A voice speaks. Low. Calm. Right against my palm.
"Are you stalking him?"
It's deep. Rough around the edges. Amused. Like he just caught someone doing something embarrassing and is enjoying it way too much.
My soul fully exits my body. Like—goodbye. Gone. Ascended.
I yank my hand back like I just slapped a hot pan and spin around so fast I almost twist my ankle.
The light from the street slips into the corridor just enough to hit his face.
And I freeze.
Because it's him.
Elevator boy.
Hospital VIP section. Hood up. Judgy eyes. Unfair face. The audacity of this man to exist twice in my life.
He's standing there like this is premium entertainment. Like I'm a free show he didn't even have to pay for. One eyebrow slightly raised. Mouth tilted into that slow, annoying smirk that says oh, this is good.
"…This," I say, gesturing vaguely between us, my dignity bleeding out on the floor, "is not what it looks like."
His smirk widens. Just a fraction. Enough to piss me off.
"Oh," he says lazily, eyes flicking once toward the street where Jiho disappeared, then back to me. "It looks exactly like what it is."
I swallow. Hard.
Of all people.
Of all places.
Why him.
"You misunderstood," I say quickly, because if I don't talk, I might scream. "I'm not— I wasn't— it's not like—"
He tilts his head slightly, studying me. Like I'm a math problem he already solved but wants to watch struggle.
"Aren't you the doctor's daughter?" he asks casually.
I blink. Once. Twice.
"…What?"
"The one from that day," he continues. "VIP lobby. Hoodie. Loud sneakers."
Hey.
"I was not loud," I mutter automatically. Then I sigh. "Yes. That's me."
His eyes sharpen for half a second. Not surprised. Just… confirmed.
"Thought so."
Great. Fantastic. I'm memorable now. Love that for me.
"Okay," I say, backing up a step. "Cool. Nice seeing you again. Very weird circumstances. I'm gonna go."
I turn to leave—
—and immediately stop.
Because Jiho is still there.
Not walking away anymore.
Looking.
Directly at the corridor.
My stomach drops so fast I swear it hits my feet.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Why is he still standing there?
Did he see me? Did I make a noise? Did the universe just decide to ruin my life today specifically?
I step back instinctively, deeper into the shadow. My heel scuffs the ground and I wince like the sound is a gunshot.
Jiho shifts.
He starts walking toward the corridor.
No. No no no no no.
My brain short-circuits.
Why is he coming here?? Did he actually see me? Am I about to get caught hiding in a dark alley like a creep from a crime documentary??
I stumble backward, heart going insane, foot catching on something invisible because of course it does.
And then—
A hand wraps around my wrist.
Firm. Warm. Zero hesitation.
I gasp softly as I'm yanked sideways, deeper into the corridor. My back hits the wall, air punching out of my lungs.
"What the hell are you—" I start.
He slams his hand against the wall beside my head.
Then the other.
He's suddenly everywhere. Blocking the light. Blocking the exit. Pinning me without actually touching me except for my wrist.
I freeze.
My brain bluescreens.
"Are you insane?" I hiss. "What is wrong with you?"
"Saving you," he murmurs.
His voice is low now. Controlled. Different.
Before I can process that, he leans in.
Close.
Too close.
His head tilts slightly, angle wrong, breath brushing my cheek like—like he's about to—
My heart stops.
"What are you doing?" I whisper, panic and disbelief fighting for control.
"Shh."
One finger lifts—not touching my lips, just hovering near them. A warning. A command.
He stays there.
Not kissing me.
Not moving.
Just close enough that my brain is screaming and my heart is doing parkour in my chest.
I can feel his presence like heat. Like gravity.
Jiho steps into the corridor entrance.
My entire body goes rigid.
I turn my face away instantly, pressing my cheek toward the wall, eyes fixed on nothing. I don't dare breathe properly. I don't dare blink.
Please don't look closer.
Please don't recognize me.
Please don't ruin me today.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Elevator Boy glance over my shoulder, completely calm.
Jiho's voice cuts through the air. Hesitant.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I thought I saw someone I know."
My chest tightens.
Elevator Boy doesn't move. Doesn't step back. Doesn't uncover me.
He just looks straight at Jiho, unimpressed.
"What," he says flatly, "do you want?"
There's a pause.
Jiho shifts awkwardly. "Nothing. Sorry."
"Then leave."
No hesitation. No politeness. Just—get out.
Jiho hesitates for half a second. Then backs away.
Footsteps retreat.
The street noise swells again.
Gone.
Silence crashes down.
I sag against the wall, legs weak, heart still going insane.
"What the actual hell," I whisper. "You didn't have to—"
He finally pulls back.
Just enough.
Not far.
His eyes lock onto mine.
Dark. Sharp. Way too aware.
"You're welcome," he says calmly.
I stare at him, breathing hard, emotions tangled and stupid and loud.
I don't say anything.
Words feel dangerous right now. Like if I open my mouth, something humiliating or unhinged will fall out and I'll never emotionally recover.
So I bow.
Small. Quick. Automatic. Polite like muscle memory from another life.
"Thank you," I mumble, eyes already on the ground because looking at him feels like a mistake waiting to happen.
I take a step back, ready to disappear into the street like this never happened.
Then—
"Is that boy your boyfriend?"
I stop.
My body freezes before my brain catches up. My gaze stays on the floor, tiles blurry, shadows weirdly sharp.
"No," I say. Quiet. Honest. Embarrassing.
There's a beat.
"Then why were you following him?"
The question lands soft but heavy. Like someone gently pressing on a bruise.
I don't answer.
Because what do you even say? Because I'm stupid? Because I like him? Because I keep hoping like an idiot?
"I—" I stop myself. Shake my head. "Thank you. For everything. I hope we don't see each other again."
That comes out harsher than I mean. Or maybe exactly how I mean.
I bow again. Deeper this time. Then I turn and step out of the corridor.
The street light hits my face immediately. Bright. Loud. Too real. Like the universe just slapped me awake and said congrats, you played yourself.
I start walking.
My head is full. Too full. Questions stacking on questions.
Who was that girl?
Why was she with him?
Why did he say he when he meant… her?
The only thing my brain keeps replaying is her hair.
That stupid pink bow.
I didn't even see her face.
Just that.
And it hurts anyway.
I tell myself I don't want to know. I don't need to know.
But that's a lie.
I always want to be the one walking beside him.
And the universe keeps laughing like it's in on a joke I'll never get.
Why can't I be his girlfriend?
The thought hits me out of nowhere, sharp and stupid and unfair, like my brain just threw a chair across the room and expected me to deal with it.
Why.
I'm not evil. I'm not boring. I'm not secretly a serial killer. I recycle. I remember birthdays. I laugh at his dumb jokes even when they're not funny. I liked him before he was cool, before people started whispering his name like it came with benefits.
So why not me?
I walk faster, like I can outrun the question. My chest tightens again, not in a dramatic way. Just uncomfortable. Like a bra that doesn't fit but you're already outside and too tired to go home and change.
Maybe I'm the problem.
That thought immediately pisses me off.
No. Actually, screw that. I'm not the problem. I'm just… apparently not the answer either. Which is somehow worse.
I press my lips together and curse under my breath, kicking a pebble so hard it skids across the pavement and nearly hits a stroller. The mom glares at me. I glare back, because today I'm choosing violence.
And then—
Fuck.
Bora.
The realization slams into me so hard I actually stop walking.
That's why I'm here.
Not fate. Not destiny. Not a tragic coincidental run-in with my lifelong crush and his mystery girl with the dumb pink bow.
I was supposed to meet Bora.
I squeeze my eyes shut. "Fuck," I whisper, dragging my hands down my face.
I spin around and break into a jog, weaving through people like an idiot, muttering apologies I don't mean. My bag slaps against my hip. My bun is definitely falling apart. I don't care.
The café comes into view, all warm lights and glass windows and people sitting comfortably with their drinks and conversations and zero emotional damage.
I push the door open, bell chiming cheerfully like it doesn't know my life is in shambles.
I scan the place.
Corner table? Empty.
Window seat? Two strangers on a date that's already awkward.
Counter? Just the barista, who looks way too awake for a Saturday.
No Bora.
I stand there for a second, breathing too fast, heart thumping like it's mad at me personally. Then I walk to the table we always sit at, the one with the slightly wobbly leg and the cracked fake-leather couch.
I sit.
Hard.
The chair squeaks like it's judging me.
I lean back and stare at the ceiling. "Unbelievable," I mutter. "I literally lose in my own life."
I came all this way. I dragged my depressed body out of bed. I survived public transportation. I emotionally got jumped by my crush existing with another girl.
And for what?
Nothing.
I drop my head into my hands and laugh, short and breathless. It sounds a little unhinged, but whatever. The barista looks over. I give him a thumbs-up without looking.
"I forgot why I came," I whisper. "That's a new low. Even for me."
I pull out my phone and call Bora.
Straight to voicemail.
I frown and try again.
Nothing.
I check the screen more carefully this time.
No signal.
I stare at it like it betrayed me. "You have got to be kidding me."
I flop back against the couch and groan, loud enough that the couple nearby pauses their conversation.
"Sorry," I say automatically, even though I'm not.
What the hell was she going to tell me?
Something serious, obviously. Bora doesn't do mystery café meetings for fun. She does them when there's tea. Or drama. Or something she thinks will emotionally wreck me but in a character development way.
Did Jiho say something?
Did someone see something?
Did she finally snap and decide to tell me I'm in love with the wrong guy and stage an intervention with Haerin holding pamphlets?
I groan again and knock my head lightly against the wall behind me.
"Think," I tell myself. "Use the brain you supposedly have."
But my thoughts keep sliding back. To his back. To that girl walking beside him like she belonged there. Like it was natural. Easy. Like she didn't have to fight the universe for a single inch of his attention.
My chest tightens again.
I sit up straighter, suddenly restless. I grab the menu even though I'm not hungry and flip it open, not reading a single word.
Why does it still hurt this much?
I thought I was getting better. I thought I was moving on. I thought yesterday was closure.
Apparently my brain missed the memo.
My phone buzzes suddenly in my hand and I jump like it shocked me.
No signal notification.
I drop it on the table and laugh again, this time a little more hysterical. "Amazing. Fantastic. Love this for me."
I lean forward, elbows on the table, staring at the scratches carved into the wood. Initials. Hearts. Someone carved forever and crossed it out.
Figures.
"What were you going to say to me, Bora?" I murmur. "You better not die or something. I swear."
The barista calls out an order. Someone laughs near the door. Life keeps going at a perfectly normal pace while I sit here, stuck between yesterday and whatever the hell comes next.
I pick up my phone one more time and stare at Bora's contact.
Still nothing.
I sink back into the seat, exhausted in a way sleep doesn't fix.
"Unbelievable," I whisper. "I show up. I spiral. I forget my purpose. I get ghosted by my best friend."
I exhale slowly, staring out the window at the street beyond the glass.
"What the fuck were you about to tell me?"