Archive of Our Own ^beta

It started with flowers.

Not the kind people ordered out of obligation — boxed roses or predictably sweet tulips — but the kind that carried weight and meaning. Blush peonies, pale ranunculus, cream anemones with dark centers, and sprigs of lavender tucked between the greens like secrets.

Mina stood in the center of it all, brushing her fingertips across a cluster of dusty eucalyptus, eyes half-lidded in concentration. The rooftop was quiet, caught between golden hour and evening. String lights blinked like softened stars.

She adjusted one final stem, leaned back, and exhaled.

“You must be the florist.”

Mina turned to the voice.

Zion stood at the rooftop entrance, shoulders squared in a navy jacket, trying to appear composed but too clearly buzzing with nervous energy.

“I’m Zion,” he said, stepping closer and offering a hand. “I’m the guy stupid enough to plan a rooftop proposal with no idea how to make flowers behave.”

Mina took his hand. “Mina. And you’re not stupid. Just… optimistic.”

Zion let out a light laugh, almost relieved. “Well, your optimism looks incredible. This is—God—it’s more than I imagined. She’s going to love it.”

“I hope so,” Mina said, tucking her hands into her apron. “You really care about her.”

He smiled, soft around the edges. “Yeah. She’s… she’s it for me.”

There was a pause. Something wistful passed over Mina’s face before she tucked it away.

“I’ll get out of your way,” she said. “It’s your moment.”

She reached for her basket, already walking toward the stairs when Zion called after her. “Wait—Mina, you don’t have to rush off. Stay a minute, yeah? You should see how it plays out. You helped create it.”

She hesitated. “Just for a bit.”

Then—footsteps.

Rapid, echoing from the stairwell.

Zion turned instinctively, his face lighting up.

Mina looked up too—and saw her.

She came into view with the sun behind her, the light outlining her in gold. Wind had swept her hair across her cheek. She was flushed from climbing the stairs, breath catching from more than just the run.

She hadn’t spoken a word yet, but Mina felt the air tilt.

That’s her, she realized. That’s her.

The girl he was waiting for. The girl he loved.

Chaeyoung.

Mina knew the name now, the voice Zion had spoken of with such reverence. And yet…

And yet something uninvited sparked in her chest — an ache that unfolded the longer she looked.

It wasn’t love. Not yet. But it wasn’t nothing either.

She swallowed it down fast. Scolded herself silently. Stop it, Mina. She’s someone else’s story.

But before she could look away, Chaeyoung saw her.

Their eyes met across the rooftop. The noise faded. Time slowed.

Mina’s breath hitched — just a fraction — and Chaeyoung's steps faltered.

Zion didn’t notice.

He was already gently taking Chaeyoung’s hand, leading her into the sea of florals Mina had shaped just for this.

“I know this might feel like a lot,” he said, grinning nervously, “but I wanted to make sure today felt as special as you are.”

And right there, in the middle of soft petals and golden light, he knelt.

Mina’s heart thudded, sharp and hollow.

Chaeyoung stood frozen for a moment, her eyes flicking once—just once—back to where Mina still stood.

Then Zion opened the ring box.

Later, after Chaeyoung had whispered yes and laughter echoed into the evening sky, Zion looped an arm around her shoulders and turned toward Mina.

“Chaeyoung, I want you to meet someone,” he said proudly. “This is Mina. She’s the one who made all of this magic happen.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mina lingered near the far edge, where the breeze was strongest. She hadn’t planned to stay.

She was just packing her basket when Zion found her.

“There you are,” he said, breathless from weaving through the crowd. “Come on, don’t disappear yet.”

Mina looked up, brows lifting. “I thought my part was done.”

“Your part?” Zion scoffed, dramatic. “You practically made the night. My mom thinks I planned the flowers, and I’m not about to correct her.”

Mina gave a rare smile. “You should take the credit. It is your engagement.”

“Well, I’ll split it with you,” he said. Then, dropping the charm for something more sincere, he added, “Seriously, Mina. Stay. Eat. Just… be here. It’d mean a lot.”

She hesitated, glancing at the clusters of family and friends already seated. But the warmth in his voice pulled at her. “Alright. Just for a bit.”

“Perfect,” Zion grinned. “Chaeyoung will be happy to see you again, too.”

At the sound of her name, Mina stilled. She hadn’t had a real chance to speak to her earlier. Just a few glances and the electric, uninvited feeling that had bloomed in her chest when she watched her arrive. It hadn’t faded yet.

Zion led her to the table closest to the center, pulling out a chair.

“Mina! Hey!” Chaeyoung called from across the table before Zion could say anything else. Her face lit up as she waved her over. “I was hoping you’d stay.”

“You were?” Mina blinked.

Chaeyoung nodded, brushing back a loose strand of hair. “The flowers were beautiful. You’re incredible. I wanted to thank you properly.”

“I’m glad you liked them,” Mina replied softly, settling into her seat.

Zion raised his glass. “Everyone! Everyone, if I can get your attention—” He tapped a fork to his wine glass. “We just wanted to say thank you all for being here tonight. And officially... Chaeyoung and I are engaged!”

The table burst into cheers. Zion grinned and leaned into Chaeyoung, who blushed as their families clapped and her friends squealed in delight.

“Okay, okay, no speeches yet!” Chaeyoung laughed, covering her face as her mom started tearing up across the table. “Let’s just eat before Zion starts quoting Shakespeare.”

“Rude,” Zion said, mock-offended. “I had three sonnets prepared.”

Laughter rippled again. Plates clinked, stories flowed, and somehow Mina found herself swept up in it all.

“Where are you from, Mina?” Chaeyoung’s friend Nayeon asked, sNayeoning salad onto her plate.

“Busan,” Mina answered, a little surprised at the attention.

“You’re too elegant to be from Busan,” Nayeon teased.

“She is elegant,” Zion agreed. “Mina’s got a whole studio just filled with plants and poetry, I swear.”

“Is that where you met?” Chaeyoung asked, resting her chin in her hand, eyes on Mina now. “The studio?”

“Kind of,” Mina said. “He walked in with a picture of a bouquet and said, ‘Can you make this but better?’”

Zion shrugged. “Guilty.”

Chaeyoung laughed, and something in Mina’s chest folded again.

As the night stretched on, stories flowed freely. Chaeyoung’s dad told embarrassing childhood tales. Zion’s mom tried to convince Chaeyoung to let her plan the entire wedding. Zion attempted to stop her—failed—and poured more wine instead.

At one point, Chaeyoung leaned toward Mina. “Thanks again. Really. I know this isn’t your usual scene.”

Mina looked at her, soft. “It’s not bad.”

Chaeyoung smiled, lips curved in that slow way Mina was starting to memorize.

Mina looked down at her plate. “Congratulations again. You two seem… happy.”

Chaeyoung tilted her head. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“I am,” Mina said quickly. “It’s just... rare, I guess. To see something come together like this.”

Chaeyoung studied her a second longer, like she was trying to read something beneath the surface, but then someone called her name and she was pulled back into the fold of her family.

Mina sat there quietly, watching, surrounded by laughter that didn’t quite reach the strange quiet inside her.

She didn’t know what it meant.

Mina slipped out just before the sky turned midnight-blue.
The streets were hushed, the kind of quiet that only came when the city exhaled after a long day. The leftover summer air clung to her skin, heavy with the scent of jasmine and pavement dust. Her heels clicked softly against the sidewalk, but her mind was louder—rushing, humming, a storm just barely kept in check.

Her chest felt both full and weightless, like she had been holding her breath for hours and only now remembered how to breathe.

She hadn’t even meant to stay for dinner.

It was supposed to be a quick job. Set up the arrangements, double-check the taper candles, and disappear with a polite thank-you and maybe a distant smile. She didn’t do parties. She didn’t do small talk. She especially didn’t do dinner tables filled with strangers.

But then Zion insisted. “Just stay for a bit,” he had said, pressing a glass of white wine into her hand. “You made this place look like magic. You deserve to enjoy it.”

And then Chaeyoung smiled at her across the room. That smile—slight, unsure, warm in a way Mina hadn’t expected—unraveled her.

And suddenly, she was seated at the long dining table, sandwiched between Zion’s aunt who wouldn’t stop asking questions about flower symbolism and Chaeyoung’s little cousin who made her laugh by declaring that she only wanted to eat dessert first. Grilled sea bass, roasted squash, sparkling cider in mismatched crystal glasses—it was loud, chaotic, imperfect.

And yet, it was the most present Mina had felt in weeks.

Too warm. Too soft. Too perfect.

Too much.

Now, standing in her apartment entryway, she didn’t know whether to smile or cry. Her shoes were still on, her coat still wrapped around her. The dim overhead light caught the dried eucalyptus leaves she’d left scattered across her table—half a bouquet, half a mess.

She walked over and sat down, tracing a finger through the lavender sprigs, letting the silence catch up to her.

This was safer. Quiet. Predictable.

So why did her heart feel like it had been left somewhere else?

3 Weeks Later

Mina blinked awake to the sound of her cat purring against her hip and sunlight painting the floor gold. She shuffled into the kitchen, fed the cat, and stood by the window, cradling her coffee in both hands.

Her phone buzzed once. Then again.

ZION 🌿
“Morning, miracle worker. Got time today? I could use your eye again. Wedding prep mode: activated.”

She stared at the message, her thumb hovering above the screen.

Wedding prep. Right. Of course. That’s why she was there in the first place.

She wasn’t part of this. She was just the florist.

Another buzz.

ZION 🌿
“Not a full-day thing, promise. Just a venue visit and flower talk. You in?”

She exhaled through her nose, setting her mug down.

It would be fine. A job was a job. She’d walk in, talk centerpieces, maybe look at table layouts, and be gone before things got too... blurry again.

Then a third message.

ZION 🌿
“Chaeyoung’s asking too, btw.”

Mina froze.

Chaeyoung.

She could still see the way she looked last night. That bright, caught-off-guard kind of glow when Zion made the announcement. Her awkward laugh, the way her eyes kept darting toward Mina as if they were in on some unspoken secret neither of them dared name.

Mina had smiled. Clapped. Even toasted with a glass of rosé she didn’t like.

But something about the way Chaeyoung looked at her had burrowed under her skin.

It wasn’t love. But it was something.

And now she wanted to see her again.

Mina sighed, trying to sound annoyed at herself but failing. She picked up her phone.

MINA
“Where and what time?”

Then she added one more line before she could second guess herself:

“I’ll bring samples.”

Just in case.

For the flowers, of course.

Nothing else.

Venue – Late Morning

Mina stepped out of the cab and found herself in front of a charming old greenhouse tucked just beyond the outskirts of the city. Ivy clung to its walls like soft lace, and stained-glass windows scattered morning light across the cobblestone path. It was the kind of place that felt like it had witnessed stories—too many to count, and maybe one too many for her heart.

She tightened her grip on her tote bag, her fingers brushing against the edge of her notebook, her go-to comfort item during floral consultations.

“Just flowers,” she murmured to herself. “Just flowers and a very polite couple.”

But her stomach turned the moment she saw Chaeyoung, standing just beyond the open glass door, her hair catching the light like spilled gold. She wasn’t dressed up—just a loose white tee, cropped jeans, and a pair of sneakers—but somehow, she still looked like the centerpiece of the day. Casual and glowing. At ease.

Mina stopped walking. She hadn’t expected her to look so...happy.

She hadn’t expected to feel this much, again.

Before she could step back, a familiar voice cut through the breeze.

“There’s my miracle worker!” Zion waved, walking out from behind a row of hydrangeas. He looked comfortable here—rolled-up sleeves, clipboard in hand, grinning like he was in full groom-to-be mode.

Mina plastered on a soft smile. “Hey. It’s beautiful here.”

“Right? Chaeyoung found it last week. Said it felt like something out of a fairytale.” Zion glanced back at his fiancée, who was now crouched beside a flower bed, laughing at something the gardener had said.

Mina’s breath caught before she could stop it.

Zion turned to her. “Thanks again for coming. I promise this won’t take all day. We just need to get a feel for where the ceremony should go, and, well…” He grinned sheepishly. “You’ve got better instincts than me.”

“I’ll do what I can,” she said softly.

As they walked through the greenhouse, Zion filled the air with chatter—about color palettes, guest lists, how he wasn’t sure about orchids because his mom was allergic. Mina nodded when appropriate, but her eyes kept drifting—toward Chaeyoung, who was now running her fingers along the spine of a wooden bench, her expression thoughtful.

She was looking at where she might say 'yes' again.

Zion was talking again. “Also, there’s this arbor out back. I was thinking we could drape some vines over it, maybe hang a few lights—something low-key but romantic. Too Pinterest?”

Mina blinked. “No. It sounds nice.”

He nudged her lightly with his elbow. “You okay?”

“Hm?”

“You spaced out a little.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, I do that too when I think about the logistics. We’ll keep it chill.”

She forced another smile. “Yeah. Chill.”

Just then, Chaeyoung turned and spotted them.

Their eyes met for the first time that day.

Something tightened in Mina’s chest. Time didn’t stop—but it slowed, just enough for her to feel it.

Chaeyoung blinked, recognition flooding her face. Her lips curled into a surprised smile, wide and bright.

“You came,” she said, walking up to them.

“I did,” Mina replied, voice soft.

Zion wrapped an arm around Chaeyoung’s waist. “Told you I’d convince her.”

Chaeyoung’s eyes stayed on Mina. “I’m glad.”

For a second, no one said anything.

They reached the ceremony space just as the sunlight began to dip, casting long golden shadows across the garden.

The fig tree Zion mentioned arched elegantly toward the sky, its leaves catching the light like stained glass. Mina stood still, soaking in the atmosphere. The space felt timeless—like it had been waiting for this moment, for this story, for someone to say yes beneath its branches.

Zion beamed. “Told you. Ghibli vibes, right?”

Mina gave a small nod, whispering, “Yeah... it’s magic.”

Chaeyoung watched her, then leaned slightly toward Zion and whispered, “Do you think we could set her up with someone? She deserves a fairytale too.”

Zion smirked. “You trying to play Cupid at our wedding?”

“Obviously,” Chaeyoung said. “She’s cute. And way too mysterious to be single.”

As if summoned by fate—or maybe just chaos—someone called out from behind, “Did someone say single?”

They turned around to see Nayeon, all confidence and charm, striding toward them with a crooked smile and a ridiculous straw hat. She had a clipboard under one arm, sunglasses perched on her head, and the kind of energy that turned heads.

Zion groaned. “Oh no. Why did we let you near this project?”

“I’m a delight,” Nayeon replied, then turned to Mina, her grin widening. “And you—did it hurt when you fell?”

Mina blinked. “What?”

Nayeon winked. “From the sky. You know. Like an angel.”

Chaeyoung burst into laughter, leaning into Zion. “She’s incorrigible.”

But Mina, ever polite, simply tilted her head and said with a small smile, “We actually met at the dinner party last time. You spilled wine on your own shoes.”

Nayeon gasped. “Wait—you were that Mina? Ohhh. So you’re the flower genius Zion won’t shut up about.”

“I don’t think he talks about me that much,” Mina replied modestly.

“Oh, he does,” Nayeon said, circling her like a shark with a martini. “But now I see why.”

Chaeyoung elbowed Zion. “I’m giving her a week before she proposes.”

“Two days,” Zion whispered back.

Nayeon finally stopped, flashing Mina her most dazzling grin. “So... what’s your opinion on commitment?”

Mina raised an eyebrow. “To flowers or to you?”

Chaeyoung clapped. “Ohhh, she’s got teeth. I love this.”

Zion laughed, watching the scene unfold like it was a sitcom. “Okay, okay—let’s focus. Flower mock-up time, people.”

As they moved toward the setup area, Mina shook her head, hiding a smile.

“I can’t believe you work with her,” she murmured to Chaeyoung.

Chaeyoung grinned. “It’s either that or let her flirt with the caterers.”

“...So this is the safer option?”

“Barely.”

After the mock-up session, the team started packing up. Mina carefully clipped off the trial blooms and wrapped them gently in paper, planning to preserve a few for notes later.

Chaeyoung walked up beside her, pretending to inspect the stems but mostly just watching her hands.

“You’re seriously impressive, you know that?” she said, nudging her with her shoulder. “Like... calm, collected, floral sorceress energy.”

Mina gave a soft chuckle. “I’ve been called many things, but sorceress is a first.”

Chaeyoung paused, then added, almost too casually, “Hey, do you wanna come over for dinner sometime? Nothing fancy—just me and Zion cooking terribly and pretending we’re good at it. You’ve earned a break after today.”

Mina looked up in surprise, caught off-guard by the offer—but not in a bad way. There was something easy and warm in the way Chaeyoung said it, like it wasn’t just an invite—it was a little extension of her world.

“I’d love that,” Mina said with a small smile. “Should I bring something?”

“Absolutely not,” Chaeyoung said. “Unless you want to bring wine. Or dessert. Or both. Actually... just bring yourself.”

Mina nodded. “Alright. Send me the address?”

“I will.” Chaeyoung hesitated, then added, “You’re going home now?”

“Yeah, I need to drop off some things. But I’ll see you soon?”

“For sure.”

Mina gave her a little wave, then walked off, her steps light. Chaeyoung watched her go, biting back a grin.

Zion appeared beside her, chewing on a snack bar like he hadn’t just witnessed emotional whiplash in real time.

“You’re smitten,” he muttered around a mouthful.

“Shut up.”

Zion grinned. “You gonna tell her how you really feel at dinner?”

Chaeyoung made a face. “Please. It’s just dinner. With friends.”

“Uh huh.”

A beat passed before Chaeyoung elbowed him. “Also... maybe invite Nayeon?”

Zion blinked. “Seriously?”

Chaeyoung shrugged. “What? She clearly likes Mina. Let’s see if it’s real or if she’s just doing her usual chaotic flirt routine.”

“You want Nayeon at dinner with Mina?”

“Yes.”

Zion stared at her. “This isn’t a sitcom. This is real life.”

“Exactly,” Chaeyoung muttered. “Which means I can’t just sit here doing nothing.”

“Okay, now I’m worried.”

“Don’t be. Just make sure Nayeon brings wine.”

Zion shook his head as he pulled out his phone. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Chaeyoung crossed her arms with a small, unreadable smile. “Or it won’t be.”

Chaeyoung and Zion’s apartment – evening

The table was already set when Mina arrived — rustic mismatched plates, candles burning a little unevenly, and Zion in the kitchen wearing an apron that said “Kiss the Cook (He Dares You)”.

Chaeyoung opened the door, casually wiping flour off her cheek. “You came,” she said, clearly trying to sound nonchalant.

“You invited me,” Mina said with a soft laugh, stepping inside.

“And you actually came,” Chaeyoung shot back, as if that proved something.

They shared a brief look before Zion’s voice called from the kitchen, “Dinner is forty percent done, thirty percent edible, and a hundred percent made with love.”

Mina raised an eyebrow.

“He’s cooking,” Chaeyoung said. “Pray for us.”

Just then, the doorbell rang again.

“I’ll get it,” Zion offered, though Chaeyoung was already halfway to the door.

She opened it to reveal Nayeon, standing there with a bottle of wine in one hand and a very smug smile.

“You invited Nayeon?” Mina said, eyes flicking toward Chaeyoung in a rare moment of surprise.

Nayeon leaned into the doorway. “Technically, Zion invited me,” she said, walking past with all the energy of someone who had just won something. “But I bring gifts—wine and my charming self.”

Mina exhaled slowly. “Of course you do.”

Zion emerged with a tray of overbaked lasagna. “Please act like you like each other until at least dessert.”

“Acting’s your department,” Mina murmured.

Chaeyoung clapped her hands awkwardly. “Let’s eat!”

Dinner Table – a few minutes later

Mina sat across from Nayeon. Chaeyoung took the spot beside Mina, Zion next to Nayeon.

The lasagna was... edible. Mostly.

“So,” Nayeon said after a few bites. “Mina, I guess this makes dinner number two?”

Mina set down her fork, smiling slightly. “Technically number three, if you count the time you mistook Zion’s aunt for someone’s mom and called her a silver fox.”

“Oh, right!” Nayeon laughed, completely unbothered. “I still stand by that, by the way. Iconic bone structure.”

Zion groaned into his wine. “Please stop flirting with my family.”

Chaeyoung, from across the table, nudged Mina’s foot lightly under the table. “She’s always like this.”

Zion groaned. “Why do we let you speak?”

“Because I sound fantastic doing it,” Nayeon said, lifting her wineglass in a toast to herself.

Chaeyoung chuckled, eyes flicking nervously between the two. Mina was cool and composed, but her gaze kept landing on Nayeon, and not just out of annoyance. And Nayeon — well, she was doing that thing she did when she was flirting and pretending she wasn’t.

“So Mina,” Nayeon said, looking dead at her, “what do you do again? Besides be effortlessly gorgeous and ruin people’s emotional stability?”

Chaeyoung choked on her wine.

Zion didn’t even flinch. “That’s her pick-up line? Nayeon, are you broken? Did you try to read a book again?”

“It’s not a pick-up line if it’s true,” Nayeon replied, eyes never leaving Mina’s.

Mina tilted her head slightly. “Are you always like this or do you get worse around candlelight and carbs?”

Zion whispered to Chaeyoung, “They’re flirting, right? This is flirting?”

Chaeyoung whispered back, “Or about to murder each other. Either way, this is why I invited both of them.”

Dinner carried on, full of half-jokes and hidden looks. At one point, Mina helped clear the table, and Nayeon stood to assist — standing a little too close, handing over plates a little too gently.

“You’re not as annoying as I thought you’d be,” Mina muttered.

“I’ll take that as a win.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Chaeyoung and Zion, watching from the couch, clinked their glasses together.

“God, we’re brilliant,” Zion whispered.

“I give it two more dinners before they crack.”

“One and a half.”

They toasted again.

Dinner had ended with laughter echoing down the hall, empty wine glasses clinking softly as Nayeon and Zion disappeared into the kitchen arguing over who made the better cocktail. Mina helped Chaeyoung clear the table, their fingers brushing once or twice—each time sparking something quiet and electric.

“I can take these,” Mina said, stacking plates.

“I’ll do it,” Chaeyoung replied, her voice a little softer now that the others were out of earshot. “You’re the guest.”

Mina smiled, shifting her weight. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Chaeyoung gave her a crooked smile. “Thanks for saying yes.”

They stood like that for a second—too long for it to mean nothing, not long enough to mean everything.

Then Mina looked away first. “You really love him, huh?”

Chaeyoung hesitated. “I do.”

The words sounded practiced. Polite.

But then she added, quieter, “He’s been good to me. He’s... constant.”

Mina nodded, unsure what she expected her to say. She moved toward the window, looking out at the soft lights draping the garden.

“Sometimes,” Chaeyoung said, joining her side, “I think I had everything figured out. Then someone walks in and just... changes the rhythm.”

Mina turned her head just slightly. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Chaeyoung looked at her, a little longer than she should have. “I haven’t decided yet.”

For a moment, it felt like the whole house was holding its breath.

Then Nayeon’s voice rang from the kitchen: “Okay! Where’s dessert, and how much do I need to flirt to get a second slice?”

The moment broke. Mina stepped back with a small laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I should probably get going,” she said, grabbing her coat from the back of the chair.

“I’ll walk you out,” Chaeyoung offered quickly.

But before she could move, Nayeon popped her head out from the kitchen, keys jingling.
“Wait! I’m heading home too. I can drop you off, Mina.”

“Oh—sure,” Mina replied, throwing a quick glance at Chaeyoung, whose smile faltered just slightly.

“Awesome,” Nayeon grinned, slinging on her coat. “Let’s roll.”

The drive was quiet at first, city lights sweeping across Mina’s face as she stared out the window. After a while, Nayeon broke the silence.
“She’s been different lately.”

Mina blinked. “Chaeyoung?”

“Yeah.” Nayeon tapped her thumbs against the steering wheel. “Happier. Softer. Or... distracted. I can’t tell.”

Mina didn’t respond right away. Nayeon glanced at her, then chuckled.

“Sorry. That was weird, huh?”

“No, just... honest.”

They pulled into a small, quiet parking lot beside a late-night diner—fluorescent lights humming, a neon sign half-flickering. Nayeon turned the car off but didn’t get out.

“You hungry?” she asked.

Mina looked at her. “A little.”

“Let’s eat then.” Nayeon said

Inside the small, quiet diner, their plates sat mostly untouched. The conversation drifted from casual to careful.

Nayeon reached for her coffee and asked lightly, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Mina blinked. “That’s sudden.”

“Well?” Nayeon pressed, amused.

“I don’t know,” Mina replied. “I think... maybe it’s possible. To feel something. To know something.”

Nayeon nodded, like she was filing that away. “Do you believe someone can spend their whole life with one person and still fall in love with someone else?”

Mina hesitated. “That’s... complicated.”

“Why?” Nayeon asked. “Isn’t it just… people change? Or maybe someone comes along and they see you differently. Or more clearly.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Mina asked, voice gentle.

Nayeon leaned back, sighing. “I was with someone once. Years. And then one day I met someone else. She laughed at the dumbest jokes. She didn’t try to fix me—she just listened. And for the first time, I felt... seen.”

Mina kept her eyes on her coffee. “What happened?”

“I stayed,” Nayeon said. “Tried to forget it. Do the right thing.”

“And did it work?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “No.”

A silence stretched between them.

“Do you think it’s wrong?” Mina asked finally.

“What?”

“To love someone who isn’t yours to love.”

Nayeon exhaled. “No. I think not doing anything about it is only wrong if you never figure out why you feel that way. If it’s just newness or attention, it fades. But if it’s something deeper... maybe you owe it to yourself to find out.”

Mina looked up, eyes meeting hers.

“I’m not judging,” Nayeon added softly. “I just... recognize the look. You’re asking yourself the same question I once did.”

Another beat of silence, this one thicker.

“And what’s the answer?” Mina whispered.

Nayeon smiled sadly. “If you don’t make a choice, the choice makes you.”

Mina stirred her tea absentmindedly. “I’m not the kind of person who... interferes.”

Nayeon tilted her head. “Interferes with what?”

“With someone else's relationship,” Mina clarified. “Even if things are complicated. Even if it feels—different.”

Nayeon gave a small nod, her eyes unreadable. “I get it. That’s fair.”

Mina glanced up. “Do you?”

“I do. Doesn’t mean it’s easy to sit with.” She paused, then added more quietly, “Sometimes, liking someone is the easy part. It's the waiting and the doing nothing that gets hard.”

The car ride back was quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn't uncomfortable—just full of things unsaid. Mina watched the streetlights pass in a blur, arms folded across her chest, deep in thought. Nayeon, hands loose on the wheel, glanced over occasionally.

When they pulled up to Mina’s building, Nayeon shifted into park and grinned. “So... should I come up? You know, just to check if your couch is as uncomfortable as it looks from the street.”

Mina laughed under her breath. “Tempting, but I think you’ve done enough damage for one night.”

Nayeon gave a mock gasp. “Damage? I’ll have you know, I was charming.”

“You were,” Mina said softly, then paused. “But you’re still not coming up.”

There was a beat of silence. Nayeon nodded, her smile slipping into something more honest. “Fair enough.”

Mina hesitated, hand on the door handle. “Tonight was... unexpected.”

“In a good way?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” She looked over at Nayeon. “But thank you.”

Nayeon smiled, warm but with a flicker of something sad in her eyes. “Get home safe. Oh wait—you’re already home.”

Mina rolled her eyes with a smirk and opened the door. “Goodnight, Nayeon.”

“Night, Mina.”

She stepped out, closing the door gently behind her.

Mina shut the door to her apartment behind her and leaned against it with a quiet exhale.

The silence of her place greeted her, but her mind was loud.

She dropped her coat onto the back of a chair and walked toward the sink, pouring herself a glass of water she didn’t really want. Her hands trembled slightly.

“She’s nice,” she muttered, staring at the water swirling in the glass. “She’s sweet. She drove me home. She likes me.”

She set the glass down untouched and rubbed her face with both hands.

“But she’s not Chaeyoung,” she said aloud to the empty room, her voice cracking on the last syllable.

Her chest tightened. She paced once, twice.

“You’re not a bad person,” she whispered, as if trying to summon truth through repetition. “You’re not a bad person. You’re not a bad person.”

But even as the words came out, she knew they were hollow.

Because when she looked at Chaeyoung, when their eyes met across that dinner table, it wasn’t just admiration or guilt or awkward tension—it was the terrifying flicker of possibility. Of something that could be.

And that, more than anything, was what scared her.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, buried her face in her hands, and let the silence settle again—this time heavier than before.

The next day.

The supermarket was brightly lit, bustling with mid-morning shoppers and the low hum of overhead music. Mina and Sana wandered through the produce section, casually tossing vegetables into their basket.

“So,” Sana said, inspecting a bell pepper, “when are you going to admit you have a crush on the girl with the dimples?”

Mina rolled her eyes. “There are literally thousands of girls with dimples.”

Sana smirked. “But only one that makes you knock over a pyramid of oranges and forget your own name.”

Before Mina could respond, she turned a corner—and there Chaeyoung was, standing beside Zion, both laughing at something in their cart. Mina stopped mid-step.

Zion spotted her first. “Hey! Look who it is.”

Chaeyoung turned, and her smile faltered into something softer, more surprised. “Mina.”

“Hi,” Mina said, trying not to let her voice crack. Her eyes flicked briefly to Chaeyoung, then back to Zion.

Zion grinned and gestured at their cart. “What are the odds, right? I was just telling Chaeyoung about the floral designs you showed me the other day. You really nailed the vibe we wanted.”

“Oh,” Mina said, suddenly remembering how close she was to their wedding. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked them.”

“We should set up another meeting soon,” Zion continued, digging his phone out of his pocket. “How’s next week? We can finalize everything—you know, bouquets, ceremony arrangements, all that.”

Mina hesitated. Her gaze flicked to Chaeyoung, who was studying the tile floor like it had answers. “Next week’s fine. Just text me.”

Sana stood silently beside Mina, clearly reading the tension in the air.

As they started to move on, Chaeyoung looked up. “You shop here often?”

“Sometimes,” Mina said with a small smile. “Didn’t expect to bump into you.”

Zion chuckled. “We’ve practically made this a weekly thing. If we see each other in frozen foods, I’m buying lottery tickets.”

“Or,” he added with a teasing tone, nudging Chaeyoung, “maybe Mina’s secretly your girlfriend and you forgot to tell me.”

Chaeyoung gave him a warning look, cheeks flushing slightly. “Zion—”

“I’m joking,” he said, holding up his hands. “But hey, maybe fate shops for groceries, too.”

Mina laughed a little, shifting on her feet. “I should get going. I’ll wait for your message.”

“Great,” Zion nodded. “And seriously, your work is incredible. Can’t wait to see the next version.”

As Mina and Sana turned the corner, Sana leaned in and whispered, “Girl, you’re blushing so hard, you could photosynthesize.”

Mina groaned. “He just made a joke about me being her girlfriend.”

“And she didn’t deny it fast enough,” Sana whispered back. “I’m just saying.”

They reached for a box of pasta—but so did someone else.

“Oh—” Mina’s hand brushed against Chaeyoung’s.

They both froze, then smiled, nervous and warm.

“This is getting weird,” Chaeyoung said.

“Yeah,” Mina replied, cheeks warm.

Later that afternoon, Mina was rushing across the street with a smoothie in one hand and her phone in the other, trying to respond to a florist inquiry.

She didn’t see it coming.

“Oof!”

She collided shoulder-first into someone—hard enough to nearly send her smoothie flying.

“Ah—sorry, I wasn’t—” she started, and then blinked. “You again?”

Chaeyoung stood there, tote bag slung over her shoulder and filled with what looked like brushes and sketchbooks. She blinked back, equally surprised.

“Are you following me?”

Mina raised an eyebrow. “I live two blocks from here.”

“Oh. That’s… unfortunate timing.”

“Is it?” Mina asked, lips curling just slightly.

They stared at each other, the air thick with something between amusement and confusion, until a pedestrian behind them coughed impatiently. They both shuffled to the side.

“At this point, I feel like the universe is setting us up,” Mina muttered.

Chaeyoung gave a crooked grin. “Or punishing us.”

The next morning, Mina ducked into her favorite café, phone still pressed to her ear as she confirmed a delivery to the flower market.

She stepped toward the counter—and froze mid-sentence.

“And an extra shot, please. And oat milk,” a voice said ahead of her.

She didn’t even have to look. She already knew.

Chaeyoung turned slightly, then blinked. “Seriously?”

Mina stepped up beside her with a sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Chaeyoung pointed casually at the menu board. “Hey, I was here first. Not changing my order.”

The barista blinked between them. “Are you two... together?”

“No,” they said in unison, then looked at each other, mildly horrified.

Mina laughed under her breath. “Apparently we have the same taste in coffee, timing, and poor life decisions.”

Chaeyoung nudged her playfully. “Maybe we’re the same person from two parallel timelines.”

“Then one of us should’ve evolved past the awkward phase.”

They both snorted, grabbed their drinks—and walked out in step again.

“…You’re walking this way too?” Mina asked.

Chaeyoung looked at her sidelong. “Okay. Now this feels scripted.”

Two days later, Mina climbed the narrow stairs up to Zion and Chaeyoung’s apartment for the scheduled flower design meeting. She wasn’t expecting to feel nervous—but she did. And definitely not because of the flowers.

She raised her hand to knock—only for the door to swing open.

Startled, Mina nearly tripped backward.

Chaeyoung stood in the doorway, hair sticking out wildly and a half-eaten sandwich in one hand.

“…I wasn’t expecting you until later,” she mumbled.

“I’m five minutes early.”

Chaeyoung blinked, then stepped aside, cheeks slightly pink. “Well. Welcome to the Twilight Zone. Again.”

By the end of the week, it had become a running joke.

At a convenience store late that night, they both reached for the same bag of shrimp chips.

Chaeyoung stared at Mina. “Okay, we need to exchange calendars or something.”

Mina smirked. “So we can avoid each other?”

“So I can prove I’m not stalking you.”

Mina tilted her head. “You think I’d mind if you were?”

Chaeyoung blinked. Hard. “…That was smooth.”

“Thanks. I’ve been practicing in front of a mirror every time we bump into each other.”

They both laughed—maybe too long, maybe too nervously—and left the store walking in the same direction. Again.

Chaeyoung sighed dramatically. “I swear, if I see you at the library tomorrow, I’m going to scream.”

“Then I guess I’ll avoid the fiction aisle.”

“…Don’t bother,” Chaeyoung said softly. “That’s where I always find you anyway.”

Mina’s steps faltered.

So did her heart.

APPOINTMENT

The morning sun filtered through the gauzy curtains as Mina tied her hair up in a low bun, fingers moving more carefully than usual. She wasn’t sure why she was so conscious of her reflection—of the soft gloss on her lips or the way her cream blouse tucked into her linen skirt just right.
It was just another planning session. For Zion’s wedding. That was all.

She met Zion outside the flower shop with a soft smile, notebook in hand. “Ready?”

He grinned. “You’re the pro here. I’m just the panicking fiancé.”

They rode together to the apartment, light chatter passing between them. Mina could tell he was anxious—it was sweet. Every few minutes, he’d mention Rachel again or ask if pink peonies were too cliché.

By the time they stepped into the apartment, it already smelled like paint, basil, and something sweet baking in the oven.

Then Chaeyoung walked out of the kitchen, barefoot and wearing an oversized shirt smeared with something that looked suspiciously like raspberry jam. She froze when she saw Mina.

“You’re here early.”

“I’m on time,” Mina replied, amused.

Zion was already unpacking mood boards and swatches. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Chaeyoung’s POV

She tried not to stare. She really did. But every time Mina leaned over to point at a page in her planner, her hair would fall a little forward, and Chaeyoung’s fingers would twitch with the urge to tuck it behind her ear.

It wasn’t fair—how someone could look so composed, so unbothered, while Chaeyoung was sitting across the room trying not to visibly melt into the couch cushions.

Zion was talking about boutonnières. Mina was nodding, her expression so attentive and sincere it made Chaeyoung’s stomach ache.

She remembered the scene in that old movie Zion made her watch, Imagine Me & You. Rachel, watching Luce across the flower shop. That quiet realization—something has shifted. Something was not where it was supposed to be.

That’s how Chaeyoung felt now.

Like gravity had tilted slightly in Mina’s direction.

And it didn’t help that Mina kept catching her eye. And when she did, her gaze would soften—like she knew. Like she saw something in Chaeyoung too but wasn’t sure what to name it yet.

At one point, Mina reached into her tote bag and pulled out a small folded napkin.

“I brought something for you,” she said, carefully unwrapping it. “Strawberry basil. It’s from a bakery near my shop.”

Chaeyoung looked at the pastry, surprised. “Oh… why this one?”

Mina hesitated, then smiled. “You had a bunch of strawberry keychains in your apartment. It felt like… you might like it.”

Chaeyoung blinked. “You noticed that?”

Mina gave a small shrug. “It’s hard not to.”

And just like that, something inside Chaeyoung folded in on itself. A warm ache. A quiet flutter.

She smiled. Took the napkin. Took the bite. It was good. Sweet.

But Mina’s thoughtfulness was better.

As Mina returned to arranging samples on the table with Zion, Chaeyoung stayed frozen for a moment longer, chewing slowly.

It wasn’t just the pastry.

It was the way Mina had remembered something so small. Or no—not remembered. Noticed. Like she had seen her. Actually seen her.

That kind of softness… it wasn’t the kind you expected to come from a florist you met once, at a dinner you barely remember because you couldn’t stop looking at her.

Chaeyoung glanced over again.

Mina was smiling politely at Zion, listening, nodding. But her fingers were fidgeting with the edge of a flower stem, distracted.

There was a flutter in Chaeyoung’s chest again. Light, but persistent.

She told herself it was nothing.

She told herself it was just admiration. Or gratitude. Or whatever people feel when someone offers them strawberry basil on a napkin in the middle of a wedding meeting.

She told herself she was lucky—engaged to a good man, building a good life.

She told herself Mina was just someone who made beautiful bouquets.

But as she looked at her again…

She knew she was lying.

The meeting wrapped up with final nods and polite thank-yous. Mina packed up the last of her samples and notes into her tote bag, giving them both a small smile.

“I’ll send over the updated designs tonight,” she said. Her voice was warm, steady, professional. But when her eyes briefly met Chaeyoung’s, something flickered there. A pause. A softness. Maybe even hesitation.

Chaeyoung nodded, a little too quickly. “Yeah. That’s great. Thank you—again.”

Mina lingered just a second longer, then nodded toward Zion. “See you both soon.”

And then she left.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the room felt too quiet. Like Mina had taken something with her when she walked out.

Later that afternoon, back at their apartment, Zion was lounging on the couch, flipping through his phone. The TV was on, volume low—some comedy playing that neither of them were really watching.

Chaeyoung was curled up at the edge of the sofa, arms around her knees, eyes distant.

Zion looked over. “You okay?”

She blinked like she’d forgotten he was there. “Huh?”

“You’ve been quiet since the meeting.” He paused, tilted his head. “Was Mina weird? Did I say something dumb?”

“No—no,” Chaeyoung said quickly, forcing a soft smile. “She was great. You were fine.”

Zion watched her for another beat. “You sure?”

She nodded. “I just… think I need a nap.”

He raised his brows a little but didn’t push. “Okay. Want me to come with?”

“No, it’s okay,” she said softly, already getting up. “Just a quick one.”

She made it halfway to the bedroom before he called after her, “Hey, babe?”

She turned.

Zion looked at her for a moment, something knowing flickering behind his easy smile. But he didn’t press, didn’t tease, didn’t pry.

Instead, he just gave a small nod and said, “Get some rest, yeah?”

Chaeyoung managed a smile back. “Yeah.”

She slipped into the bedroom and quietly closed the door behind her. The weight in her chest didn’t lift—it only pressed in harder now that she was alone. She lay down on the bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, and tried to breathe through the ache she couldn’t name.

It wasn’t about the wedding.

It wasn’t even about the stress.

It was about Mina.

And it was getting harder to pretend it wasn’t.

That evening, Chaeyoung stirred from her nap, groggy and heavy-limbed. The apartment had gone quiet, the golden haze of sunset long gone, leaving only a dim glow curling in through the curtains.

She sat up slowly. The stillness felt strange.

In the living room, Zion was sprawled on the couch, his head tilted back against the cushion, his breathing deep and steady. Four beer cans sat empty on the table—one lying on its side like it had given up entirely.

She approached slowly, barefoot, her hands balled into fists by her sides. Every step felt heavier than it should have.

“Zion,” she said softly, crouching beside him. Her fingers trembled slightly as they touched his arm. “Zion, wake up.”

He stirred, barely. A groggy sound left his lips, but his eyes stayed shut.

“I need to tell you something,” Chaeyoung whispered, her voice cracking on the weight of her own words. “I’ve been trying not to say it. I’ve been trying so hard.”

She looked down at the floor, blinking fast. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

“I think I like her,” she finally breathed. “Mina.”

The name tasted unfamiliar coming out, like something she'd borrowed but always known she’d return to. Her throat tightened.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to,” she went on, voice raw now. “I told myself it was just admiration. Or confusion. Or the pressure of the wedding, or the timing, or anything else. But it wasn’t.”

She looked at him, willing him to wake up—to stop her, interrupt her, something.

But Zion didn’t move. Just the soft rise and fall of his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Chaeyoung whispered, tears brimming now. “I swear I tried. I tried to keep it all together, for you, for us. I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to be that person.”

She swallowed hard.

“I thought maybe if I stayed quiet, it’d go away. That I’d forget. That I could just… sleep it off, eat it away, bury it under being a good friend. A good fiancée.”

She laughed bitterly.

“But she’s—she’s just… there. All the time. Like a song stuck in my head. And when she smiles, it’s like I forget how to lie to myself.”

Her voice broke completely now. “Please don’t sleep,” she whispered, barely audible. “Please wake up. I can’t do this again. Not like this. Not quietly. Not while you’re asleep.”

Her breath hitched.

Still, Zion didn’t stir.

Chaeyoung blinked down at him, tears streaking her cheeks. With shaking hands, she reached for the throw blanket and tucked it around his shoulders, careful not to brush her hand against his cheek again.

“You probably won’t remember any of this,” she whispered.

She stood up and turned away, her steps slow and silent as she walked toward her bedroom.

The door closed with a soft click.

But on the couch—Zion's eyes snapped open the second she was gone.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stared up at the ceiling, his chest no longer rising so peacefully.

He had heard everything.
And he wasn’t asleep.

The bell above the door clanged, too loud in the still morning air, as Chaeyoung pushed the door open and stumbled inside.

The shop was empty, save for sunlight filtering over peonies and soft pink carnations. The quiet was deceptive. She wasn’t here for quiet.

Chaeyoung’s chest heaved as she ducked behind the counter, her hand trembling as she pushed past the curtain.

The backroom was bathed in gold. Dust danced in the air like it had all the time in the world.

But Chaeyoung didn’t.

Mina stood at the table, hands carefully cradling a bundle of ranunculus, her sleeves rolled up, the scent of flowers thick around her.

She turned at the sound.

“Chaeyoung?”

No words. Just movement.

Chaeyoung closed the distance between them in four fast steps, her hands reaching up, brushing against Mina’s jaw like it was something sacred—something she couldn’t go another day not touching.

And then she kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle, or soft, or planned.

It was desperate. Unspoken. A collision of longing and confusion, of sleepless nights and glances held too long.

Mina froze.

Then—slowly, achingly—she leaned in, pressing back like the rest of the world had fallen away.

When they pulled apart, the silence between them felt like it might break.

Chaeyoung stared at her, eyes wide, as if realizing she’d finally said everything—without a single word.

Then—

“Mina?”

Zion.

His voice cut through the room like a blade. Tense. Fragile.

The bell above the door rang again.

“Hey,” he called out, walking in, too carefully. “Are you back there?”

Chaeyoung gasped. Panic surged.

But Mina just touched her wrist and whispered, “Stay.”

Then she slipped through the curtain before Chaeyoung could stop her.

Chaeyoung stood frozen, every nerve alive.

Through the thin curtain, she listened.

Zion chuckled faintly, but it cracked halfway through. “Sorry to just… show up like this.”

“It’s okay,” Mina said softly.

A pause.

Zion’s voice broke it, softer now, unsure. “Has she… said anything to you?”

Mina’s fingers curled around the edge of the counter. “About what?”

“You know what,” he said, not accusing, just… tired. “She’s not herself lately. It’s like she’s here but not really here. Like she’s trying to hold herself together and falling apart at the same time.”

Mina swallowed. “She’s been going through a lot.”

“Yeah, but why won’t she talk to me?” Zion's voice cracked a little, and he caught himself. “We used to talk. She used to tell me everything. I keep thinking maybe I missed something. Or maybe she’s already said something—to someone else.”

Mina paused. Carefully: “She hasn’t said anything specific. Maybe she’s just… still finding her way.”

Zion exhaled, shaky, like he was holding in more than just breath. “Right. Yeah. I guess I always knew… I was holding onto something I couldn’t keep. I just didn’t think I’d feel it slipping like this. Like she’s already gone and I’m the only one who didn’t notice.”

Mina didn’t speak right away. Her eyes were soft, kind. “She’s not gone, Zion. She’s just… in the middle of something.”

He nodded slowly, jaw tight, blinking too quickly. “Thanks. I just… if she needs someone, I hope she knows you're there. Take care of her, okay?”

“I will,” Mina whispered.

The bell chimed behind him—soft, like an ending.

Mina stood frozen for a moment before finally turning back toward the curtain.

“Chaeyoung?”

She stepped into the backroom.

It was empty.

The ranunculus were still on the table, but Chaeyoung was gone.

Mina’s chest tightened. She rushed to the front, eyes scanning outside.

And there—across the street—was Chaeyoung.

Running.

Not looking back.

Afternoon light slanted through the flower shop, golden and too gentle for the storm brewing inside.

Mina was quietly arranging ranunculus in a vase, her motions methodical, almost distant.

The bell above the door rang sharply.

She looked up. Nayeon stood there, arms crossed, eyes locked on her like she already knew the answer to a question she didn’t want to ask.

Mina set the vase down.

“Nayeon,” she said, soft as always.

“Don’t,” Nayeon said, stepping forward. “Don’t act like you don’t know why I’m here.”

Mina stayed still, waiting.

“I saw Zion crying,” Nayeon said. “And Chaeyoung’s been walking around like her ribs are cracked and no one else can see it but me. I just came from her place. She barely even said a word.”

Mina’s expression faltered. “I didn’t want this to happen.”

“Oh, right,” Nayeon said, voice sharp. “Just like how you didn’t want to interfere.”

Mina blinked. “What?”

Nayeon stepped closer. “You told me once—over tea—that you weren’t the kind of person who interferes. With someone else’s relationship. Even if it’s complicated. Even if it feels… different.”

Mina’s breath caught.

“Well,” Nayeon said, eyes gleaming with something close to betrayal, “so much for not interfering, Mina.”

Silence.

Mina looked like she wanted to say something—anything—but Nayeon didn’t give her the chance.

She turned on her heel and stormed out of the shop, the bell clanging behind her like a gavel.

Mina stood alone, surrounded by flowers that now felt too bright, too loud, in a room that had never felt so quiet.

The silence after Nayeon stormed out was deafening.

Mina stood frozen behind the counter, her heart still pounding from the confrontation. The weight of Nayeon’s words echoed like shattered glass in her chest.

“So much for not interfering with someone else’s relationship, Mina.”

The words cut deeper than she expected. Maybe because they were true. Or maybe because she had tried so hard not to interfere—and still ended up in the middle of it all.

She turned slowly, eyes scanning the familiar rows of flowers that now looked distant and strange, like someone else’s life. Her knees gave out before she realized what was happening. She slid to the floor, legs folding beneath her as she crumbled.

The quiet hum of the refrigerator, the faint scent of eucalyptus and roses—none of it could soothe the sharp twist in her chest.

She pressed her back against the wooden counter and pulled her knees to her chest, curling inward like she could protect the one thing that still felt hers: her guilt.

Tears welled up, uninvited but inevitable.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered to no one, her voice trembling. “I didn’t want this.”

She sniffed and shook her head, as if she could shake off the ache building inside her.

“I didn’t mean to get in the way. I didn’t plan it. I tried so hard to stay in my place. I stayed quiet when I should’ve walked away—”

Her voice cracked and collapsed into a sob. She pressed her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, but it didn’t help. Nothing could help.

“Why did she come to me?” she asked aloud. “Why didn’t she stay with him—why did she have to look at me like that?”

She rubbed her hands over her face, nails digging into her scalp as if punishing herself might make it easier.

“Is it my fault?” she whispered, softer this time. “Is it because I... existed too close?”

More tears fell, unchecked. She tried to breathe through them, but it hurt. Every inhale felt jagged, like her ribs were lined with glass.

“You’re the reason why Zion is crying… why Chaeyoung doesn’t look like herself…”

Nayeon’s voice still rang in her ears, and Mina squeezed her eyes shut as if she could block it out.

Her hand fumbled for her phone. She didn’t even think—she just tapped Sana’s name and held the phone to her ear with shaky fingers.

The line barely rang once before Sana picked up.

“Mina?” Her voice was alert, gentle. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Mina croaked. “I think I have to leave.”

“What happened?”

“I think I’m going back to Japan. Just for a while. I can’t—I don’t want to be here anymore.”

There was silence on the other end, then Sana’s voice, firm and unwavering:

“Stay where you are. I’m coming.”

Mina didn’t move. She just stayed there on the floor, crying so quietly it hurt.

Ten, fifteen minutes passed—it felt like forever and no time at all.

Then the bell above the shop door jingled.

Mina didn’t even lift her head. She just curled tighter into herself, her forehead resting on her knees, eyes swollen and raw.

Sana’s footsteps were soft, but sure.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t ask questions.

She just knelt beside her and pulled her into a hug so tight, so full of warmth, it broke something open.

Mina let out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a breath, collapsing into Sana’s arms.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” she whispered. “I didn’t do anything, Sana. I just… I just felt something. I didn’t act on it. Not really. But I guess even that was too much.”

Sana held her closer, one hand gently cradling the back of Mina’s head.

“You’re not a bad person,” she murmured. “You’re not.”

Mina shook her head against Sana’s shoulder. “But I ruined things. I ruined them. I was supposed to be invisible. Safe. Why did it have to feel real?”

Her body trembled with every word, grief swelling inside her like a tide.

Sana didn’t try to fix it. She just held Mina through it all.

And in the middle of the flower shop, surrounded by wilting petals and shattered peace, Mina cried for everything she couldn’t undo.

THE NEXT DAY

The table was beautifully set. Plates full of grilled chicken, greens, rice, and wine glasses half-full. The air was warm with chatter—Zion’s mother laughing with Chaeyoung’s father, utensils clinking, someone passing the bread.

But at one end of the table, Zion and Chaeyoung sat in silence.

Their hands didn’t touch. They didn’t look at each other. Forks moved, but food wasn’t really eaten.

Chaeyoung's mother beamed, “We’re almost done picking a florist, and the dress is ready for final fitting. And the venue! Final decision today, right?”

Everyone looked at them.

Chaeyoung managed a tight smile and nodded faintly. “Yeah. Almost.”

Zion gave a small, distracted nod too. But his jaw tightened. His fingers drummed against the table leg under the cloth.

His mother, sensing something, placed her hand on his.

“Zion, sweetheart,” she said softly, “Are you okay? You’ve been… not yourself.”

He hesitated.

Everyone’s eyes were on him.

The silence returned—unforgiving and sharp.

Then:
“I don’t want this,” Zion said. Not loud, but clear. Like a cut in the air.

The room fell into a hush. Forks paused mid-air. Chaeyoung slowly turned to look at him, her face pale.

“I don’t want this anymore,” he repeated, voice rough. “Not like this. Not when I feel like I’m begging for pieces of someone who isn’t even here with me.”

His mom blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Zion looked at Chaeyoung now. Really looked.

“I’ve known,” he said.

Chaeyoung’s heart dropped.

“I’ve known for a while. I was just... hoping I was wrong. That it was just stress, or nerves. That you were pulling away because of everything piling up, not because—” He swallowed. “Not because your heart was elsewhere.”

“No,” she breathed. “Zion—”

He held up a hand gently, not to silence her, but to steady himself. “You’re not here with me anymore, Chaeyoung. Not really. Even when you smile, even when you hold my hand... it’s like you’re halfway gone. With someone else. Maybe not in the way people think—but enough.”

She blinked rapidly, trying to breathe, trying to fight the spiral. “I can fix this. Please—Zion—I can fix this.”

He shook his head, and now he looked like he was breaking too. “No, you can’t. And I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to fix something just because you're afraid to let go. That’s not love, that’s fear. And I don’t want either of us to build a life out of fear.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. She grabbed his hand across the table. “You’re the one I chose. I chose you, Zion.”

“And maybe I held on because of that,” he said. “Because I wanted to believe it meant we’d be okay. But loving someone shouldn’t feel like begging them to stay.”

Chaeyoung choked out a sob. “Please... we have time, we still have time, we haven’t walked down the aisle yet—we can figure it out. I can try harder. I can—”

“I don’t want to watch you try to love me,” he said, his voice cracking. “I want someone who just... does.”

Her grip on his hand tightened as her whole body shook. “Don’t go. Don’t walk away. Please don’t go.”

Zion closed his eyes, his lips trembling. “I love you, Chaeyoung. But I love myself too. And I can't keep shrinking to fit into a space your heart already gave to someone else.”

He stood, slowly, as if the weight of it all made even standing feel impossible.

“I want you to be happy. I just wish it didn’t have to end like this.”

He gently pulled his hand from hers, placed his napkin down beside his untouched plate, and walked out of the room without looking back.

Chaeyoung didn’t even remember leaving the dining room. One second, Zion was walking away from her—and the next, her heels were echoing down the quiet hallway, her chest rising and falling like she’d run a marathon. Shame clung to her like a second skin, and her legs felt unsteady beneath her.

The moment she stepped outside, the cold air slapped her across the face. She gasped—half from the chill, half from the ache clawing its way up her throat.

She wanted to scream. To rewind. To take back every moment she let Mina’s presence become something she couldn’t ignore.

Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket.

Unknown Number.

She hesitated. Then answered, her voice already raw.

“Hello?”

There was a pause. Then—

“Chaeyoung.” It was Sana’s voice. Urgent. Shaken.

“Sana?” Her heart jumped. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” Sana breathed out. “I thought you should know. Mina’s leaving. She’s flying out tonight.”

“What?” Chaeyoung stopped walking.

“She’s going back to Japan,” Sana said. “She’s already packed everything. She said she just... can’t stay here. Not after what happened. Not with everything falling apart.”

Chaeyoung’s knees almost buckled. She caught herself on a lamppost, the world tilting slightly. “She’s—she’s leaving because of me?”

“She thinks it’s all her fault,” Sana said, voice cracking. “She was crying so hard, Chae. Saying she didn’t mean to ruin anything. That she never wanted to hurt you, or Zion. That she’s just tired of being the one that breaks everything.”

Chaeyoung closed her eyes. “No. No, she didn’t. I—I did this.”

“Then do something,” Sana urged. “Before it’s too late.”

“But Zion—” Chaeyoung’s voice trembled. “I can’t just walk away from this mess.”

“Then let her walk away? Without hearing how you really feel?” Sana’s voice was fierce now. “You’re going to let her leave thinking she was just a mistake you regret?”

The line fell silent, both of them breathing heavily.

“She’s at the shop,” Sana said finally. “For a few more hours. If you want to fix this—you know where to go.”

The call ended.

Chaeyoung stood frozen, staring at her reflection in the darkened glass of a store window. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her lipstick smudged. Her heart split between the life she was meant to live and the one she hadn’t dared imagine.

For the first time in hours, she stopped running away—from Mina, from the truth, from herself.

She turned.

And walked back inside.

The dining room was empty now. The candles had melted low. Plates were half-finished, wine glasses abandoned. Her footsteps echoed across the marble floor like a confession about to be said aloud.

Her parents were in the living room, sitting stiffly, mid-conversation. They both looked up when she appeared—her mother’s eyes narrowing in confusion, her father straightening with concern.

“Chaeyoung?” her mother said, standing. “What are you—?”

“I need to say something,” Chaeyoung cut in. Her voice wavered, but she held her ground. “And I need you both to just... listen.”

A long silence passed before her father gave a nod. “Go ahead.”

She stepped forward, fingers trembling as she brushed her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t plan any of this. I never meant to hurt anyone. I was going to marry Zion. I really thought I could.”

Her mother’s face fell into something unreadable.

“But then I met her,” Chaeyoung whispered. “And everything changed.”

Her father’s brow furrowed slightly. Her mother’s mouth parted in quiet disbelief.

“I met Mina, and—” Her voice cracked, eyes brimming. “I didn’t even know what was happening. I just remember thinking, ‘God, I hope she looks at me again.’ She made everything feel... like breathing for the first time. I tried to fight it. I told myself it was wrong, that I had responsibilities, expectations. But the truth is... I fell in love with her. From the very first moment.”

“Chaeyoung,” her mother began, soft but tense, “this isn’t just some romantic whim. You were going to get married today.”

“I know,” she said quickly, stepping closer. “But what kind of marriage would that have been? One where I lie to myself every day? One where I make Zion feel like he’s not enough because my heart is somewhere else?”

Her mother looked down, lips pressed together tightly.

“I’m not confused. I’m not being reckless. I’m in love, Mom,” she whispered. “Really in love. And I’ve never said that before and actually meant it.”

Her mother exhaled slowly. “This isn’t easy for me to understand, you know that.”

“I know,” Chaeyoung said, voice breaking. “But it’s real. She’s leaving. Tonight. And if I don’t go to her now... I’ll lose the only person who ever made me feel like myself.”

A silence hung in the air, heavy and waiting.

Then her father stood.

He walked toward her, eyes glassy, and without a word—he pulled her into a hug so tight it broke her.

“I’m proud of you,” he said softly. “It takes guts to live your truth. Let’s go, my baby.”

She gasped against his shoulder.

“We’re going to stop that florist from running away,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips.

Her mother still looked torn—but when she saw her daughter’s face, when she saw how she was glowing even now, something softened in her. She nodded, slowly. A mother’s blessing hidden in her silent eyes.

Chaeyoung wiped her cheeks. Her pulse surged with hope.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

They grabbed the keys.

They were going to the flower shop.

The tires screeched as Chaeyoung’s dad swerved out of the driveway, engine growling like it shared her urgency.

Chaeyoung sat hunched forward, her phone shaking in her hands. Her thumb was blistered from redialing the same number over and over.
No answer. Again. And again.

In the backseat, her mother sat in silence, hand pressed to her chest, watching her daughter fall apart one call at a time.

“Do you think she’s still there?” her father asked, voice tight with concern. “The flower shop?”

Chaeyoung’s throat was dry. “I—I don’t know. Sana said she wasn’t sure when Mina was leaving. What if we’re already too late?” Her voice cracked on the last word.

“You’re not,” her dad said, cutting through her panic. “Listen to me. We’ll find her. But you have to hold on.”

As they turned onto the quiet street where the flower shop stood, the sky was bleeding into dusk—orange and violet streaks above the rooftops.
The shop’s lights were out.
Only one silhouette remained inside.

Chaeyoung’s heart stuttered.

The car hadn’t even come to a full stop when she tore the door open and ran.

She flung the shop door wide, the little bell above it jangling wildly. “SANA!”

Sana spun around, startled. Her expression shifted in an instant—from confusion to sympathy. “Chaeyoung—oh my god.”

Chaeyoung collapsed into her arms, her fists curled into Sana’s shirt. “Tell me she’s still here. Please. Tell me I didn’t lose her too.”

Sana hesitated. That split-second pause told her everything.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You just missed her. Maybe ten minutes ago.”

“No…” The sound came from somewhere deep, like it had been waiting to escape. “No, no, no—”

Her dad appeared at the door. “Is this Mina?”

Sana shook her head quickly. “No. I’m just her friend. But I know what flight she’s on. If we leave now, there’s still a chance.”

“Keys. Now.” Chaeyoung’s voice was hoarse but sharp.

Sana grabbed them without another word. The broom clattered to the ground behind her as she locked up the shop in a rush.

—

They flew through the city like lightning through a wire. Sana drove like her life depended on it. Chaeyoung sat stiffly in the front, gripping her seatbelt with white knuckles, the phone pressed desperately to her ear.

“Mina, please… Please pick up. Just once. Please…” Her voice broke.

Every beep that followed was another nail driven into her chest. “The number you dialed is unreachable.”

Behind them, her mother whispered a prayer under her breath. Her father leaned forward. “We’ll make it. We will.”

But they didn’t.

By the time they screeched to a stop at the airport, the gate to Tokyo had already closed.
Final boarding had just ended.

Chaeyoung stumbled toward the terminal window, eyes wild, scanning the hallway behind the gate. Empty.

She gripped the metal barrier as if she could tear it down with her hands.

“She’s gone…” she whispered.

The words hit harder than she expected. Her knees buckled slightly.

Sana caught her, arms around her shoulders. “I’m sorry…”

But Chaeyoung pulled away, eyes blazing now. “No. I’m not giving up.”

“What?”

“I’m going after her. I have to.”

—

[The Next Morning – Haneda Airport, Tokyo, Japan]

The airport buzzed with travelers and voices, but to Chaeyoung it was all white noise. Her head pounded from the overnight flight. She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t eaten. Her body was running on adrenaline and heartbreak.

She pushed through the crowd, dragging her suitcase behind her like it weighed a thousand pounds.

“Mina!” she called into the sea of strangers, not caring how ridiculous she looked. “Mina!”

“Chaeyoung!” Sana called out, chasing after her. “Slow down—she might not even be—”

But then she saw her.

A familiar silhouette in a beige trench coat. Wheeling a suitcase. Head down. Alone.

Chaeyoung’s breath caught like a punch to the ribs.

“Mina!” she screamed.

Mina froze in her steps.

Her head turned—slowly. Uncertain.

Then she saw her.

For a moment, time stopped.

Chaeyoung stepped forward, her voice breaking. “Please… don’t go.”

Mina’s mouth opened. She looked like she was trying to speak, but the shock had silenced her.

“I was too scared,” Chaeyoung said, her voice thick with tears. “I didn’t fight for you, and I should have. I should’ve never let you walk away.”

Mina’s eyes shimmered, her grip tightening on the suitcase handle. Her lips trembled. “Why now?”

“Because losing you hurts more than all the fear I’ve ever felt,” Chaeyoung whispered. “And I’d rather run through every airport in the world than spend one more second pretending I can live without you.”

Silence.

Then Mina took a single step forward. And another.

Then she let go of the suitcase.

She ran.

Straight into Chaeyoung’s arms.

And under the fluorescent lights of Haneda Airport, surrounded by strangers and the chaos of departures, they held on like the world had finally stopped spinning.