The Face Reflected in Her Eyes
"The funniest thing—Min-su apparently has this habit of pushing his nose right in when he kisses."
I froze, wineglass halfway to my lips. The cheese on the diced onions was melting in slow motion. Beneath the table, my right hand found my left forearm and gripped it hard.
Min-su. Who the hell is that.
"Cute, though, right? Makes me laugh so hard. Maybe I should try it?" Ha-gyeong said.
She flicked a strand of cheese from between her teeth and gave a short laugh. That laugh turned into a needle that slipped straight into my ear canal.
Why is she laughing? Why is that name in her mouth at all?
Before I could answer, Ha-gyeong kept going.
"Oh, and the guy I met last week, Jae-woo—"
The Moment That Smells of Blood
Every time her lips parted, something inside me swelled. A dense weight grew in the center of my chest and began to choke my breath.
This is nothing. It’s just a story. I told myself.
But the words rang hollow; my body had already issued a different verdict. Tendons stood out on the backs of my hands. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. My eyes rolled painfully in their sockets. Her voice seemed to drift farther away, replaced by the thunder of my heartbeat.
Min-su, Jae-woo, and the others. All men who were not me.
Show me how much you want me. Right now.
A voice whispered in me. It was my voice yet not my voice—something rising from a darker, deeper place.
Ji-hoon’s Story
Ji-hoon, thirty-one, an account executive at an ad agency, had started seeing someone new at the end of last month. Da-hye had been a senior in his university club, and at their first drinks together she rattled off stories about old romances.
"I must’ve been insane. When that guy dumped me, I wandered the streets all night, crying."
Da-hye laughed as she said it.
Ji-hoon felt something twist for the first time: the image of her ex trailing her through the night in tears, and the fact that she could now laugh about it.
The next week he asked Da-hye out again. That time something was different: he showed up late on purpose. When he arrived, Da-hye wore a faint scowl. Ji-hoon ordered a drink without a word, then began carefully:
"Actually… I once dated a woman who was absolutely crazy."
It was a lie. But the moment it left his lips it grew as if it were alive. Ji-hoon conjured an imaginary girlfriend—prettier than Da-hye, wilder, more obsessive.
By the end of the tale, Da-hye’s eyes had changed.
"Really? Does she still contact you?"
Ji-hoon smiled inwardly. He knew: she was feeling the same thing.
Min-jae and Su-jin
Min-jae, twenty-eight, a developer, met Su-jin through a hobby club. On their first date Su-jin described her ideal type:
"Has to be over 5'11", skin has to be pale, and short hair only."
Min-jae is 5'9", sallow, and wears his hair long. He smiled and volleyed back:
"I can’t stand tall women. Five-three is plenty."
Su-jin’s face stiffened.
From that day on, Su-jin texted him daily, eager to talk more. Min-jae slowly reduced his replies. Su-jin grew more insistent.
"Honestly, guys over six feet intimidate me. Someone like you is just right."
Behind the screen Min-jae chuckled. He was savoring her obsession; it was proof she wanted him.
The Whispering Desire
Why are we so stirred by another’s past? Why does the fact that she once wanted another man turn us into monsters?
It is not simple jealousy. It is something more elemental.
We verify our own desire through another’s. The knowledge that someone once wanted her becomes evidence that she is worth wanting. Simultaneously, the fear that the desire might linger manipulates us.
She chose me. But she chose them, too.
That fear drives us to cling harder. We want to show more, to become more special. The wish curdles into a monster.
The Final Heartbeat
That night I said to Ha-gyeong:
"All right, let’s try it. Just like Min-su did."
Ha-gyeong stared, startled. Perhaps she sensed something different in my eyes.
I took her hand and gently bumped my nose against hers. She let out a short laugh—but it was not the same laugh as before. Tension shimmered in it.
In that instant I realized: I didn’t want to be Min-su. I wanted to erase Min-su. And that desire was turning me into a monster.
Do You See the Monster in Your Eyes?
When she next brings up another man, what will you say?
And then—the tendons rising on your hand, the hot surge flooding your heart—will you call that love, or will you call it simple possession?