Minji sat in the corner of his hotel suite, the lights from the arena still flickering in the distance through the massive window. The room, though lavish, felt suffocating for him like a golden cage he couldn't escape.
His phone was in his hand again, screen lit up with her name. He called. It rang. No answer.
He tried again. Straight to voicemail.
Minji dropped his head into his hand, fingers digging into his hair. He felt the silence more than he heard it. Suffocating, and unfamiliar. Hana always picked up. Even when she was tired or busy, she always found a way to talk to him. But now, nothing.
He stood and paced.
Outside, the streets were clogged with fans, reporters, flashing lights, and live streamers hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Since his announcement, the media had gone rabid. Paparazzi were posted outside every exit. Even his manager had warned him not to step out unless absolutely necessary.
"You stirred the entire country, Minji," his manager had muttered just an hour ago. "The company's doing its best to spin this, but the fans... they're split. And the press all they smell is bloody news. You can't make a move right now."
But Minji didn't care about the press.
He cared about only Hana.
He stared at the wall, at the untouched dinner tray, at the clock that seemed to mock him with how slowly it moved. Every minute that passed without hearing her voice tightened something in his chest.
She was mad. And she had every right to be.
He knew it the moment the call ended. His heart sank then, not because the world knew about them now, but because she didn't feel safe anymore. He had made her feel more unsafe.
He whispered her name like a prayer, pressing his thumb over her contact photo. "Please, just pick up..."
But again, only silence.
He tossed the phone onto the bed and sank into the chair near the window. His mind played through everything—the way her voice cracked, the words she said, the way she didn't yell but still managed to make him feel every ounce of her pain.
They needed to talk. He had to see her.
But how?
Security wouldn't let him out. The press would tail him. The internet was already on fire. If anyone followed him to Hana... they'd know. And that would ruin her, the peace she clung to, the quiet she lived in.
He was trapped in the world he thought he could control and now, he risked losing the only person who made that world bearable.
Minji looked back at his phone, willing it to ring. But it remained still.
Cold and silent.
Just like the space growing between them.
Hana's POV
Saturday morning dawned softly, with sunlight trickling through the curtains, painting faint golden stripes across the floor. Hana sat upright in bed, her head throbbing slightly from two days of unrestand also two days of avoiding the world, of ignoring calls, and here is the silence there enough to suffocate
She reached for her phone where it lay facedown on her desk, its screen already bright with unread messages.
37 missed calls.
Minji. Minji. Minji. Minji.
And dozens of messages.
She unlocked it slowly, hands cold. The first one read:
"I'm sorry, Hana. Just please say something. Anything."
Then another—
"I didn't mean to decide for you. I just… couldn't hide anymore."
Her eyes scanned message after message. Some long, some short. Some desperate. Some quiet. But all filled with one thing, how Minji's heart was desperately reaching out to her.
Hana set the phone down with a shaky breath, hands pressed over her chest. She loved him. She loved him more than she ever thought but the weight of his world was beginning to crush hers. And she didn't know if she was strong enough to live in both.
Just then, her gaze drifted to the corner of her desk, where her calendar sat open. A red circle surrounded today's date.
Saturday, March 1st – Ziran arrives.
Her eyes widened. Ziran! Her best friend.
She grabbed her phone again. 8:54 AM.
Ziran's flight was landing at 9:30.
Hana leapt to her feet, tossed her blanket aside, rushed to the bathroom, and brushed her hair into a half-tidy ponytail. She grabbed the nearest clean clothes, snatched a piece of fruit from the counter, and was out the door in a blur.
---
The airport was buzzing, crowded with reunions and rolling luggage. Hana checked the arrival screen: Flight 307 – LANDED.
9:36 AM.
Six minutes late.
She jogged toward the terminal gate, eyes scanning the crowd.
Then she saw her Ziran. Dragging a stubborn suitcase, her long coat flaring behind her, face beaming with exhaustion and excitement.
"Ziran!" Hana called out.
Ziran turned, lit up, and yelled back, "Oh my God! HANA!"
They ran into each other's arms like a movie scene, Ziran's laugh bouncing around the terminal as Hana took one of the bags.
"You're late!" Ziran teased. "But I forgive you because I'm too happy to see you!"
They walked out together, both talking at once until Ziran stole the conversation completely, describing dumplings, lanterns, snowfalls, and her uncle's outrageous karaoke performances. Hana smiled, laughed, even giggled at times but she was quieter than usual, and Ziran noticed.
"Wait..." Ziran suddenly stopped mid-sentence and looked at her closely. "You're off. What's wrong?"
Hana tried to dodge her gaze. "Nothing. Just… tired."
Ziran gave her a knowing look. "Hana. Don't even try that with me."
Hana sighed and tugged her coat tighter. "Let's get to the apartment first. I'll tell you everything when we get home."
Ziran didn't push. She just nodded and slipped her arm through Hana's as they walked toward the cab line.
But in her heart, Hana knew the moment she opened her mouth later, her carefully guarded secret, the one that now belonged to the entire nation would finally be shared out loud with the one person who knew her best.
And nothing would be the same again.