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In your radiant disappointment
I would like to start this review by stating that I love and actively seek out slow-paced, introspective dramas that deal with psychological issues.
Encouraged also by the many positive reviews, I had high expectations—and, in fact, I found the first episode wonderful!
I was also pleasantly surprised that part of the mystery was revealed as early as ep 2.
However, I soon had to adjust my expectations; there was a sudden shift in atmosphere—moving away from something melancholic and intimate toward more classic romantic-comedy dynamics, perhaps to lighten the weight of the themes. It’s not exactly my cup of tea, but I can see why they did it.
As the story progressed, I began to have doubts about the consistency and depth of the screenplay. I sensed some cracks here and there, but I held onto the hope that everything would eventually be explained, for instance:
- The complete reversal of the protagonists' personalities. Initially, the female lead is presented as a cheerful, positive, and outgoing girl; later, it’s revealed that she had already lost both parents in a horrific accident (which she witnessed firsthand) leading her to develop an anxious attachment to her loved ones out of fear that another tragedy might strike. This deep emotional trauma seemed entirely absent seven years earlier, as if the writers had swapped the sequence of events.
As for the male lead, he goes from being a troubled, solitary, and marginalized boy to someone outgoing and friendly toward everyone, (granted, he nearly died and even got a "memento mori" tatto, so let’s assume that a desire to live without regrets leads to such a radical personality shift.) These character transitions felt forced, serving only the specific plot the writers wanted to construct.
- Then there’s the matter of the messages exchanged via PC, with the female lead convinced she’s talking to her boyfriend. This dynamic remains quite unclear; it’s never fully explained what he actually writes or how he manages to respond without his true identity being discovered. Did she never realize she was chatting with a stranger? At this point, I already began to have doubts about the authenticity of the love between the couple, and her level of grief struck me as increasingly strange and disproportionate...
- Then there’s the speed with which the protagonist agrees to the "three-month trial." After seven years of isolation, depression, and a terror of forming attachments, she accepts an absurd proposal from someone who is still essentially a stranger to her. I let this slide, though—I understand that there’s a fixed number of episodes, and the writers needed to move things along.
I kept watching without ever getting bored, I’ll admit, but as the story progressed, the flaws became increasingly more apparent than the merits, and my disappointment only grew.
For starters, I couldn’t sense any genuine familial bond between the three sisters and their grandmother; they felt like disconnected figures, with never a glimpse of shared daily life—not even a meal together. Later on, the writers seem to realize this and toss in a scene where the three sisters open up to one another; yet, given that the looming threat of the grandmother’s illness was hinted at from the very first episode, it would have been far better to build a sense of closeness so that the eventual "tragedy" could be experienced with true empathy and emotional investment. Instead, even at home, the female lead addresses her grandmother as if they were a boss and an employee.
The growing bond between the leads was sweet to watch, but I couldn’t fully enjoy it because of the secret that kept hanging over them. Her newfound peace and the trust she placed in him were built on a lie—or rather, an "omission of the truth." It was maddening to watch the male lead constantly grapple with his guilt—realizing his own greed while choosing to stay silent—all while convincing himself he was doing it for her own good, to avoid reopening old wounds... ugh.
Then Chan returns to America, leading to the couple’s customary "separation"—yet another traumatic experience Ha Ran who finds herself alone once again, convinced that she must come to terms with the definitive end of their relationship. It’s never made clear how much time passes (days? weeks?), but could someone explain why, in 2026, it’s impossible to make a phone call or send a text message from America to South Korea? The mysteries of K-dramas.
From episode 7 onwards, the script descends into absurdity, burying us under the most tired melodrama clichés—seemingly just to pad out the runtime.
The grandmother’s "senile dementia" turns out to be nothing of the sort, but rather a condition that can be perfectly resolved with surgery.
The younger sister’s boyfriend suffers a silly fall, ends up under the knife, and faces the potential loss of his baseball dreams.
Chan begins having nosebleeds, and his life appears to be in danger due to a fragment lodged in his head—a remnant from an explosion seven years prior...
Then, finally, we reach the so-called "bombshell" moment, where the protagonist discovers the truth about Chan. This part was handled incredibly poorly—and, no offense intended, but some of the plot devices they came up with were actually laughable: she rushes to the café to find him (refusing to hear any explanation), while he rushes to her place, and—naturally—they keep missing each other. The next day, she suddenly comes down with a fever, yet drags herself to work anyway; that evening, she has a dramatic conversation with her middle sister, then disappears without her phone. Her worried sister calls Chan—and—wouldn't you know it?—he has a fever too! Despite this, he decides to get behind the wheel to go look for her—and I should point out that he already has trouble driving, whether due to an ear issue or some past trauma... the result?
Ha Ran returns home the next morning, completely unfazed, only to discover that everyone is frantic with worry because Chan never came back. Consequently, the protagonist never even gets the chance to experience or process her own anger, as it’s immediately eclipsed by the fear and anxiety that she might have lost him.
But the real stroke of genius—and a point of narrative consistency—lies in how the show explains the relationship Ha Ran had with the boyfriend who went to study in Boston. Essentially, they had started dating, but Ha Ran—swamped by a new job—didn't seem all that invested; the situation only worsened due to the distance and the time zone difference. The boyfriend, initially painted as a villain for cheating, is later almost exonerated, given that he fell for someone else after being so neglected.
We learn that Ha Ran only began to feel "truly invested" when our protagonist—posing as the boyfriend—started replying to her messages and even sent her a pen as a gift. It reaches a point where even her sister asks her why she’s suddenly so smitten. In other words, the immense pain Ha Ran carried for seven years was rooted in a mere month’s worth of long-distance text exchanges. At this point, I swear I wanted to pull my hair out in frustration; the abysmal writing completely undermines the already weak premise of the entire story.
Needless to say, the long-awaited reunion in the final minutes of the drama was also terrible—with her actually thanking him for lying to her "for her own good."
You might wonder, then, why I still gave it a 6? Because the cast, as a whole, did a good job despite the terrible script. I enjoyed the relationship between the grandmother and the coffee shop owner, as well as the character of the middle sister—though it’s a shame she received even less screen time than the youngest sister, whose teenage storyline took center stage.
As for the music, I didn't find it memorable at all—not a single song left an impression—and the direction is nothing special; quite the opposite, in fact. I noticed several times that during dialogues between the protagonists, the focus would be on a completely random spot on the male lead’s face, leaving the rest blurred. I don’t know the technical terms, but I can say for certain that it was distracting—and, frankly, an unpleasant effect.
Ultimately, this drama fails to live up to its premise, hampered by a lazy, superficial script that falls short of addressing the mature, profound themes it introduces—such as depression, PTSD, guilt, grief, and amnesia.
If you can manage to switch off your brain while watching, you might find it engaging; however, if you are looking for a solid story that treats serious subjects with the respect they deserve, look elsewhere.
I didn’t intend to be so long-winded, but as I wrote this, all the frustration I felt while watching came to the surface.
I’ve been watching dramas for 15 years—never with the goal of tearing them apart—but I feel it’s worth noting that, lately, people are far too quick to hand out stellar ratings. Even when a story is enjoyable and emotionally resonant, one should still maintain a degree of objectivity.
I apologize for any mistakes; English is not my native language.
Encouraged also by the many positive reviews, I had high expectations—and, in fact, I found the first episode wonderful!
I was also pleasantly surprised that part of the mystery was revealed as early as ep 2.
However, I soon had to adjust my expectations; there was a sudden shift in atmosphere—moving away from something melancholic and intimate toward more classic romantic-comedy dynamics, perhaps to lighten the weight of the themes. It’s not exactly my cup of tea, but I can see why they did it.
As the story progressed, I began to have doubts about the consistency and depth of the screenplay. I sensed some cracks here and there, but I held onto the hope that everything would eventually be explained, for instance:
- The complete reversal of the protagonists' personalities. Initially, the female lead is presented as a cheerful, positive, and outgoing girl; later, it’s revealed that she had already lost both parents in a horrific accident (which she witnessed firsthand) leading her to develop an anxious attachment to her loved ones out of fear that another tragedy might strike. This deep emotional trauma seemed entirely absent seven years earlier, as if the writers had swapped the sequence of events.
As for the male lead, he goes from being a troubled, solitary, and marginalized boy to someone outgoing and friendly toward everyone, (granted, he nearly died and even got a "memento mori" tatto, so let’s assume that a desire to live without regrets leads to such a radical personality shift.) These character transitions felt forced, serving only the specific plot the writers wanted to construct.
- Then there’s the matter of the messages exchanged via PC, with the female lead convinced she’s talking to her boyfriend. This dynamic remains quite unclear; it’s never fully explained what he actually writes or how he manages to respond without his true identity being discovered. Did she never realize she was chatting with a stranger? At this point, I already began to have doubts about the authenticity of the love between the couple, and her level of grief struck me as increasingly strange and disproportionate...
- Then there’s the speed with which the protagonist agrees to the "three-month trial." After seven years of isolation, depression, and a terror of forming attachments, she accepts an absurd proposal from someone who is still essentially a stranger to her. I let this slide, though—I understand that there’s a fixed number of episodes, and the writers needed to move things along.
I kept watching without ever getting bored, I’ll admit, but as the story progressed, the flaws became increasingly more apparent than the merits, and my disappointment only grew.
For starters, I couldn’t sense any genuine familial bond between the three sisters and their grandmother; they felt like disconnected figures, with never a glimpse of shared daily life—not even a meal together. Later on, the writers seem to realize this and toss in a scene where the three sisters open up to one another; yet, given that the looming threat of the grandmother’s illness was hinted at from the very first episode, it would have been far better to build a sense of closeness so that the eventual "tragedy" could be experienced with true empathy and emotional investment. Instead, even at home, the female lead addresses her grandmother as if they were a boss and an employee.
The growing bond between the leads was sweet to watch, but I couldn’t fully enjoy it because of the secret that kept hanging over them. Her newfound peace and the trust she placed in him were built on a lie—or rather, an "omission of the truth." It was maddening to watch the male lead constantly grapple with his guilt—realizing his own greed while choosing to stay silent—all while convincing himself he was doing it for her own good, to avoid reopening old wounds... ugh.
Then Chan returns to America, leading to the couple’s customary "separation"—yet another traumatic experience Ha Ran who finds herself alone once again, convinced that she must come to terms with the definitive end of their relationship. It’s never made clear how much time passes (days? weeks?), but could someone explain why, in 2026, it’s impossible to make a phone call or send a text message from America to South Korea? The mysteries of K-dramas.
From episode 7 onwards, the script descends into absurdity, burying us under the most tired melodrama clichés—seemingly just to pad out the runtime.
The grandmother’s "senile dementia" turns out to be nothing of the sort, but rather a condition that can be perfectly resolved with surgery.
The younger sister’s boyfriend suffers a silly fall, ends up under the knife, and faces the potential loss of his baseball dreams.
Chan begins having nosebleeds, and his life appears to be in danger due to a fragment lodged in his head—a remnant from an explosion seven years prior...
Then, finally, we reach the so-called "bombshell" moment, where the protagonist discovers the truth about Chan. This part was handled incredibly poorly—and, no offense intended, but some of the plot devices they came up with were actually laughable: she rushes to the café to find him (refusing to hear any explanation), while he rushes to her place, and—naturally—they keep missing each other. The next day, she suddenly comes down with a fever, yet drags herself to work anyway; that evening, she has a dramatic conversation with her middle sister, then disappears without her phone. Her worried sister calls Chan—and—wouldn't you know it?—he has a fever too! Despite this, he decides to get behind the wheel to go look for her—and I should point out that he already has trouble driving, whether due to an ear issue or some past trauma... the result?
Ha Ran returns home the next morning, completely unfazed, only to discover that everyone is frantic with worry because Chan never came back. Consequently, the protagonist never even gets the chance to experience or process her own anger, as it’s immediately eclipsed by the fear and anxiety that she might have lost him.
But the real stroke of genius—and a point of narrative consistency—lies in how the show explains the relationship Ha Ran had with the boyfriend who went to study in Boston. Essentially, they had started dating, but Ha Ran—swamped by a new job—didn't seem all that invested; the situation only worsened due to the distance and the time zone difference. The boyfriend, initially painted as a villain for cheating, is later almost exonerated, given that he fell for someone else after being so neglected.
We learn that Ha Ran only began to feel "truly invested" when our protagonist—posing as the boyfriend—started replying to her messages and even sent her a pen as a gift. It reaches a point where even her sister asks her why she’s suddenly so smitten. In other words, the immense pain Ha Ran carried for seven years was rooted in a mere month’s worth of long-distance text exchanges. At this point, I swear I wanted to pull my hair out in frustration; the abysmal writing completely undermines the already weak premise of the entire story.
Needless to say, the long-awaited reunion in the final minutes of the drama was also terrible—with her actually thanking him for lying to her "for her own good."
You might wonder, then, why I still gave it a 6? Because the cast, as a whole, did a good job despite the terrible script. I enjoyed the relationship between the grandmother and the coffee shop owner, as well as the character of the middle sister—though it’s a shame she received even less screen time than the youngest sister, whose teenage storyline took center stage.
As for the music, I didn't find it memorable at all—not a single song left an impression—and the direction is nothing special; quite the opposite, in fact. I noticed several times that during dialogues between the protagonists, the focus would be on a completely random spot on the male lead’s face, leaving the rest blurred. I don’t know the technical terms, but I can say for certain that it was distracting—and, frankly, an unpleasant effect.
Ultimately, this drama fails to live up to its premise, hampered by a lazy, superficial script that falls short of addressing the mature, profound themes it introduces—such as depression, PTSD, guilt, grief, and amnesia.
If you can manage to switch off your brain while watching, you might find it engaging; however, if you are looking for a solid story that treats serious subjects with the respect they deserve, look elsewhere.
I didn’t intend to be so long-winded, but as I wrote this, all the frustration I felt while watching came to the surface.
I’ve been watching dramas for 15 years—never with the goal of tearing them apart—but I feel it’s worth noting that, lately, people are far too quick to hand out stellar ratings. Even when a story is enjoyable and emotionally resonant, one should still maintain a degree of objectivity.
I apologize for any mistakes; English is not my native language.
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