A Softer Kind of Longing

Day 1 – Ailine’s First Night Abroad

Ailine had just stepped into her hotel room after a long day of photoshoots. Her body ached, her shoulders felt heavy, yet her face was glowing with satisfaction. The moment she dropped onto the bed, her phone buzzed.

Owen:
Have you eaten? You usually forget when you’re working.

Ailine smiled and hugged her pillow.

Ailine:
I have. What about you?

Owen:
I just finished surgery. Three hours. Exhausting.

Ailine:
Then get some sleep.
And don’t forget to miss me.

There was no reply.

One minute.
Two minutes.
Three minutes.

Finally, a message popped up.

Owen:
I didn’t forget.
But I won’t say more than that.

Ailine buried her face in the pillow, kicking her legs lightly like a teenager in love.

Day 2 – Morning

Ailine sent Owen a picture of her breakfast. The angle was terrible. The shot was blurry.

Owen:
What is this? Did you take the photo while running?

Ailine:
Can you not compliment me for once?

Owen:
Fine. Your breakfast looks… acceptable.
(That’s a compliment.)

Ailine:
You’re unbelievably unromantic, you know that?

Owen:
Was I trying to be romantic?

Ailine pouted and bit into her bread.

Ailine:
Well… I was hoping you’d try.

Owen typed. Stopped. Typed again.

Owen:
Do your job well.
Update me tonight.

Ailine smiled at her screen.

Day 3 – Past Midnight (Different Time Zone)

Fresh out of the shower, Ailine towel-dried her damp hair and reached for her phone.

Owen:
Are you still awake?

Ailine:
Yes. Just finished showering. You?

Owen:
Just took off my surgical gloves. My hands feel cold.

Ailine giggled softly.

Ailine:
Send me a picture of your hands.

Owen:
For what purpose?

Ailine:
To make sure you’re still in one piece.

A photo arrived.

Owen’s clean, elegant hand—still faintly reddened from the gloves.

Her heart skipped.

Ailine:
Thank you, handsome Dr. Owen.

Owen:
Ailine.
Don’t say things like that carelessly.

Her heart melted instantly.

Day 4 – Afternoon

Ailine sent a selfie wearing oversized sunglasses and a mask—full celebrity disguise mode.

Ailine:
Look. I’m undercover. No paparazzi can catch me.

Owen:
You look like a child kidnapper.

Ailine fell face-first onto the bed and groaned into her pillow.

Ailine:
You are… unbelievably annoying!

Owen:
Wear your black cap. It suits you better.

Ailine narrowed her eyes at the phone.

Ailine:
Are you secretly studying my fashion sense?

Owen:
Silence.

Day 5 – Almost Returning Home

Ailine sat in the airport lounge, waiting to board. She typed:

Ailine:
Boarding soon.
Do you miss me?

Owen didn’t reply for ten whole minutes.

Her irritation peaked.

Then—

Owen:
Do you want the honest answer or the answer that will make you smile?

She held her breath.

Ailine:
The honest one.

A few seconds later:

Owen:
Come home quickly.
I’m waiting.

Ailine pressed her lips together, face heating from ear to ear.

“He has always been different from other men—sweet in his own quiet, frustrating way…”

Yet…

Even though Owen always replied, she began to notice something.

He was warm—
but there was a wall.
A quiet distance he kept.
A line he refused to cross.

And that only made Ailine want him more.

“Whatever. I’m not wasting my second chance.
I’ll chase him recklessly if I must.”

Meanwhile, somewhere else…

Owen stared at his screen longer than necessary.

Every message from Ailine warmed him—and also hurt.

He wanted to say, “I miss you,”
but he never did.

You’ll only trouble her,
a voice murmured in his head.

She’s far above you now.

And that was the painful truth he could not escape.

Five days passed unbearably slowly.

The chatting—sweet, funny, sometimes teasing—only made the longing worse for both of them.

Every message from Owen such as:

“Have you eaten properly today?”
“Don’t forget your vitamins.”
“The wind there looks strong. Don’t stay out too long.”

…turned Ailine into a blushing mess each night.
But behind every smile was a sharp tug of longing.

She even rejected the agency’s offer for extra vacation days.
What was the point?
The quicker she returned, the sooner she could see Owen.

The only souvenir she brought home was a small compass-shaped phone charm—something quaint and quietly elegant, just like him.

When the shuttle stopped at the private gate used for artists, Ailine felt her heart thump in her chest. She fixed her hair nervously.

And then—

She saw him.

Owen, leaning casually against his car, wearing a gentle smile that made her entire five-day exhaustion evaporate.

Without thinking, she rushed to him and wrapped her arms around him.

Instinctive.
Spontaneous.
Completely unfiltered.

Every bit of longing burst at once.

To her relief, Owen hugged her back—warmly, firmly, like someone who had missed her more than he dared admit.

He held her a little tighter than he intended.

Five days had felt like months.

“Welcome home, Ailine.”

“I’m home, Owen…”

Emma, who stood a few steps behind, widened her eyes but didn’t look surprised. She already knew how close the two had grown.

Layla, on the other hand—

Layla froze.

“Wait, who is that?!” she whispered furiously to Emma.

Emma explained everything quietly.

Meanwhile, Ailine pulled away, her face red.
But Owen remained calm—too calm—his gentle smile never fading.

Layla approached with shock and disbelief.

“Ailine… you didn’t tell me you were meeting your ex! You should’ve warned me—I could’ve prepared my soul!”

Ailine nodded awkwardly.

Layla’s reaction exploded even more.

“No wonder you’ve been glowing lately!” Her eyes moved to Owen. “Wait—did you say he’s a doctor?”

She examined him from head to toe like scouting a new actor.

Then suddenly, with a professional gleam in her eyes, Layla said:

“Dr. Owen, have you ever considered becoming an actor?”

Ailine choked on her own breath. Emma covered her face.

Classic Layla.

Owen simply replied politely:

“I believe my place is in the hospital.”

That answer alone made Ailine smile quietly.
There was no universe where introverted, quiet, serious Owen became an actor.

All she wanted now was to talk to him.
Tell him stories.
Hear his voice.
Be near him.

Just being in front of him already made her heart feel full.

She was finally back.

And she couldn’t wait to start her days with him again.

“Dr. Owen, please wear this first,” Layla said, handing him a black mask.
“Cosplay as a driver. We can’t risk paparazzi recognizing you.”

Owen accepted it with no protest and put it on—effortlessly calm, as though following a medical protocol instead of a disguise routine.

Usually he always remembered to wear a mask when picking her up.
Today he forgot.

Too eager to see her, perhaps?

When he stood fully masked and straightened his posture like a proper chauffeur, Emma exclaimed,

“Manager Layla… what kind of driver looks THIS handsome? No driver looks like Dr. Owen!”

Ailine covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
Layla rolled her eyes.

“Emma, please. You’re ruining our disguise.”

Owen said nothing.
He simply bowed slightly, opened the driver’s door, and got in with the expression of someone preparing for surgery.

Ailine watched him through the middle seat’s reflection.

He buckled his seatbelt.

“I’ll drive carefully,” he said.

Silence filled the car—until Emma snorted,

“God, even as a driver he’s ridiculously handsome.”

Ailine lowered her gaze again, cheeks burning.

Owen kept his expression neutral—focused entirely on the road—but the tips of his ears were faintly red.

Throughout the ride, Ailine glanced at his reflection again and again.

Emma nudged her.

“He’s right there. He won’t disappear.”

Layla stifled a laugh.

Owen tried, desperately, to stay expressionless.

If he smiled too much, Layla would know. Even with the mask on.

But deep down, he was happy.
Too happy.

Every bit of longing he held back over the past five days melted the moment he saw her.

He had missed her—
more than he would ever admit aloud.