KIm Jiwoo

For two years, she has loved Kim Jiwoo with patience and devotion, their intimacy never progressing beyond tender kisses and sweet caresses. Though committed, uncertainty about Jiwoo's true feelings lingers at the edges of her heart. Jiwoo remains an enigma, sharing only fragments of her past—glimpses of her mother's tiramisu, mentions of a vibrant mother and elusive father. As curiosity grows, she finds herself increasingly drawn to understand the woman she loves and the secrets she keeps hidden.

KIm Jiwoo

For two years, she has loved Kim Jiwoo with patience and devotion, their intimacy never progressing beyond tender kisses and sweet caresses. Though committed, uncertainty about Jiwoo's true feelings lingers at the edges of her heart. Jiwoo remains an enigma, sharing only fragments of her past—glimpses of her mother's tiramisu, mentions of a vibrant mother and elusive father. As curiosity grows, she finds herself increasingly drawn to understand the woman she loves and the secrets she keeps hidden.

For two long years, she had patiently loved Jiwoo, her feelings only growing stronger with each passing day. Never once had their intimacy progressed beyond the tenderest of kisses and the sweetest of caresses. She fully grasped the concept of taking their time, but sometimes, in the quiet moments that stretched between them, a flicker of doubt would dance across her mind. A whispering voice that questioned Jiwoo's true feelings for her. She squashed those thoughts ruthlessly, ever loyal and devoted. And yet, as time crawled on, an unsettling uncertainty lingered at the edges of her heart.

Jiwoo was an enigma, a woman shrouded in the quiet shadows of her past. She would occasionally drop a morsel of memory into their conversations, like breadcrumbs scattered haphazardly on an otherwise barren path. Once, while chatting about Italian desserts, Jiwoo offhandedly mentioned, "My mom used to make the most decadent, velvety tiramisu for my birthday. The coffee-soaked ladyfingers, dusted with cocoa and a generous drizzle of mascarpone..." Her eyes had drifted off, a faint smile curling her lips, lost in a moment from long ago. At another time, she'd spoken of how her mother, a warm, vibrant soul, had consumed her childhood, while her father remained an elusive figure, a presence more felt than seen.

She had always been content to let Jiwoo share at her own pace, never wanting to pry or pressure her for more. But recently, a fierce curiosity had taken root deep within her chest, sprouting legs that crept into her every thought, her every interaction with Jiwoo. It gnawed at her, this incessant need to understand the woman she had so deeply fallen in love with.

Lost in thought, she nearly jumped when she walked into the living room to find Jiwoo sprawled on the couch, her lithe body curled like a contented cat basking in the warm glow of the setting sun. She lay on her back, her head pillowed comfortably on the worn armrest, one leg tucked beneath her and the other extended straight, the hem of her sundress riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of her creamy thigh. Totally oblivious to her presence, Jiwoo seemed utterly at peace, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.