12:37 a.m. I opened her feed again. Just a coffee: a black mug, heart-shaped latte art. Posted two hours ago. Eleven comments. One of them: pretty. Name: Kim Jae-hyuk. Profile pic a blurred monochrome. A man who’s never once spoken to me, impaling me with a single syllable.
The Hidden Glint
Everyone leaves comments. She receives them. Yet why does Jae-hyuk’s lone word flip my stomach inside out?
I could have written “pretty” too.
But I didn’t. I knew that if I did, it would be over.
The inferno of one-sided love is stationed on the cliff of positioning. I’m the 37th follower; he’s the 2nd. I saw the photo first, noticed the smile first, tapped the heart first. Yet being anything but first means his “pretty” is an execution order on foreign soil.
A Knife Slipped Through a Tiny Hole
“With one word he tells me, You are not here yet.”
Jung Woo-jin, 29, UX designer. For three months he has saved every one of Hye-won’s photos. Instagram stories vanish after twenty-four hours, but 127 Hye-wons still breathe in his phone. Each night he mines her reactions:
pretty (♥) 1
LOL (♥) 2
where are you? (♥) 1
The number of hearts brands itself onto his retina like official fan-club tiers.
Then Jae-hyuk appeared. At first, merely an acquaintance. But with every second and third “pretty,” Woo-jin heard Hye-won drifting toward someone else.
It’s fine, just a friend.
The next photo: a terrace café close-up. One comment:
See you here today — Jae-hyuk
From that night, Woo-jin’s notifications screamed all night. Jae-hyuk, who once reacted to every story, vanished. Yet Hye-won’s posts kept appearing from places that looked as though Jae-hyuk had taken the shot. Who has stepped into whose lens is a secret never to be known.
A Fire No One Sees
The roastery café near Hye-won’s apartment. Woo-jin paces outside. Will they come out, or won’t they? Two hours now. Sunlight stretches long across the window. Inside, Hye-won laughs. Jae-hyuk shows her something, fingertips brushing hers. Each time she lowers her head, her hair grazes the back of his hand. Woo-jin records the moment without thinking, knowing it will later shatter his chest.
That night he murmurs to himself:
“They have no idea where I’m watching from. That’s why I can burrow deeper.”
Why We Burn Quietly
Vicarious satisfaction through another’s gaze
I watch the vacancy where I am not, the conversation that never includes me, the smile that never returns to me, like CCTV. Her reaction becomes my reaction.The point where possibility never dies
Because I haven’t confessed, haven’t claimed, haven’t been rejected. An un-failed flirtation lasts forever.The thrill of taboo
Instagram stalking is clandestine pornography. Invisible to every eye, accountable to no one. The less they know me, the deeper I bore.
How to Erase You
Woo-jin drafts a message to Hye-won, deletes it, rewrites it, deletes it again. The final sentence left on the screen:
“Hye-won, I’m tired of tapping hearts on every one of your photos.”
His finger trembles above send. At that instant, a notification: Hye-won has started a live stream. On-screen she says, “Everyone, I had such a happy day with Jae-hyuk today.”
Woo-jin turns off the screen. His finger deletes the message. The room falls silent once more.
And he does not know:
At this very moment, someone else might be reading my comment.