“Iharu, why are you so startled? Your hair got all messed up because of me. There, now it’s fixed. Let’s go in.”
Jun stepped aside, waiting for me to enter first. My eyes fluttered unsteadily as I looked at him, then quickly dropped my gaze to avoid being caught. I rushed to calm my increasingly wild heart.
Jun had merely been fixing my hair, which had become disheveled due to the hat he had purposefully placed on my head. Even now, his expression seemed to say it was nothing significant.
Right, it was just that. Nothing more…
I entered the room first, sitting on the sofa and waiting for Jun’s approaching footsteps. Suddenly, I remembered.
Memories seep into spaces. Emotions invariably follow memories. So, upon entering this space, it was only natural to recall the feelings from our last conversation.
The fact that the sofa I loved was still in Jun’s house meant that he couldn’t discard our memories tied to that small piece of furniture. His face, telling me this with reddened eyes, and the emotions I felt then came vividly back to me.
He had almost accused me, saying this was the difference in how we treated memories.
“We need to look at the screenplay.”
My gaze, which had been wandering in the air, anxiously returned to Jun. His eyes, which seemed to have remained fixed on me all this while, were calm.
I felt a slight unease, worrying whether my recent agitation had been fully captured in those calm ripples.
“Oh, the screenplay. Right.”
Today’s meeting was to discuss the screenplay I was currently writing. So, Jun’s request was entirely reasonable, and it seemed only natural for me to bring out the screenplay here and now.
But for me, it was anything but natural. The screenplay wasn’t a fictional story but about our real first love memories from 9 years ago.
It contained all the memories of the spring day we first met, and the tender words deeply etched in my young heart.
Moreover, I had even etched the genuine feelings I hadn’t shown you into a narration beneath one scene, as you had asked.
Writing it felt like an act for you, but standing in front of you now, I only felt embarrassed about revealing my innermost feelings at that time.
It was unexpected. Sharing memories of the day we first fell in love felt like making a belated confession to Jun.
Even more so to someone who already had a girlfriend, a reckless and impolite confession.
That’s why I disliked it. Showing only mine. Showing my heart. Especially in front of you, who might remember those memories even more vividly than me.
“Then show me yours too. It feels like I’m the only one getting embarrassed.”
“I am the director.”
“But before you’re a director, you’re Kim Jun to me. My first…”
What now? I couldn’t continue. I hadn’t realized saying it would be so embarrassing.
“First what?”
Jun urged me to complete the sentence I hadn’t finished, but my lips refused to part further. So, I ended up substituting it with something else.
“My first… co-screenwriter.”
As expected, Jun’s eyebrows slightly twitched. He seemed dissatisfied with my answer. And here he was, a film director having to deal with a writer stubbornly refusing to show their screenplay. This might be a first-time experience for him.
Predictably, Jun stroked his chin, giving me a look that seemed to say, “What am I going to do with you?” As a hint of firm determination began to surface in his gaze, he spoke.
“Iharu.”
“…Yeah?”
With a slow blink, Jun said,
“Show me.”
His three soft syllables resonated in my ears. Despite my defenses being up against Jun, I flinched at his words.
Thinking about it, a director like Jun would have had writers lining up just to get him to glance at their screenplays. Yet here I was, making such a director wait to see mine, which even I found a bit absurd.
I knew that, but still. This situation was different. I could feel a sigh swirling in my mouth.
“…”
“Don’t just roll your eyes.”
“…I’m thinking.”
As I answered, avoiding Jun’s gaze, I heard him chuckle.
“Thinking of how not to show it?”
“Not exactly. Just, kind of…”
I trailed off, evading Jun’s steady gaze.
“Let’s exchange screenplays…”
Even as I spoke, I thought, “That’s not really a solution, is it?” I felt like I was whining to Jun, acting unprofessionally in front of someone as established in the industry as him.
By suggesting we exchange screenplays, it was clear that I was the one unable to separate professional and personal matters.
Jun tapped his hand on the desk, again falling silent and just watching me.
I wondered what he was thinking, watching him apprehensively like a child fearful of what might come next.
“Okay.”
Wait, what? I doubted my ears for a moment. Did he really agree? I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“You wanted me to say that, didn’t you? Why look so surprised?”
“You’re going to show me your screenplay?”
I repeated, as if to confirm.
“Yes. I’ll show you my screenplay.”
“Oh, then…”
Confused and a bit excited, I moved closer to Jun. That’s when he spoke.
Male lead reborn without memories — but he still falls for her.
The person he finds displeasing in this life turns out to be his cherished wife-master in previous life…
Xie Zhi and Fang Xianxing who had known each other for less than three days through a blind date sat in the same car in front of the civil affairs bureau. They had a disagreement and failed to get married.
Xie Zhi immediately took out his phone, slid through his contacts, and randomly selected the next marriage candidate.
The woman snatched his phone and hung up. Looking at his phone wallpaper, she awkwardly changed the subject: “An ancient painting, eh? It looks pretty good, it’s just that the person in the painting looks a bit like me.”
When he heard this, he sarcastically mocked her for being so delusional, completely unaware that, the person in front of him was the reincarnation of Wen Ru, the famous prime minister of Yuan Shun whom he most admired…
The female CEO who doesn’t want to get married with a divorce agreement in hand × The male archaeological researcher who will only get married if he’s sure he can get divorced
