WTFUDLS 09

“Hey, you’re not eating the carrots?”

Noeul asked as she watched Jiwoo pick the carrots out of their golbaengi noodles.

Jiwoo looked up with a caught-in-the-act expression and said sheepishly,
“I just hate carrots~.”

“They’re sliced so thin you can’t even taste them.”

“No, you totally can.”

“They’re mixed with the sauce—you can only taste the sauce.”

“Then you eat them.”

Jiwoo pushed the carrots she’d picked out toward Noeul.

“Twenty-one-year-old Jiwoo, doesn’t eat carrots,” Noeul declared.

Jiwoo giggled.

“You can’t call yourself an adult if you don’t eat carrots,” Noeul teased.

“I am an adult.”

“Nope. You’re not. And you shouldn’t drink, either. No adult privileges for you.”

“Yes sir, I’m officially a kid,” Jiwoo said with a bright grin.

Noeul chuckled and ate the carrots with the noodles.

Watching her, Jiwoo said,
“I hope I meet a guy who likes all the foods I hate.”

Noeul forced herself not to connect that comment with the carrot she’d just eaten.
“…Wouldn’t that mean he only eats carrots, onions, and beans?”

“Exactly, hehe.”

“What did he ever do to deserve that?”

“That’s the point—he has to like them, not eat them out of obligation.”

“Wow, he’d be healthy. Crystal-clear blood.”

Jiwoo giggled.
“And everything he dislikes, I’ll like. I hope he hates dry chicken breast, because I love it. Then we could order a whole chicken and both be happy. You like the dry parts?”

“…I love them, actually.”

“Really? Liar.”

“Why would I lie about that? Don’t ask if you won’t believe me.”

“I dunno. Sometimes it feels like you’re lying.”

“……”

Noeul gave a little laugh as if it were nothing, but she found herself avoiding Jiwoo’s eyes.
Her fingers tingled; she kneaded them under the table.

Jiwoo said,
“But pizza’s different. I’d hate it if someone insisted on Hawaiian.”

“Fair enough.”

“Then he’d be like, ‘What do you love more, me or Hawaiian pizza?’”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Jiwoo giggled but suddenly stopped.
“Ah—don’t get the wrong idea. I’d never actually pull that kind of stunt.”

“…Who said you would.”

Noeul picked at a piece of seafood pancake.

Her head spun. Every casual remark from Jiwoo felt loaded.
If she told herself they meant nothing, they could mean nothing—yet she couldn’t stop linking them to possibilities.
Even the “don’t misunderstand” bit—why should it matter if Noeul misunderstood?
Why worry if Noeul thought Jiwoo was the type to nag a boyfriend?
The thought made Noeul’s heart thud.

Of course it wasn’t that. Noeul knew that better than anyone.
But knowing something rationally doesn’t control the heart.
Just as knowing you’ll die someday doesn’t make you live every day to the fullest.

Her only defense was to stay guarded.
To show nothing—keep her feelings hidden even from herself.
Whether Jiwoo was teasing or not, as long as nothing showed, Jiwoo wouldn’t think she’d “won,” and Noeul could tell herself she hadn’t given in.

Jiwoo asked,
“What’s your ideal type?”

People rarely asked Noeul that.
Whenever it was her turn in a group, the question conveniently faded away—because no one felt sure they could react naturally to whatever she said.
It’s hard to keep a straight face while pretending to take seriously an answer you think is impossible.

When that happened, Noeul would brazenly say, “Why don’t you ask me?”
The questioner would give an awkward laugh, caught out.
Then Noeul would name an outrageously gorgeous woman and follow it with,
“Huh? Did I just hear, ‘Seriously, you?’ Must be my imagination,”
and laugh it off. That usually did the trick.

Occasionally someone asked anyway—people who either wanted to watch her squirm or were genuinely curious whether someone like her aimed high or settled.

Which kind was Jiwoo?

“My ideal type? Sharina,” Noeul said.

“Sharina…” Jiwoo looked thoughtful.

Most people either burst out laughing or barely hold it in.
Why that look on Jiwoo’s face? What was she thinking?

Suddenly Jiwoo picked up her phone, scrolling up and down.
Then she held it out.
“What about her?”

On the screen was a woman’s messenger profile photo.

A bad feeling flashed through Noeul.

“…What about her?”

“She’s obviously not Sharina, but she’s hilarious. You’re funny too. I feel like you’d have great chemistry.”

“…Uh…”

Noeul’s face stiffened.

“Want me to introduce you?” Jiwoo asked.

“…Why are you suddenly trying to set me up?”

Noeul heard her own voice come back to her, flat.

Jiwoo took back the phone.
“Introductions are always sudden.”

She scrolled again and showed another profile.
“How about her? She’s really nice—best personality of all my friends, I swear.”

Noeul glanced briefly.
“Your friend might be nice, but she’s probably just like the rest.”

“Hey, no. My friends are great… I’m great too!”
Jiwoo pouted and pulled the phone back.

“I only want to introduce you because I think you’re great, you know?” she said.

“…Yeah.”

“So don’t avoid me anymore, okay?”
Jiwoo poked Noeul’s arm playfully.

Noeul was glad she wasn’t someone who smiled easily.

“…Okay,” she answered stiffly.

Jiwoo beamed.

Noeul wondered what had frozen her so completely, why her heart felt like it was sinking.
The reason wasn’t hard to find.

She’d been hoping. Honestly. Desperately.
Hoping Jiwoo might like her.

She wanted to erase the earlier fluttering, the tingling all over.
Pretend none of it happened.
But this time it was too vivid to deny.
She couldn’t even claim she was only here to help Jun-gi get closer to Jiwoo.
That excuse now felt pathetic.

Want me to introduce you?

The words made her want to laugh at herself.
It was like stepping out of a fog into blinding clarity—so sharp it hurt.

Had she ever truly wished Jun-gi and Jiwoo would get together?
Not once.
She’d used Jun-gi as an excuse to stay near Jiwoo,
secretly wishing Jiwoo would reach for her,
that even as she pretended to keep her distance, Jiwoo would keep coming closer.
I’m too ugly to approach you, I have to run—but love me anyway.
Make me believe that if someone as wonderful as you can love me, then I’m wonderful too.
That was what she’d wanted.

Was this pathetic craving just instinct, like a chick seeking its mother?
Even after a lifetime of realizing there’s a zero percent chance,
the desire to be loved by a beautiful woman never dies.

No matter how clever, witty, or perceptive Noeul was,
no matter how well she packaged herself,
this longing always ruled her.

She’d spent so much effort denying it:
I don’t want that. I don’t need that.
Rationalizing, brainwashing herself, pretending she was different from other “ugly” girls—
as if she were above desire,
cynical and wise, standing apart.
But from a distance it was just pitiful.

“…Noeul, are you okay? You look upset.”

“……”

Noeul looked at Jiwoo.

It’s not that I look upset—I just look like this.
Living with this face, there’s no such thing as looking happy.
If you knew what I was thinking, you’d be shocked.
I actually wondered if you might like me.
Go on, show me that startled face.
That awkward, disgusted face.
Maybe that’s what I need to see to wake up.

She wanted to say it out loud.

But she couldn’t.

She was too tired to think anymore.

Instead she said,
“Right? Ugh, my mood just crashed. Give me a sec.”

She picked up her phone.

“What are you doing?” Jiwoo asked.

“Hang on… Hey, Jun-gi, what are you up to?”

Jiwoo seemed to realize what Noeul was doing, then quickly lost interest and sipped her makgeolli.

Noeul gave Jun-gi their location and hung up.

“You called Jun-gi?” Jiwoo asked.

“Yeah.”

“You two must be really close. Are you secretly dating?”

“Ugh, you ruined my drink. Which one of us is the girl, huh?”

Jiwoo snickered.

Noeul kept the jokes coming—funny stories, silly confessions.

Jiwoo laughed until she almost couldn’t breathe.
“Are you crazy today? You’re killing me.”

“What’s so funny? Let me in on it,” Jun-gi said as he walked over.

Noeul jerked her chin.
“Sit there. My bag’s on this seat.”

“Oh, okay.”

Jun-gi sat naturally beside Jiwoo and grinned at Noeul.

She flashed him a discreet thumbs-up.

“Hey, I can see that,” Jiwoo said.
“Why are you sending secret signals? Don’t leave me out.”

“Third wheels stay out. Married couple talk,” Noeul quipped.

“Why are we a married couple?” Jun-gi laughed.

“Wife, you’re feisty today,” Noeul said in a low, playful voice.

Jun-gi made a face.
“Not only are we married, I’m the wife?”

“Why quibble over who’s the wife?”

Jiwoo burst out laughing.

Pouring makgeolli into Jun-gi’s glass, Noeul said,
“Let’s drink till we drop tonight, darling.”

“She’s lost it,” Jun-gi said.

Jiwoo playfully smacked Jun-gi’s shoulder and laughed.

Jun-gi glanced at her with an affectionate look.

Noeul simply watched the two of them.