A Year After Us

Episode 7

Cate's POV (English Translation)

"Okay," Karl said softly but clearly. "Take one step forward."

I followed.

I heard the crunch of gravel beneath my shoes. There was laughter and cheering all around — but to me, everything was quiet. I could only hear his voice.

"Now, slightly to your right."

I stared into the darkness of the blindfold — but somehow, this was scarier than actual darkness. Because in this darkness, the only thing I could hear was the voice of the man I once loved with everything I had.

"Step over the rope. It's low."

I lifted my foot, but slipped a little.

He grabbed my elbow.

"I got you," he whispered.

The world stopped.

That line. That voice.

The way he used to say it — during late-night coding, or when I cried from stress, or when I just needed reassurance even if there was no real problem.

But he didn’t say it when I needed it the most.

Not when I said, “Please, don’t give up.”

Not when I found out… there was someone else.

I pulled my arm away from his grip.

“I’m okay,” I said firmly.

He was silent for a few seconds.

“Alright,” he replied. “Next step — there’s a plank. Just keep your balance. Slowly.”

I nodded. Followed.

It felt silly walking like a child in front of everyone, blindfolded at that. But even more embarrassing was how fast my heart was pounding — a mix of nerves, frustration, and… sadness.

“You’re doing good,” Karl added quietly.

Again, I felt his presence behind me — close, but also miles away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I murmured while standing on the plank. “It’s just a game.”

Silence. As if I struck a nerve.

“I know,” he finally said.

But even that carried weight. Like there was something he wasn’t saying.

A few more steps and we reached the finish line. Applause. Laughter. Even a joke from the host. Everything seemed fine.

I took off my blindfold — and the first thing I saw was Karl’s face.

Quiet. Calm. But there was something in his eyes.

I couldn’t explain it. But I’d seen it before — the look of someone who wanted to speak but chose silence.

I didn’t say anything.

Not a single word.

Because even if the game was over — this wasn’t.

And maybe… it never really started again either.

_

After the cheers, songs, and laughter of the bonfire party, I slipped away.

Not literally ran — but just enough for people to notice I was gone.

I didn’t care. I didn’t have the energy to mingle. I was exhausted — not physically, but from all the emotions I tried to dodge all day.

The shoreline was quiet.

Far from the noise of people, and even farther from the noise inside me.

I walked along the sand. The breeze was cool. It smelled of salt. Of night.

A few lights flickered from the cottages and a small bonfire in the distance, but here — in this part — it was just me.

And him.

Not Karl exactly — but our memories.

I sat on a protruding rock, staring at the waves.

This was our place before.

Whenever we wanted peace. When he was stressed with work, or I was buried in my thesis, or when we just wanted to laugh. Cry. Ask questions without needing answers.

And then I noticed — off to the side — a small starfish left behind by the tide.

I gasped.

My body tensed even though I knew it was already dead.

Suddenly, a memory returned — vivid, loud, real.

FLASHBACK

“Come on, Catey! Just hold it for a second!”

“No, Karl! Seriously, I can’t!”

We were laughing while I was clearly terrified. He, on the other hand, was being annoyingly persistent.

“Promise, it won’t do anything. Look — it’s even cute—”

And then he brought it near my foot.

“KAARL!” I screamed.

The world stopped. I froze. Turned pale.

“Cate—CATE!”

He panicked.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t be scared. Please don’t close your eyes, look at me. I’ll take it away, promise!”

I didn’t hear everything. I was cold and sweaty. My breath felt heavy.

I was terrified. Overwhelmed.

And then I heard him sniffle.

“Sorry… I didn’t know it was that bad. I’m really sorry.”

The look on his face — so genuinely worried — I could never forget it.

PRESENT

I smiled, hugging my knees, curling into myself.

One of my worst fears — became one of our most unforgettable memories.

That was when we learned to be gentle with each other.

To be honest.

And to be calm — in every fear, sulk, and trauma.

I let the breeze touch my face.

“Sometimes… it’s hard having too many ‘once upon a times’,” I said quietly.

The sea. The memories. Karl.

And a part of my heart that still doesn’t know when it will finally be quiet.