I think I should go

Minutes passed as Jimin sat beside the bus window, quietly watching the scenery slip by. Trees blurred into shades of green and gold, buildings rose and disappeared, and the sky stretched endlessly above her. It was beautiful.

She knew that.

Yet the beauty barely reached her.

By the time the bus arrived at the university, she had already finished her sandwich and drained the last pearls from her boba tea. Jimin stepped off the bus and walked across campus, arriving earlier than most students — as always.

She found her seat and pulled out a book from her bag. It was a baking book, one she’d borrowed weeks ago but never had the energy to try anything from. She flipped through the pages absentmindedly, eyes tracing photos of warm bread and delicate pastries.

Slowly, the classroom filled.

Groups of students laughed and chatted loudly, voices overlapping with excitement. Words like home, break, and family floated through the air. Jimin stiffened, her grip on the book tightening.

She kept her eyes down.

The lecture began, but for once, Jimin couldn’t focus. The professor’s voice blurred into background noise. Her thoughts drifted, heavy and restless. This wasn’t like her. She had always been attentive, always disciplined.

Something was wrong.

After class, she made a decision.

At the clinic, the sterile smell made her uneasy. The nurse asked routine questions, took samples, ran tests, and told her to return the following week for the results. Jimin nodded politely, trying to stay calm.

It’s probably just stress, she told herself.

For the next few days, she followed her usual routine. Classes. Cafés. Silence. When the day finally came for her results, she dressed carefully, hope lingering quietly in her chest as she headed back to the doctor’s office.

The diagnosis was simple — and frightening.

Stress caused by isolation.

The doctor spoke gently, explaining that if she didn’t change her habits, it could worsen and begin affecting her physical health even more. He suggested socializing, reconnecting with loved ones, and spending time with family.

Jimin listened in silence.

By the time she left, she knew what she had to do.

She was going home for the break.

Back on campus, she sat down on a bench, exhausted. She opened a bag of potato chips, barely tasting them. Her phone rang.

She almost ignored it.

But the doctor’s words echoed in her mind.

She glanced at the screen.

Tae-ho.

Her breath caught as she answered.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?” she repeated softly.

“Jimin?” Tae-ho’s voice sounded surprised — then relieved. “Are you okay?”

That was all it took.

Tears spilled over as she broke down, words tumbling out between sobs. She told him everything — the isolation, the stress, how different she felt, how her body didn’t feel like her own anymore.

Tae-ho listened, stunned. What she described didn’t sound like the sister he knew. He needed to see her.

“Are you coming home for the break?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

For the first time in months, Tae-ho heard his sister’s voice — really heard it.

And for the first time in a long while, Jimin didn’t feel completely alone

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