"The Hurt Game"

 "The Hurt Game"

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD

(A Chatgpt experiment)

Min stood by the dormitory window, arms folded, eyes trained on the rainy street below. He could see Minyoung’s reflection in the glass from where she sat curled on the couch behind him, earbuds in, pretending not to care. Pretending not to hurt.

It had started with something small. A comment about her choreography being too “predictable.” She’d shot back that his vocals had lost their edge lately. He smirked. She rolled her eyes. But neither of them backed down.

That was three days ago.

Since then, they’d spoken only in cold glances and half-hearted shrugs. Living together but miles apart.

The rules of The Hurt Game were simple:

Don’t apologize first.

Don’t show it hurts.

Wait for the other to break.

Min typed something in his Notes app. Then deleted it.

Minyoung watched him from the corner of her eye. She hated how he could look so detached when her chest was tight with every breath. She scrolled through their old photos, the ones with laughter and lazy Saturdays. Then she locked her phone and clenched her jaw.

Last night, he left a slice of tangerine cake on the table—her favorite. But she didn’t touch it.

This morning, she’d taken his hoodie from the drying rack and folded it. Left it on his bed without a word. He didn’t acknowledge it.

They were both bleeding pride in silence.

Until tonight.

Min walked past her without a glance, heading to the door. A beat too long. A pause. Her voice cut through the room, quiet but sharp.

“Running away again?”

He stopped. Half-turned.

“I thought we weren’t talking.”

“We weren’t. But you always break first.”

He scoffed. “You wish.”

The silence after that was thick.

Then Minyoung stood, crossing the room in three sharp steps. Her eyes shimmered—not with tears, but with a storm she refused to name.

“This is stupid,” she whispered.

He looked at her. Really looked. The tiredness beneath her confidence. The bite behind her words that didn’t taste like hate, but like fear. Like love unspoken.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

But neither moved.

So the game went on.

A hurt look here, a cold word there.

Both waiting.

Both too full of feeling to be the first to fold.

Because in The Hurt Game, whoever reaches out first—loses.

And neither Min nor Minyoung could stand the thought of being the weak one.

Even if it meant losing each other piece by piece.