed the thought away.

Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows. A storm was coming.

Jaeyi had met Ahjumma months ago, by pure accident. She had been at the market, buying cheap vegetables, when a sudden downpour forced her to take shelter under a small food stall. The older woman running it had eyed her drenched form and wordlessly handed her a towel.

"You're always at the skate park by the beach," she had said casually, stirring a pot of steaming broth. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

Jaeyi had stiffened, unsure whether to deny it or just leave.

"Relax. I'm not here to pry." Ahjumma had smiled, setting a bowl of soup in front of her. "Eat before you catch a cold."

She hadn't wanted to accept the kindness, but the smell of warm broth had betrayed her, and before she knew it, she was seated, spoon in hand. They had eaten in silence, the rain filling the quiet between them.

After that, Ahjumma never asked for anything. She never poked too much, never forced her way into Jaeyi's life. She simply existed nearby—at the market, on evening walks, sometimes watching Jaeyi skate from a distance without intruding.