Waiting with both feet on the ground

My dearest Eun-ha,

I managed to catch a glimpse today. During the inspection flight, I “accidentally” leaned too far toward the window and snapped this photo before anyone could notice. Don’t worry—no one will ever know. I’ll hide it between layers of meaningless reports, where no one ever looks.

There she is. Your ship. Towering. Still. Waiting. It looks like something from a dream we once whispered to each other in the back rooms of the engineering lab. And now—you’ll climb inside it.

Everyone here talks in numbers. Fuel ratios, trajectory windows, panel diagnostics. But when I saw the rocket today, I didn’t see calculations—I saw you. I saw the girl who once cursed at a faulty pressure valve louder than the engines ever could. I saw the woman who would rather fail honestly than succeed with a lie.

I’m proud of you, Eun-ha. More than I can say without sounding foolish.

The others are betting on a flawless launch—I added my name to the list, too. They laughed when I said I was confident. I laughed with them. It’s easier that way.

You’ve always known how much faith I have in you. And I know you'll feel the difference between the systems we built and the silence of space. But I trust in your hands more than I trust in our machines.

Just remember: when you’re up there, weightless and floating far beyond us, you are not alone. My love is with you—in every bolt, every weld, every circuit you helped perfect.

Come back soon. I’ll be waiting with both feet on the ground, pretending they’re steady.

Yours,
Myung-ho