Twenty-Five Twenty-One turns 3: Kim Tae-ri, Nam Joo-hyuk’s bittersweet ending wasn't a twist, we just skipped clues

Every April, old wounds reopen for K-Drama fans as they relive the heartbreak of Twenty Five Twenty One. On social media, the conversation ranges from melancholic fan edits to furious threads and endless dissections of the show’s ‘sheer realism’. The last aspect is debated by many fans—it wasn’t realistic they say; the conclusion just ruined the comfort, feel-good vibes of the drama altogether. How can a news reporter and a fencing champion not find time to be together? Haven’t we watched enough K-Dramas where the lead couple literally tear apart space-time continuums to be together? 

Three years later, you’ll still find the odd comment, ‘Twenty Five Twenty One made me fear K-Dramas completely.’

Yet, now that it has been three years, let’s look back. The show begins with a child, Kim Min-chae,  looking through her mother, Na Hee-do’s diaries, and uncovering the story of her first love (our first clue was right there, but we didn’t want to see it, now did we). And so, we turn back time to a couple of decades, following the story  of an absolutely brilliant Kim Tae-ri as the feisty, rebellious young Na Hee-do, and Nam Joo-hyuk as the reserved Baek Yi-jin, trying to restart his life after the economic crisis of the 1990s. The two meet, form a close friendship over the years, each bringing softness, inspiration to the other’s life.

What gives merit to the ‘realism’ idea of the never-ending debate, is that the story portrayed different, colourful stages of their friendship, and finally, love. The closeness, the building confidentiality, the desire to be something more—and when you finally become something more, the uncertainty of how to actually be together in this new phase. 

And for 12 episodes, we witness a heartwarming tale of love and friendship in the midst of other wholesome storylines. By this time, the restlessness among fans was evident. The excitement was growing to a feverish pitch—who really is the father of Na Hee-do’s child? Reddit was overflowing with conversations. Conspiracy theories began to brew, and fans hunted for details and Easter eggs.  They held on to hope even in Episode 13, when, years later, Baek Yi-jin interviews Hee-do after one of her fencing victories and pointedly congratulates her on her marriage.

The belief that a K-Drama like this could never let us down and that Hee-do and Yi-jin were happily married was so strong, that some fans even believed that the couple were trying to downplay their marriage to the public.

Yet,  for most the show ends by episode 13 or 14—because, then the script is flipped. Baek Yi-jin is sent to the US to cover the 9/11 attacks, and is so overwhelmed by his depression that he is unable to let Hee-do, who is sitting a million miles away, to help him. The silences keep growing, combined with the exhaustion of trying to understand each other, without being stonewalled. They meet again, say hurtful words and part ways. They reconcile with a hug—but the reconciliation is only too tearful and exhausting—she quietly requests him to look for help and therapy. Many things are left unsaid. 

Till the last 20 minutes, K-Drama Twitter was still on a countdown—they had to be together. Sadly, they weren’t, they just acknowledged the comfort they had brought the other at one point in their lives. 

Could a K-Drama give scars? Well, this one did. How could they not be together? The truth is, as bitter as it is to admit it, the show had never lied. The writers had been straightforward. From the start of the story, the signs were clear that they would not end up together, because obviously the child did not recognise Baek Hi-Jin’s photo. We didn’t want to see it, because we didn’t want to believe that a slice-of-life story filled with love and romance, would just leave us in the lurch. It's us, who wish to believe, and chose to see only what we wanted.

The way Twenty Five-Twenty One had its viewers panicking till the last and just hoping, holding on to any sort of hope—just reinforces the idea of how Korean shows, for the most part, have established a reputation of soulful, happy endings and consuming love. The conclusion was bittersweet, and perhaps most of us tasted the bitter a little more than the sweet, which still leads to the debates today, some arguing that the ending was outlandish and ridiculous.

But the truth is, it  was a story about first love, among other things,—the healing power of first love—and even if it doesn’t reach the happy conclusion, it doesn’t mean that it was pointless and meaningless. Hee-do and Baek Hi-jin had found each other when they were at different stages of their lives, and sometimes, despite their best efforts, people can only make it so far. Yet, even the memories of the time might fade, the emotion doesn’t. 

In that sense, it was undoubtedly real, perhaps a little too much so, bringing the viewers to a reality that they didn’t want. Sigh, bring us the happy, unreal endings.

Isn’t that why we turn to K-Dramas—to escape reality, not be blindsided by it?