More Than Her Doctor

Chapter Eight...

Dinner was silent. The clinking of utensils felt louder than it should have. Paloma barely touched her food, and Seojin noticed. He cleared his throat, already tired of the elephant sitting between them.

"It was a misunderstanding," he said sharply. "I don’t like Jane. I’m not interested in anyone."

Paloma looked up from her plate, expression unreadable. "Why not?"

He hesitated, then said flatly, "She’s not my type."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then who is your type?"

Seojin's jaw tightened. "These questions are getting too personal. Just finish your food, Paloma."

She scoffed. "So… all those teases, all those dinners, me wearing short gowns around you... that was just an overprotective brother thing?"

He didn’t respond.

Silence.

Then he shifted, tone clipped. "Are you ready for the project presentation next week?"

Paloma stared at him like she didn’t recognize him. "We’re doing this now? Acting formal?"

"I told you—I didn’t do anything with Jane."

She nodded slowly. "I believe you. But it still hurts, Seojin... because it’s clear I’m not a woman to you."

He didn’t reply.

She stood abruptly, her half-finished food abandoned. Her chair scraped loudly against the floor as she stomped to her room and slammed the door.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Angry tears. Confused tears.

"Why?!" she whispered brokenly. "The one man I love... doesn’t even see me."

She hugged her pillow tightly, pain seizing her chest. "He’s just toying with my feelings. Always switching up, always holding back, and it hurts more than anything."

She cried herself to sleep, heart heavy, dreams even heavier.

---

Seojin didn’t drink. He was a doctor—he knew the consequences. But tonight, he made an exception.

The liquor burned his throat, but it didn’t numb the guilt. The pain. The truth.

He loved her.

Ever since Paloma returned to his life, it became harder to deny. But it was wrong. It felt wrong. He had a duty—to protect her. Not love her. Not crave her. Not fantasize about how she smiled or how she whispered his name in sleep.

He poured another glass and drank in silence.

It was the only thing that dulled the ache of staying away from the one person he couldn’t have.

He fell asleep in his room, shirtless, the half-empty glass still on the table.

The next morning, he woke up messy-haired, eyes tired—but still unfairly handsome. He cleaned himself up and began preparing breakfast.

Paloma didn’t want to come down, but she did—holding one of his shirts.

She walked in, silent. Placed it beside him.

“I don’t want to keep this anymore,” she said, voice respectful but cold.

Seojin stood still, a pang in his chest. He wanted to say something, anything—but he nodded.

She sat at the table, phone in hand. Kenya was talking on the phone with her, and Paloma laughed at something she said.

Seojin clenched his jaw.

“You’re not eating,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

He watched her begin eating, still glued to her phone. It irritated him more than he expected.

“Who are you chatting with?”

Paloma didn’t look up. “A friend.”

“You can do that later. Eat your food properly.”

Her heart clenched at his tone—so detached, so formal.

Paloma tossed her phone onto the couch near the dining table, not sparing him a glance.

Seojin sighed. This wasn’t her. Not the mischievous, joyful girl he knew.

He placed his cup down with a soft clink. "I have a hospital appointment. I’ll be back by 3 p.m. The party starts by 5, right?"

“Sure,” she said blandly, rising and walking off.

She headed to her room, opened her closet, and stared at the bold red dress Kenya had insisted she buy. Her lips curled into a smirk.

So he didn’t see her as a woman? So he thought he could push her away?

Fine.

She was nineteen. Not a child. And tonight—

He was going to see just how grown she really was.