Saturday night arrived, cloaked in the quiet hum of Joyce's Yulim Apartment. She stood before her half-packed suitcase, her movements slow and deliberate. The room felt still, as though time itself were holding its breath. Tomorrow, she would be leaving—heading back to Kuching, back to everything familiar. But as she carefully folded her clothes and tucked away souvenirs, a restlessness stirred in her chest, a sense that she wasn't quite ready to face what awaited her.
On her bed lay a collection of small trinkets—tokens of her time in South Korea. She fingered through each one, choosing the perfect gifts for her parents and friends, including Kaylee. But then her hand hovered over one final piece: a nautical compass she had chosen for Hann. It wasn't extravagant, but it had caught her attention the moment she saw it, making her think of him.
The compass was small, crafted from antique bronze, its surface smooth and etched with delicate details, timeless yet simple. The needle inside, steady and sure, always pointed true north, a subtle yet constant guide. It symbolized clarity, direction, and the kind of silent guidance one needed when navigating life's uncertainties.
She held it in her palm for what felt like an eternity, the weight of it grounding her in the present while her thoughts drifted far away. What was she holding onto? She hadn't spoken to Hann in weeks, not since their dinner meeting. Yet here she was, carrying a piece of him in her heart—and now, in her luggage.
Her breath trembled as she placed the compass back on the bed, staring at it as if it held the answers to all the unspoken questions swirling in her mind. Should she even give it to him? Did it mean something more than she wanted to admit? Or was it just another reminder of everything unresolved?
Taking a deep breath, she traced the edges of the compass. Packing it felt symbolic, a decision far larger than it appeared—her readiness to face Hann again, to confront emotions she had neatly tucked away. In one swift, quiet motion, she tucked the compass into her suitcase and zipped it shut. She was ready, even if her heart wasn't.
The next day passed in a blur, each step toward the airport feeling heavier than the last. By the time she landed in Kuching that night, exhaustion weighed on her body, but her mind buzzed with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.
Standing in the terminal, she hesitated before turning her phone back on. After two weeks of silence, it felt strange to let the world rush in again. The screen lit up, and almost immediately, her phone vibrated relentlessly, as if trying to catch up on everything it had missed.
Her eyes scanned the notifications, and there it was—Hann's name. Not once, but several times. Her breath hitched as she saw the string of missed calls and WhatsApp messages, each containing video links. The dates spanned across the two weeks she had been away.
Her heart pounded in her chest. Why now? What could those videos mean? Hope, dread, curiosity, and fear swirled inside her. It was too much to process at once, so she pushed it all to the back of her mind.
She reminded herself of what was more important—calling her parents to let them know she had landed safely and was catching a Grab ride home. As the car moved through the familiar streets, her thoughts kept circling back to Hann and those videos. The temptation to open them was unbearable, but she forced herself to wait. What if they only brought more pain? She couldn't bear that—not now, not after everything. So she buried herself in small talk with the driver, trying to focus on anything else.
But her mind refused to rest. The questions gnawed at her—what had Hann said in those videos? Had something changed? Or was more heartache waiting? She leaned her head against the seat, closing her eyes and praying for strength.
By the time she arrived home, her nerves were frayed. After hugging her parents and sharing a brief conversation, which Robert and Rossa noticed felt unusually 'cold' for their daughter after such a long trip, she excused herself to retreat to her room. They exchanged a knowing glance from afar, sensing something was off.
Alone at last, Joyce sat on her bed, her hand trembling as she reached for her phone. Hann's name stared back at her, daring her to confront what she had avoided all night. Taking a deep breath, she opened the first video.
Hann's face filled the screen, and instantly, her eyes welled with tears. His voice carried hesitation, a vulnerability she hadn't expected. "Hey, Joyce," he began, his eyes soft, "I've been thinking about you a lot... more than usual. I didn't sleep well last night. I guess I just... miss you."
The words hit her like a tidal wave. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the sob threatening to escape. This was real. It wasn't a dream. The pain and confusion she had carried for so long seemed to unravel before her, and she didn't know how to handle it.
One by one, she played the videos. Each felt like a step deeper into his heart—apologies, confessions, words she had longed to hear but never thought would come. By the ninth video, sent just hours before while she was still in the air, her tears were flowing freely.
Joyce collapsed beside her bed, her body shaking with emotion. She didn't know what to do, what to feel. All she could do was cry and pray, thanking God for this unexpected turn. But with the joy came fear—fear of what might happen if they tried again. Fear of reopening old wounds. Fear of the unknown.
She bowed her head, her voice barely a whisper. "Oh LORD, I don't know what to do. Please, lead me. Open the doors that are meant for us, and close the ones that aren't. I don't want to hurt again, Lord. Show me the way."
As she knelt there, the weight of everything pressed on her, but so did a sense of surrender. She didn't have the answers, but she was willing to trust.
Meanwhile, across town, Hann was fast asleep, unaware of what had just unfolded. The blue double check marks he had been waiting for finally appeared on Joyce's WhatsApp. The very thing he had been hoping for during those long, anxious weeks had finally come—but he wouldn't know until morning.
***
Hann woke up the next day, refreshed. He wasn't one to complain about Monday blues. His morning routine unfolded like clockwork—brushing his teeth, splashing cold water on his face, checking his hair in the mirror, all while thinking about the same thing that had been on his mind every morning for the last two weeks—Joyce.
Once dressed, he skipped breakfast. There would be an early breakfast meeting at Langford Group headquarters, so he hit the road early, hoping to beat the morning traffic.
After parking, he grabbed his camera and set it up on the dashboard, preparing to record another video message. These mornings had become a ritual—quiet moments where he could speak to Joyce, even though she hadn't responded. Today felt no different.
Hann pressed record and looked into the lens. "Good morning, Joyce," he began, his voice soft. "Hope your day's starting well. No breakfast today—I'm already at the office. Got here about half an hour early for a meeting." He paused to glance at his watch. "Today's going to be busy. I've got discussions with President Vic to finalize... but it's good. Keeps my mind busy, you know? From thinking about you. I miss you, Joyce." His voice wavered, and for a moment, he simply stared into the camera, letting his emotions hang in the air.
After a deep breath, he managed a smile. "Anyway, take care, and I hope your day's wonderful."
Hann ended the recording, transferred the video to his phone, uploaded it to his private YouTube channel, and copied the link, ready to send it via WhatsApp. As he went through the motions, his thumb hovered over Joyce's chat window—then froze.
The small blue double check marks appeared next to his last message.
He stared, unblinking. It couldn't be. The tiny blue marks seemed surreal. His mind whirred, slowly processing what they meant—Joyce had seen his messages. She had opened them. She had watched him.
His heart rate quickened as the realization hit him fully. She was back. She had seen his videos. But... there was no reply. He scrolled back, scanning the messages for something, anything. But all he found were the videos he had sent. No texts, no voice notes from Joyce.
A flood of emotions rushed through him—relief that she had seen his words, but also fear, followed quickly by a wave of uncertainty. What did she think? Was she hurt? Angry? His heart pounded harder, and before he knew it, the day was moving along in a blur. He found himself at the office, but the world around him felt hazy, disconnected. His hands felt clammy, and the thoughts in his head were an endless loop of questions.
He sat in the meeting room, staring blankly at the projection screen, barely aware of the world around him until Victor's voice broke through the haze.
"Hann? You okay?" Victor asked, concern etched on his face. "You've been completely zoned out."
Hann blinked and tried to focus. "What? Oh. Yeah, I'm fine. Just... a lot on my mind."
Victor didn't seem convinced. "It looks like more than that. You sure you're good?"
Hann forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine, President Vic. Don't worry."
But even as he said it, his mind was miles away—back to Joyce, back to those unresponded messages. He hadn't even noticed the passage of time, let alone how he had made it into the Langford Group building that morning. He needed to clear his head, to understand what was going on. But nothing made sense.
***
Meanwhile, at the ground level of Langford Group headquarters, Joyce stepped into the lobby. Her heels clicked softly on the polished marble floor. The cool air of the grand building greeted her, its vastness both imposing and familiar. She took a deep breath, smoothing the hem of her dress as she prepared herself for what she had come here to do.
Her retreat in Geoje had been healing in ways she hadn't expected. She had reconnected with herself and found peace in her own company, something she hadn't truly felt in years. And while she hadn't come back to Kuching expecting any grand revelations, she knew she was ready to face Hann, this time without the weight of expectation. There were no more illusions, no more desperate hopes for reciprocation. She had finally made peace with whatever the future would hold.
But Hann's video messages had shaken her. Watching them last night had turned her world upside down. She hadn't expected him to confess feelings for her, not after she had finally let go. Joyce hadn't responded yet; she didn't know what to say.
She hadn't planned on seeing him right away, but here she was, standing in the very building she had avoided for so long. After all, she had picked a souvenir for him, and he had left a message for her to call him back. She thought, meeting him in person would be better than calling him back. Also, there was something about the way he had spoken in those videos—his vulnerability, his honesty—that made her want to confront her own feelings. She wasn't sure what would happen next, but she knew she needed to be here, now.
In her bag was the small souvenir she had bought for Hann. It felt like both a peace offering and a symbol of everything unresolved between them. She didn't know what she was going to say, if she would say anything at all. She thought she would simply wait, see if he passed by, and if he did, maybe she would just hand it to him and leave. Maybe that was enough.
Taking a seat in one of the plush chairs in the waiting area, Joyce leaned back and let her eyes wander over the lobby. The hustle of Langford employees moving about was familiar, but she no longer felt out of place. This time, she wasn't the young woman desperate for attention. She was her own person, strong, collected, and ready to face whatever might come next.
But as minutes passed, she noticed the receptionist eyeing her from the front desk. After a few moments, the receptionist approached with a professional smile, bringing her a cup of tea. "Are you here for an appointment, miss?" she asked politely.
Joyce returned the smile, shaking her head. "No, I'm fine to wait," she said lightly, her tone calm.
The receptionist hesitated, clearly wanting to maintain the company's high level of efficiency. "If you'd like, I could inform the person you're waiting for," she suggested. "It might help things move along."
Joyce paused, exhaling softly. She had hoped to keep things casual, but it seemed that would no longer be the case. She smiled again and finally said, "I'm here to see Mr. Hann Louis. I'm from Chee's company."
The receptionist nodded, her professionalism unwavering. "Of course, I'll inform him right away. Please feel free to wait."
Joyce's heart raced as the receptionist walked off to pass the message. She wasn't sure what would happen next, but there was no turning back now. She sat back, her fingers brushing lightly over her bag where the small compass rested. A few minutes passed, and as she sipped the tea the receptionist had brought out, she noticed a change in the atmosphere. A shadow fell over the entrance to that waiting area, and when she looked up, her breath caught in her throat.
There, standing in front of her, was Hann. The sight of him made her heart skip a beat. He stood still for a second, as if frozen by the sight of her, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that took her breath away. His typically composed expression was gone, replaced by something raw, something vulnerable. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as though seeing her had knocked the wind from him.
Joyce's heart clenched at the sight. She hadn't expected this—this unguarded emotion from him. She rose to her feet slowly, intending to greet him calmly, but before she could say anything, Hann was moving.
In a few long strides, he crossed the space between them and pulled her into his arms without a word.
The embrace came like a force of nature, his arms wrapping around her with a desperation that stole the breath from her lungs. He held her tightly, as though he had been waiting for this moment for years, and couldn't bear to let her go. Joyce's eyes widened, shock freezing her for a second as her mind raced to catch up. This wasn't the distant, guarded Hann she knew. This was someone who had felt her absence deeply.
Her arms slowly lifted, and as she returned his embrace, all the emotions she had buried—her admiration, her care, the heartache—rushed back in a wave. She could feel his unsteady breathing, the way his hold on her tightened, as if he feared she might vanish if he let go. Joyce's throat tightened, and she closed her eyes, letting herself feel the weight of his presence—the warmth, the emotion, the connection she had once only dreamed of.
The air between them was charged with unspoken words. The years of longing and all kinds of rejection seemed to melt into this single moment. It was like everything she had ever wanted, and yet so much more than she had ever dared hope for.
This was real. Everything was real.
As the embrace lingered, Joyce slowly became aware of their surroundings—the people passing by, the curious glances, the quiet murmurs. Hann must have felt it too because he finally loosened his grip, stepping back slightly but keeping his hands on her arms, his eyes searching hers with a depth of emotion she had never seen before. He looked... wrecked.
"We... Let's go somewhere more private," Hann said softly, his voice filled with a mix of nerves and relief. "We need to talk."
Joyce nodded, still reeling from the moment, her mind fogged. Everything felt surreal.
Hann's expression softened, and for a moment, it looked as if he wanted to say more right there. But the sound of murmured voices from passersby in the lobby snapped them back to reality. Businesspeople and staff walked by, their curious gazes lingering just a little too long as they took note of the famous assistant to the Langford Group's president, Hann Louis, standing so close to a woman—a woman he had just held in his arms.
Hann noticed the looks, but for once, he didn't care. He reached for Joyce's hand, and the gentle, unspoken plea in his touch surprised her. Without a word, he intertwined his fingers with hers and, with a steady but purposeful pull, led her toward the lift.
The soft hum of the lift filled the quiet between them as they ascended, their hands still locked together. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but rather, it was a moment charged with unspoken feelings. Hann's thumb brushed against the back of Joyce's hand, a gesture so small, yet it sent warmth coursing through her veins. He didn't look away from her, his gaze resting on her face as if memorizing every feature, as if he still couldn't quite believe she was there with him.
But neither of them spoke, both lost in their own thoughts. By the time they reached the top-floor cafe, the awkwardness of the moment was palpable. They sat down at a small table by the window, away from the few patrons scattered across the room.
Joyce carefully placed the compass on the table in front of Hann, hoping it might break the awkward silence between them. For her, the compass symbolized so much more than just a souvenir—it represented her journey over the years. Years spent quietly admiring Hann from afar, never expecting anything in return, yet always following her heart with faith and persistence. By giving him the compass, she was expressing something she struggled to put into words—a wish that he, too, might find his way, just as she had during her retreat in Geoje. It wasn't just about finding direction in the literal sense, but in life, love, and personal growth.
Hann stared at the compass, then at Joyce, and something inside him shifted. As he picked it up, emotions surged—regret for not seeing her sooner, admiration for her quiet strength, and a growing affection he could no longer deny. The weight of the compass in his hand felt heavy, not just because of its significance to her, but because it symbolized the moment of realization, the clarity that Joyce had always hoped he would find. And now, with her sitting there in front of him, the compass in his hand, it felt like his own heart had found its direction too.
He swallowed hard before speaking. "I didn't know if you would ever see my messages. I thought I'd lost you. That's why I..." His voice faltered as he tried to gather his thoughts. "I didn't want to leave things unsaid anymore."
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