When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 38

“I bought us a house,” I said, my voice breaking like glass. “I—I wanted to build something with you. A quiet life. Somewhere peaceful. Just us. That was the dream, right?”

She pulled her wrist from my hand.

It hurt more than I thought it would.

“Don’t make this harder,” she said.

Soft. Flat. Already gone.

I froze, my fingers curling into my palm like I could still feel her warmth there.

But she was already a few steps away.

And still—I didn’t believe her.

She’s not tired.

She’s not tired of me.

I know her better than that.

“You’re lying,” I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

She paused.

Didn’t turn.

Didn’t move.

But she heard me.

“You’re lying, Ye Na,” I said again, stepping forward. My voice was louder now, raw and shaky. “You’re not tired. You don’t say things like this when you’re tired. You sleep. You yell. You cry. But you don’t quit. Not like this.”

Still, she wouldn’t face me.

I took another step.

Close enough now to hear her breath catch in her throat.

“Please, Ye Na,” I said. “If you’re going to leave, at least tell me why.”

She turned.

And for a moment, for a terrifying, beautiful moment, I thought she might come back.

But then she met my eyes.

And I saw it.

Something inside her—shut. Sealed. Like a door she’d locked and thrown the key into the ocean.

“You were just… convenient,” she said, her voice cold. “Easy to love. That’s all.”

The words didn’t make it all the way to my heart before they shattered into lies.

But it still hurt.

Because she wanted me to believe it.

And I almost did.

She turned again and walked away, her coat flaring slightly with the wind. The rain started then, quiet at first—soft pattering on the pavement that soon grew loud enough to fill the silence she left behind.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t call her name again.

I just stood there, watching her walk away from me like we hadn’t shared everything—our worst days, our best mornings, the little silences in between.

Like we hadn’t been lying in the same bed just last night, her fingers laced in mine, whispering the kind of nothing that means everything.

I had taken a photo of my lunch today—. I sent it to her.

She sent back a photo of her in the hospital saying I miss you.

That was this morning.

Now she was walking away like none of that existed. Like I didn’t exist.

The rain soaked through my hoodie, clinging to my skin.

I didn’t feel it.

My eyes didn’t leave her back.