This review may contain spoilers
Soulmate sat on my watchlist for the longest time, and honestly, my only regret is not watching it sooner. This movie didn’t just make me cry, it made me cry warm tears, the kind that hurt but also feel comforting.
Plot*
The story follows two girls, Mi-so and Ha-eun, who couldn’t be more different. They meet as children when Mi-so moves to Jeju Island, and somehow, despite being complete opposites, they become inseparable. Their bond is so strong that when Mi-so’s mother decides to leave Jeju, Mi-so chooses to stay behind and live with Ha-eun’s family. From that point on, they’re no longer just friends, they’re sisters.
As they grow up, Ha-eun starts dating a boy who slowly becomes part of their little world, turning the trio into something like the “three musketeers.” But cracks begin to form when it becomes clear that Ha-eun’s boyfriend is more drawn to Mi-so. The moment Mi-so realizes this, she makes a quiet but life-altering decision: she leaves Jeju to follow her dreams, leaving Ha-eun behind with promises of letters and stories.
Spoilers ahead *
But Soulmate is so much deeper than its plot. At its core, this is a story about love and letting go about choosing pain for yourself if it means protecting the person you love.
When Mi-so moves to Seoul, her life is harsh and unstable. She takes on exhausting, jobs just to survive, her life is anything but confortable. But in the letters she sends Ha-eun, she hides all of that. Instead, she tells stories of adventure, traveling through Europe, seeing the places they once dreamed of together. On paper, her life is magical and free. In reality, it’s lonely and brutal. And she carries that burden alone, because she doesn’t want Ha-eun to worry.
Meanwhile, Ha-eun stays in Jeju. She gives up her dream of painting, becomes a teacher, and eventually agrees to marry her childhood boyfriend. But as her life moves forward, something feels deeply wrong. She slowly realizes a painful truth: no one has ever loved her the way Mi-so did. Mi-so wasn’t just her best friend, she was the only person who truly saw her, believed in her, and wanted nothing but the best for her.
That realization changes everything.
Ha-eun leaves her wedding behind and moves to Seoul, following the life Mi-so once lived. She rents the same apartment Mi-so narrated in her letters and finally pursues painting. For nine months, she devotes herself entirely to her art, drawing the person she loved most, the person who understood her better than anyone else.
One of the most heartbreaking moments for me is when Ha-eun, after revealing her pregnancy, turns to Mi-so and offers her a family: the two of them, together, with the baby. That scene alone destroyed me.
The ending*
The film gives us two endings, one imagined, one real. In one version, Ha-eun gives birth, leaves the baby with Mi-so, and travels the world, finally free, just like in Mi-So's letters. Mi-so raises the child and names her Ha-eun.
In the other, we learn the truth: Ha-eun died, and Mi-so chose to keep her alive through stories. And suddenly, everything clicks. Ha-eun never traveled not physically She finishes Ha-eun’s paintings and exhibits her work, making sure the world sees her talent. But what broke me most is the choice Mi-so makes afterward: she keeps Ha-eun’s death a secret. To Jin-woo. To the gallery. To the world. Instead, she tells everyone that Ha-eun is traveling, living freely somewhere far away. Mi-so gives her the freedom she never had. She lets her rest inside a dream instead of a grave.
And that’s when I understood what this movie was really about.
This isn’t a romantic love story. It’s not about choosing someone over another person. It’s about choosing love over truth, kindness over closure. It’s about loving someone so deeply that you carry their dreams for them when they no longer can.
A lot of people frame Mi-so and Ha-eun’s relationship as romantic, but to me, it’s something purer and harder to define. They are soulmates in the truest sense, two people who shaped each other, who saw each other fully, who wanted nothing but the other’s happiness. Soulmates aren’t always lovers. Sometimes they are friends. Sometimes they are sisters. Sometimes they are the one person who understands you when no one else ever will.
To love someone isn’t to possess them.
To love someone is to step back.
To love someone is to make the hardest choices so they can be happy.
To love someone is to let go.
Mi-so left when she realized her presence could hurt Ha-eun. She endured loneliness, poverty, and silence to protect her. And when Ha-eun was gone, Mi-so loved her enough to let her live on, in stories, in art, in movement.
This movie shattered me. It felt like a long, quiet love letter written in grief. The cinematography, especially the Jeju Island scenery only deepened that sense of longing and nostalgia. Everything felt soft, distant, and aching, like a memory you don’t want to let fade.
I don’t think I’ll ever fully get over Soulmate.
It didn’t just make me sad it made me reflect on the people who have shaped my life, the ones who loved me quietly, and the ones I would choose again, in any lifetime.
Plot*
The story follows two girls, Mi-so and Ha-eun, who couldn’t be more different. They meet as children when Mi-so moves to Jeju Island, and somehow, despite being complete opposites, they become inseparable. Their bond is so strong that when Mi-so’s mother decides to leave Jeju, Mi-so chooses to stay behind and live with Ha-eun’s family. From that point on, they’re no longer just friends, they’re sisters.
As they grow up, Ha-eun starts dating a boy who slowly becomes part of their little world, turning the trio into something like the “three musketeers.” But cracks begin to form when it becomes clear that Ha-eun’s boyfriend is more drawn to Mi-so. The moment Mi-so realizes this, she makes a quiet but life-altering decision: she leaves Jeju to follow her dreams, leaving Ha-eun behind with promises of letters and stories.
Spoilers ahead *
But Soulmate is so much deeper than its plot. At its core, this is a story about love and letting go about choosing pain for yourself if it means protecting the person you love.
When Mi-so moves to Seoul, her life is harsh and unstable. She takes on exhausting, jobs just to survive, her life is anything but confortable. But in the letters she sends Ha-eun, she hides all of that. Instead, she tells stories of adventure, traveling through Europe, seeing the places they once dreamed of together. On paper, her life is magical and free. In reality, it’s lonely and brutal. And she carries that burden alone, because she doesn’t want Ha-eun to worry.
Meanwhile, Ha-eun stays in Jeju. She gives up her dream of painting, becomes a teacher, and eventually agrees to marry her childhood boyfriend. But as her life moves forward, something feels deeply wrong. She slowly realizes a painful truth: no one has ever loved her the way Mi-so did. Mi-so wasn’t just her best friend, she was the only person who truly saw her, believed in her, and wanted nothing but the best for her.
That realization changes everything.
Ha-eun leaves her wedding behind and moves to Seoul, following the life Mi-so once lived. She rents the same apartment Mi-so narrated in her letters and finally pursues painting. For nine months, she devotes herself entirely to her art, drawing the person she loved most, the person who understood her better than anyone else.
One of the most heartbreaking moments for me is when Ha-eun, after revealing her pregnancy, turns to Mi-so and offers her a family: the two of them, together, with the baby. That scene alone destroyed me.
The ending*
The film gives us two endings, one imagined, one real. In one version, Ha-eun gives birth, leaves the baby with Mi-so, and travels the world, finally free, just like in Mi-So's letters. Mi-so raises the child and names her Ha-eun.
In the other, we learn the truth: Ha-eun died, and Mi-so chose to keep her alive through stories. And suddenly, everything clicks. Ha-eun never traveled not physically She finishes Ha-eun’s paintings and exhibits her work, making sure the world sees her talent. But what broke me most is the choice Mi-so makes afterward: she keeps Ha-eun’s death a secret. To Jin-woo. To the gallery. To the world. Instead, she tells everyone that Ha-eun is traveling, living freely somewhere far away. Mi-so gives her the freedom she never had. She lets her rest inside a dream instead of a grave.
And that’s when I understood what this movie was really about.
This isn’t a romantic love story. It’s not about choosing someone over another person. It’s about choosing love over truth, kindness over closure. It’s about loving someone so deeply that you carry their dreams for them when they no longer can.
A lot of people frame Mi-so and Ha-eun’s relationship as romantic, but to me, it’s something purer and harder to define. They are soulmates in the truest sense, two people who shaped each other, who saw each other fully, who wanted nothing but the other’s happiness. Soulmates aren’t always lovers. Sometimes they are friends. Sometimes they are sisters. Sometimes they are the one person who understands you when no one else ever will.
To love someone isn’t to possess them.
To love someone is to step back.
To love someone is to make the hardest choices so they can be happy.
To love someone is to let go.
Mi-so left when she realized her presence could hurt Ha-eun. She endured loneliness, poverty, and silence to protect her. And when Ha-eun was gone, Mi-so loved her enough to let her live on, in stories, in art, in movement.
This movie shattered me. It felt like a long, quiet love letter written in grief. The cinematography, especially the Jeju Island scenery only deepened that sense of longing and nostalgia. Everything felt soft, distant, and aching, like a memory you don’t want to let fade.
I don’t think I’ll ever fully get over Soulmate.
It didn’t just make me sad it made me reflect on the people who have shaped my life, the ones who loved me quietly, and the ones I would choose again, in any lifetime.
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