In hye POV
People often say we should live freely-after all, we only get one lifetime.
But to me, it's never felt that romantic.
It's simpler, colder even: we live to die. Or worse-we live to work.
Since the day adulthood wrapped its fingers around my throat, not a single day has passed without my family tossing the same question at me like a never-ending echo.
Flashback.
My aunt, close enough for me to count her pores, leaned in so far I could feel her breath against my cheek. Her eyes sparkled with gossip-fueled excitement as she asked the dreaded question with a cookie halfway to her mouth.
"So? Did you find the man of your dreams yet?" she chirped, munching loudly, completely unaware-or unconcerned-with how much I wanted to vanish in that moment.
Back to now.
I stare into the swirl of my coffee, the steam fogging the question that suddenly rises in my chest like a whisper from the parts of me I keep quiet.
Is growing up only about becoming someone's wife?
The thought crashes through my head before I even notice my hand has tipped the cup, warm liquid spilling across the table like the overflow of my own frustration.
Before I can react, a napkin flies at me, tossed by my ever-watchful manager. I flinch back to reality, cheeks warm-not from the coffee, but from the weight of a life I never chose.
"Focus on your work instead of drifting off into your little daydreams!"
His voice thundered across the nearly empty café like a slap against silence.
"I swear, one more mistake and you're out! How careless can you be? Now clean this mess before a customer walks in! Keep your head where it belongs-not floating around in your fantasy world."
With that final lash of irritation, my manager stormed off to the back room, the door clicking shut behind him like a judgment passed.
I exhaled slowly, rubbing the side of my head where the napkin had landed-more like a warning shot than an accident.
It didn't hurt, not really. But the sting wasn't physical anyway.
Bending down, I picked the crumpled napkin off the floor. A sigh escaped my lips-quiet, weary-as I knelt to gently wipe the spilled coffee from the table. My hands moved automatically, trained by repetition, while my thoughts curled like steam above a forgotten cup.
Dreamland wasn't so far away... but reality had its own cruel gravity.
A soft laugh echoed from the corner, slicing through the silence like the chime of mischief.
I snapped my head toward the sound, already knowing who it belonged to.
"Well, isn't it just lovely," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement.
"Not a single customer, yet I get a front-row seat to the daily drama-watching you get scolded has become my favorite form of entertainment."
Oh, Park Jimin.
If he didn't have that annoyingly perfect face, I swear I'd throw more than just words at him.
But no-he stood there like some sort of café prince, leaning casually against the wall, sipping his coffee like it was champagne.
That crisp white shirt tucked into black dress pants, the bow tie sitting perfectly at his throat-it all should've looked ridiculous, yet somehow, it only added to his charm.
His smile pulled to one side, revealing that slightly crooked tooth that he never fixed and somehow made him even more infuriatingly attractive.
His hair-freshly dyed a soft shade of blond-fell in loose, messy strands across his forehead, styled by accident but looking like a deliberate rebellion against perfection.
I rolled my eyes and flung the napkin at him, more annoyed at his smirk than anything else.
He dodged it with ease, laughing again-like he was the star of a show only he knew he was starring in.
Of course he laughed.
Because that's what Jimin did-stood on the sidelines, elegant and amused, while I scrambled through the chaos of my life.
"You should be more worried about getting customers than finding amusement in my misery," I muttered, glaring at him as I bent down to retrieve the napkin again.
"In the last four days, we've served-what? Ten people? This place is starting to feel like a ghost town."
I tossed the crumpled napkin into the dustbin with a tired flick of my wrist, moving to the sink to wash my hands. The cool water grounded me, even as the air behind me thickened with Jimin's lingering presence. I dried my hands slowly, half-expecting another comment to roll off his smug tongue.
And of course, it did.
"You know... I kind of like it like this," he said softly, voice laced with that familiar drawl. "No customers. No noise. Just... being here. Alone. Feels good, doesn't it?"
I turned my head just enough to catch his gaze, and sure enough-there it was. That glint in his eyes, that knowing smirk. He never said things outright, always hiding meaning between the lines, letting his words dance in the air like cigarette smoke.
And I-like always-pretended not to inhale any of it.
"Don't tell me you bought that coffee just to escape the reality of an empty café," I said, deflecting, reaching for a glass to pour myself some water.
"Actually," he replied, lifting the cup to his lips with a small, satisfied grin, "I made an absolutely divine cup of coffee. Then I realized no one was around to appreciate it. So I bought it myself. Treated myself like a customer. And you know what? It feels... great."
Of course it did.
That was Jimin-finding joy in the quiet, flirting with the stillness, sipping self-indulgence like it was art.
And me? I was just trying not to drown in it.
I took a sip of water, the coldness grounding me, then sank into my usual seat with a sigh.
Just like always, the café sat in its habitual silence-empty tables, quiet corners, a stillness so familiar it felt carved into the walls.
No customers. Not even a stray soul with a craving for caffeine.
Someone had wandered in earlier-stood there for what felt like ages, squinting at the menu as if deciphering ancient scripture-only to leave without a word.
No order. No purchase. Just silence and the sound of the door swinging shut.
I nearly cursed aloud.
If you're not going to buy anything, why come in at all? Why hover, waste time, waste hope, then vanish?
This place didn't need ghosts.
The other workers had clocked out early today-some emergency, some excuse. Either way, it was just me and Jimin now.
Not that "working" really defined anything we were doing. The café was dead, and so were our responsibilities. We were simply... existing here, between sips of boredom and glances we pretended not to notice.
I avoided looking at him, like always.
But it didn't help-because he was making me avoid him.
That silent, invisible pull of his presence. That feeling like he was watching me, even when I didn't turn to check.
And maybe that's what made it worse.
It wasn't just silence filling the café-it was him. And that was harder to ignore.
After hours of drowning in silence and stale air, the end of my shift felt like a breath of resurrection.
Stepping out onto the street was like coming up for air-there was life out here.
Laughter spilled from sidewalk corners, strangers passed by in a blur of color and warmth, and even if I didn't know a single face in the crowd, it still felt better than the hollow hum of that lifeless café.
I barely had time to enjoy the feeling before a voice brushed against the back of my neck, soft and teasing.
"So... how's your boyfriend?"
I flinched, visibly startled. I hadn't even realized he was behind me.
"What the fuck, Jimin..." I muttered under my breath, turning to glare at him.
"You know damn well we broke up," I snapped, irritation bubbling in my chest-not just at the reminder, but at how casually he tossed it around like confetti.
"Yeah," he replied, unbothered, a grin tugging at the edge of his lips. "It just sounds nice... hearing it again and again."
I stared at him, somewhere between wanting to slap the smirk off his face and marveling at how pretty he looked in the streetlight.
Unfortunately, he was far too beautiful for violence.
I rolled my eyes. "Your house is that way, genius." I pointed down the opposite street.
He didn't even glance.
"You're not Google Maps. Stop pretending you know everything-my house is in the other direction."
I sighed deeply, already knowing what would happen next.
I turned and walked forward, not saying a word.
And like clockwork, I heard the soft sound of his footsteps behind me-falling into rhythm with mine.
Of course he followed.
Because that's what Jimin did.
He never asked to stay close...
He just made sure he always was.
"Stop following me," I said sharply, spinning around to face him. My voice tried to sound stern, but it trembled slightly-more from the way he looked at me than anything else.
He didn't flinch. Didn't hesitate.
With that same infuriating calm, he tilted his head and said,
"You know, you're way too damn beautiful to be walking alone at night like this."
I exhaled, long and tired, already exhausted by his charm and the way he wielded it like a casual weapon.
Without a word, I pulled the mask up over my face, shielding everything but my eyes.
"There. Now I'm hidden. Thank you.
Go your way, Jimin."
I turned on my heel, hoping that would be the end of it.
Behind me, I heard the soft chuckle he always let out when he knew he'd gotten under my skin.
"Alright," he called, the smile still in his voice. "Goodnight. See you tomorrow."
I didn't turn around-but I saw him in the reflection of a shop window, fading into the crowd like a dream dispersing into the night.
Honestly, they should rename him Park Glue instead of Park Jimin.
He stuck to me without reason-clung in the quiet moments, lingered like warmth long after he was gone.
I continued my walk home, each step heavier than the last.
My body ached with fatigue that didn't make sense.
I hadn't done anything today-nothing worth calling "work." And yet... I was tired.
Maybe it wasn't my legs or my arms that felt heavy.
Maybe it was just the weight of thoughts I never said out loud.
The streets around my house were silent, almost eerily so.
No cars passing, no footsteps trailing behind-just the occasional flicker of a dying streetlight and a distant bark from some restless dog in the neighborhood.
I fished my keys out of my bag, the metal clinking softly in the stillness. The door creaked open, and I stepped inside-only to be greeted by the sight of my older sister tangled up with her boyfriend on the living room couch, limbs draped like they owned the place.
I blinked once. Twice.
Was I hallucinating?
Nope. Unfortunately, that was very real.
My eyes drifted to the clock.
Midnight.
Perfect. Just perfect.
A part of me-small, wicked, and justified-wanted to run upstairs and bang on our parents' door. Let them deal with their golden child's midnight love affair for once. Let them wake up and see their perfect daughter playing house with her boyfriend like we live in some teenage K-drama.
But instead, I said nothing. Just tightened my grip on my bag and tried to pass through the scene unnoticed, like an unwilling extra in someone else's story.
Almost made it.
"In Hye."
Her voice rang out behind me, too sweet to be casual, too sharp to ignore. I froze mid-step and slowly turned back, my expression deadpan and dripping with disgust.
"Go and park my bike," she ordered, like I was her personal assistant instead of her younger sister.
Before I could even protest, a pair of keys clattered at my feet-dismissively tossed, as she turned right back to her overly touchy, overly present boyfriend like I was already gone.
I stood there for a second, staring at the keys. Then sighed-deep and tired, the kind of sigh that didn't even try to hide the exhaustion anymore.
I bent down, picked them up, and walked back out into the cold night.
Of course the bike wasn't parked properly. Crooked, halfway across the sidewalk like a drunk animal had parked it. Typical.
I straightened it, turned the handle lock, and slipped the helmet off my head. The night air brushed against my face like a slap-not harsh, just... enough to make me feel awake again.
I walked back inside.
They were still on the couch, tangled in the same mess of hands and soft whispers, acting like the house was theirs and I was the guest.
I didn't say a word. I didn't look at them.
I climbed the stairs, shut my bedroom door, and let the silence swallow me whole.
Under my breath, I cursed. Once. Twice. Quietly. It didn't help, but it was all I had.
Even my sister's third-rate boyfriend-who looked like he hadn't read a book in his life-was loyal to her.
Meanwhile, mine...
The one I gave everything to.
Every piece of myself.
Every soft word, every late-night thought, every vulnerable corner I had-
He walked away. Just like that.
No fight. No goodbye. Not even the decency of closure.
He cheated on me like it was routine. Like I was nothing. Like I wasn't even worth a lie.
Pathetic.
Not just him.
But me, too.
"In Hye... you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. And I promise, I'll never leave you."
His words echoed like a hammer against my skull-each syllable crashing down, harder than the last.
They didn't feel soft anymore.
They felt cruel. Mocking.
A lie dipped in honey.
The ache in my chest twisted into something sharper-anger, restless and hot. I couldn't sit still. Couldn't breathe in that room filled with the ghost of his voice.
Without thinking, I shot up from my bed, fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms.
Each step down the hallway felt like marching toward something-toward the only kind of justice I could claim tonight.
I reached my parents' door.
My sister's laughter echoed faintly from the living room-the same laughter she shared with that walking mistake she called a boyfriend.
And then I saw it.
The porcelain vase on the shelf.
I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed it-and with all the force I could muster, I slammed it to the ground.
It shattered like glass thunder-exploding into a hundred pieces of rage and silence I had swallowed for weeks.
Gasps. Movement. Doors opening.
My parents' startled voices rose in alarm. I could already hear them rushing out, confused and disoriented.
I turned without a word and walked back to my room, the door clicking shut behind me like a final sentence.
If I'm not allowed to rest, then she shouldn't be allowed to either.
From behind the walls, I could hear the unfolding chaos.
My mother's gasp of horror.
The rustling as she took in the scene-her perfect daughter, curled up in the arms of her boyfriend like this was a college dorm and not her parents' home.
Then came my father's voice-louder than I'd heard it in months.
"Instead of sleeping, what are you doing? Are you out of your mind?"
A small, dark smile played at the corner of my lips as I sat on my bed, finally able to breathe.
The tension I carried like a second skin loosened.
My muscles relaxed. My mind settled.
She was getting scolded.
And for once, it wasn't me.
Justice, in the smallest, pettiest, most satisfying form.
"You really dared to bring this man into the house?"
My father's voice thundered through the walls, full of disbelief and authority-words crashing like waves down the hallway.
I closed my eyes.
A slow, quiet satisfaction unfurled in my chest, like the release of tension after holding your breath too long.
For once, the scolding wasn't directed at me.
For once, it wasn't my choices under fire.
Just the echo of raised voices, shuffling footsteps, and the weight of consequences falling on someone else.
I let the sound of their argument lull me-not in cruelty, but in relief.
The world outside my room had finally tilted, just a little, and I was no longer the one losing balance.
With that thought, I sank beneath the sheets.
Eyes closed. Breath steady.
Sleep came soft and slow, like dusk settling over a city that had finally quieted.
A hazy cloud wrapped around me like silk, pulling me gently into sleep's quiet embrace.
The weight of reality fell away, and I was somewhere else.
A forest.
Not the kind that feels wild or haunting-but one dreamlike and vibrant, as if painted in watercolors.
Fog hung low, curling around tall trees like whispers.
A river cut through the stillness ahead, its surface smooth and glowing with a soft, silver light.
I stood at the edge, drawn to something-or someone.
There, beside the river, sat a man.
The moment I turned to him, I had to raise my hand to shield my eyes.
His presence shimmered like sunlight through mist-almost too bright, too beautiful to look at directly.
"Honey..."
His voice was warm, smooth, familiar.
"I've been trying to reach you for so long."
He rose to his feet.
Tall.
Ethereal.
Hypnotic.
His large eyes locked onto mine-gentle, searching.
His sharp brows framed a face sculpted like something not entirely human. His lips, full and soft, curved slightly, like he already knew my heart before I could speak.
A deep blue tuxedo hugged his broad frame, catching the light like the surface of the river.
His hair-flawless. Styled, yet just tousled enough to seem natural.
And that gaze...
God, that gaze.
It made the forest quiet.
It made the air still.
It made me feel like the only soul in the world.
The forest held its breath.
He stood before me-otherworldly, glowing, eyes soaked in warmth like he was sculpted from starlight.
And then-
Smack.
My head jerked to the side, a sharp sting blooming across my cheek.
What.
The.
Hell?
I stared at him, stunned.
My hand flew to my cheek, the softness of my dream shattered by the sound of reality cracking at the edges.
"Why can't you just come and find me yourself?!" he yelled, voice still too beautiful for the chaos it carried.
The fog thickened around us like a gasp from the sky itself.
"What?!" I shouted back, still cradling my cheek. "Why are you slapping me if you can't find me?!"
"If you don't come and find me! I swear I will show this face of yours into this river until you can't breathe!" the handsome man says.
Ah, romance.
There I stood - in a fog-drenched dreamscape, blinking at a man who looked like the tragic love interest in every historical drama, now threatening me with what I could only describe as... poetic drowning?
My cheek still burned from the earlier slap, and now this Adonis in a tuxedo was yelling threats like we were in some sort of mythical lovers' quarrel scripted by a chaotic Greek god with too much time on his hands.
Before I could respond with anything remotely intelligent (or legal), he did something even more absurd.
He sat on a cloud.
Yes. A real, fluffy, cotton-candy-looking cloud that floated up under him like it had been summoned by his audacity. He crossed his arms, chin high, and just... lifted off.
Like Mary Poppins, but with unresolved emotional issues.
I stood there, stunned, watching his beautiful, delusional self disappear into the sky - a literal angel of overreaction.
Guys you all know I'm lazy i forgot to update the chapter 1 of the book, sorry!!
*just talking*
Jungkook: How can I make a date more romantic?
Seokjin: Be mysterious
[Later on Jungkook on the date]
Y/n: Where are we going?
Jungkook: None of your fucking business