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Surely Tomorrow Scenepack
Surely, Tomorrow
Rain fell softly over Seoul, turning the streets into ribbons of light. Han Soo-jin stood beneath the bus stop shelter, fingers wrapped around a paper cup gone cold. Tomorrow. The word echoed in her mind like a promise she had stopped believing in.
She was twenty-nine, exhausted, and quietly heartbroken—not in the dramatic way dramas liked to show, but in the slow, leaking way that came from postponed dreams. She had once wanted to be a writer. Now she edited other people’s words at a publishing company that never remembered her birthday.
Her phone buzzed. Surely Tomorrow ScenepackSurely Tomorrow Scenepack Surely Tomorrow Scenepack Surely Tomorrow Scenepack Surely Tomorrow Scenepack Surely Tomorrow Scenepack Surely Tomorrow Scenepack
Unknown Number: Soo-jin. It’s me.
Her breath caught.
Kang Min-jae.
She hadn’t seen him in seven years. Not since he disappeared the night before their graduation, leaving behind nothing but a voicemail that cut off mid-sentence.
I’ll explain tomorrow.
There had never been a tomorrow.
The bus arrived, but Soo-jin didn’t board. Another message appeared.
Can we meet? Just once.
The café in Mapo was exactly the same—warm lights, scratched tables, the faint smell of burnt espresso. Soo-jin arrived early, heart racing like it was late for something important.
Min-jae walked in ten minutes later.
Time had changed him, but not erased him. His hair was shorter, his shoulders broader, his eyes heavier—like someone who had learned too much too fast.
“Soo-jin,” he said softly.
She stood, then sat back down. “You vanished,” she said, skipping greetings. “You don’t get to say my name like nothing happened.”
He nodded. “I know.”
Silence stretched between them, filled with things they’d never said. Finally, Min-jae spoke.
“My father collapsed that night. Brain hemorrhage. He’d been hiding his debt, his illness… everything. I had to leave school. Work. Pay it off. I thought I’d come back once things stabilized.”
“And?” Soo-jin asked, voice trembling.
“I kept choosing tomorrow.”
The words hit her harder than any excuse could have.
Soo-jin laughed, sharp and bitter. “You know what tomorrow does? It convinces you to survive today while stealing everything you wanted.”
Min-jae flinched. “I read your stories. The ones you post anonymously.”
Her eyes widened. “You knew?”
“I always knew it was you,” he said. “You still write about people waiting.”
She looked away, blinking back tears. “Waiting is easy,” she whispered. “Choosing is terrifying.”
Rain hammered harder against the windows.
“I don’t want to run anymore,” Min-jae said. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just—needed you to know I never stopped loving you.”
Her heart twisted painfully. Love. The word felt fragile, like glass repaired too many times.
“Love isn’t enough,” Soo-jin said. “It needs timing. Courage.”
“I have courage now,” he said. “But I understand if I’m too late.”
She stood abruptly. “I have a deadline.”
Outside, the rain soaked her coat instantly. She walked fast, breath uneven, memories chasing her down the street. She didn’t stop until she reached her apartment, dripping and shaking.
That night, she opened a blank document.
Title: Surely, Tomorrow
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Then she deleted the title.
She wrote instead about a woman who stopped waiting.
The next morning, Soo-jin resigned from her job. Her boss blinked in surprise, then shrugged. “Good luck,” he said, like it was something people said instead of meaning.
She walked out into sunlight—real sunlight, not filtered through office glass.
Her phone buzzed.
Min-jae: I’m leaving the country tomorrow. New job. I won’t ask you to wait.
She stared at the message for a long time.
Then she typed.
I’m not waiting.
A pause.
I’m choosing.
She turned the corner and nearly collided with him.
Min-jae stood there, suitcase beside him, eyes wide with disbelief.
“You—”
“I don’t know what this becomes,” Soo-jin said, heart pounding. “But I’m done living for tomorrow.”
He smiled—small, uncertain, real.
The sun climbed higher.
And for the first time, tomorrow didn’t feel like an escape.
It felt like a beginning.
