A Marriage She Never Chose

“Omma… don’t start with nonsense topics early in the morning,” Hae-in said, taking a hurried bite of the kimbap roll. One eye was already on the clock, her hands moving on autopilot.

From the kitchen, her mother replied without looking up. “What nonsense? I’m talking about marriage. You’re twenty-six now. All your classmates are already married. Some even have children.”

“So what?” Hae-in said, zipping her lunch bag shut. “That doesn’t mean I have to get married, too. I have responsibilities. I have dreams to fulfill. My life isn’t the same as theirs.”

Her mother walked over and placed the water bottle into her bag. “Everyone has to get married one day. Especially girls. We should’ve married you off by twenty-five. We gave you freedom till now. Enough of living your life. It’s time to settle.”

Hae-in paused mid-bite and looked at her mother, a bitter thought rising quietly. Living my life? Is that what you think this is?

“And now that your student loan is cleared,” her mother continued, voice firm, “we’re giving you a little more time. After that, you’ll get married.”

Hae-in’s fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. “Why do you always talk as if marriage is a punishment you’re handing me?” she said, her voice steady but strained. “It’s my life, Omma. Let me live it the way I choose.”

Her mother gave her a hard, unyielding look. Hae-in met her gaze, neither backing away nor arguing.

“You’ve started talking back too much these days, Hae-in,” her mother said. “And why do you get so irritated every time I mention marriage? This is how society works. You can’t just go against it.”

Hae-in drew in a slow breath. So many words pressed against her chest, waiting to spill out. But she swallowed them. Fighting now would only sour the morning, and she didn’t have the strength for another argument.

Without a word, she took another bite of her food, picked up her bag, and walked out of the house.

Her mother watched her leave, then shook her head, irritation lingering in her eyes. “Only God knows who will handle that attitude of hers,” she muttered, turning back toward the kitchen.

At the office,

The meeting room buzzed with half-awake energy and clinking coffee cups.

“Hae-in, there are three new joiners starting today,” her manager announced. “I want you to spare a few hours each day to train them. They’ll be working under you.”

Hae-in looked up, surprise flickering across her face. “But, sir,” she said carefully, “I’m already handling two major projects. I barely get time as it is. Training three people will be difficult. I won’t be able to give them enough attention.”

“We understand, Hae-in,” he replied, nodding once. “But this is necessary. Once they’re trained, they’ll support you, and your workload will be reduced. This is for your comfort, too. Just extend your day a little. Train them in the morning, and focus on your work for the rest of the day. It’s only for a month. After that, they’ll officially join your team.”

“But sir—”

“Just take care of them, Hae-in,” he said, cutting her off as he flipped to the next agenda point.

She let out a quiet sigh, fingers threading briefly through her hair. Another responsibility. Another adjustment. Acceptance settled in, heavy but familiar.

The meeting ended, chairs scraped back, and everyone drifted toward their desks. Hae-in returned to hers, switching on her system, already bracing herself for a longer day.

“Good morning, ma’am,” a small chorus greeted her.

Hae-in looked up from her screen and turned around. “New joiners?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they replied together.

She exhaled slowly. Of course. “Alright. Sit,” she said, pulling her chair closer. “Tell me about your work experience. Any prior knowledge of software development? Internships? Anything relevant?”

One by one, they spoke.

Two of them answered with confidence, explaining their internships and basic understanding of the work. They listened carefully, nodded often, and asked sensible questions.

The third one… didn’t.

His answers were vague, uncertain, and painfully disconnected from the role he’d been hired for. No clarity. No foundation. Just nervous smiles and half-formed sentences.

Hae-in pressed her lips together, already feeling the weight of the month ahead settle on her shoulders.

And just like that, her day went completely off track, spiraling into explanations, repetitions, and quiet patience. Another long day. As usual.

It was already 8:30 p.m.

The office floor had thinned out, lights switched off row by row, only a handful of people still hunched over their screens. Hae-in stretched in her chair, her limbs stiff, her head throbbing dully. Hunger gnawed at her stomach.

Her phone buzzed.

“Still at the office, Omma… I’ll be late,” she said, her voice heavy with fatigue.

“Okay. Come home safely,” her mother replied.

“Hm,” Hae-in murmured before ending the call.

She forced herself to work for another fifteen minutes, but her focus slipped through her fingers. Finally, she shut her laptop, logged out, and left the office.

Outside, the night air felt heavier than usual. She was starving. Her steps slowed, her head pounding, her face drained of color. Halfway down the road, she stopped, bending slightly, catching her breath.

“I can’t…” she muttered. “I need food. You should have eaten properly, Hae-ina,” she scolded herself.

Lifting her head, she looked around. Across the street, a restaurant glowed warmly, its lights cutting through the darkness like a quiet invitation.

She sighed, crossed the road, and stood in front of it.

OPEN, the sign read.

Pushing the door, she stepped inside. The place was empty.

“Jeogiyo… is anyone there?” she called out softly.

“Yes—sorry, ma’am. We’re about to close,” a male voice answered from the kitchen.

“I’m really hungry,” she said quietly. “Just… serve whatever you have.”

For a second, there was no response.

Then he appeared from the kitchen. A young, handsome man. A calm kind of charm that didn’t need effort.

Hae-in looked up at him.

His eyes lingered on her face, reading the exhaustion written there. Pale. Drained. Holding herself together on habit alone.

He couldn’t refuse her.

“Okay. Sit,” he said gently. “Since you look really hungry, I’ll make you some instant noodles.”

Relief bloomed across her face, soft and unguarded. A small smile appeared before she could stop it.

He froze. Something in his chest stumbled, then raced. Damn… what a smile.

He stood there a second too long, watching her, before she moved toward the nearest chair and sat down.

She looked at him again. “Please… make it fast,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he replied, smiling despite himself. “Ten minutes.”

And then he turned and hurried back into the kitchen, heart still refusing to calm down.