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Jinu staring admiringly at Rumi from across the room who is helping Zoey with her plans to get Mystery to fall for her which are really extreme ideas.
The living room had become a war zone of ideas.
Not physically no furniture overturned, no scorch marks from demon magic but emotionally? Strategically? Absolutely. Zoey paced back and forth across the rug like a general planning her most important campaign, hands flying, eyes bright with manic determination.
“Okay, hear me out,” Zoey said, spinning toward Rumi. “What if I accidentally get us locked in an elevator with Mystery. Very rom-com. Very fate.”
Rumi, seated cross-legged on the floor with a pillow hugged to her chest, blinked. Once. Twice. “…How would that even accidentally happen?”
Zoey waved the question away. “Details. Not important.”
“No,” Rumi said gently but firmly, lifting a hand. “Details are *very* important when you’re talking about trapping someone in a small enclosed space.”
Across the room, Jinu sat on the couch, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, posture relaxed but his attention was anything but. His eyes followed Rumi with an almost embarrassing level of devotion, tracking every small movement: the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way her brows knit together when Zoey’s ideas went off the rails, the soft determination in her voice.
Mira noticed immediately.
She leaned closer to him and whispered, “You’re doing it again.”
Jinu didn’t look away. “Doing what?”
“That thing where you look like you’d worship the ground she walks on.”
He smiled, slow and unashamed. “I do.”
Mira made a gagging sound. “I’m going to start charging you rent for how much space you take up in my gag reflex.”
Jinu chuckled quietly, eyes still locked on Rumi. “She’s beautiful when she’s trying to save someone from themselves.”
On the floor, Zoey had moved on.
“Fine,” she said. “New idea. I write him a heartfelt confession, but I also bake cookies shaped like his favorite Jenga pieces.”
“Still no,” Rumi said, though her tone stayed calm. “You’re doing too much.”
Zoey stopped pacing. “How is caring *too much*?”
“Because you’re not giving him space to respond,” Rumi explained, scooting closer and placing a reassuring hand on Zoey’s arm. “You don’t need a grand gesture. You need something honest. Simple.”
Zoey’s mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again. “What if I hire a string quartet?”
Rumi’s eyes widened. “Zoey.”
“What if I—”
“Zoey.”
“What if I”
“Zoey!” Rumi burst out, shock finally breaking through her patience. “You cannot orchestrate a full romantic spectacle like you’re planning a surprise wedding!”
There was a beat of silence.
Zoey slowly deflated, plopping down onto the couch cushions with a dramatic groan. “I just want him to like me.”
Rumi’s expression softened instantly. She shifted closer, resting her forehead briefly against Zoey’s shoulder. “I know. And he will. But you don’t have to overwhelm him to be worthy of love.”
From the couch, Jinu felt something swell in his chest—pride, warmth, awe, all tangled together. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, smiling openly now.
Mira caught it. Of course she did.
“You’re smiling like she just cured a disease,” Mira said.
“She kind of did,” Jinu replied. “An emotional one.”
Mira snorted. “You are *so* married.”
Rumi glanced over her shoulder then, just for a second—and caught Jinu staring.
Not just looking. *Staring.*
His eyes were warm, reverent, full of something that made her breath hitch unexpectedly. The room faded for a moment, and she felt it, that familiar, comforting tug in her chest that told her she was seen. Loved. Chosen.
Her lips curved into a soft smile before she could stop herself.
Jinu’s smile deepened in response.
Mira groaned. “Oh my god, stop looking at each other like that.”
Rumi laughed lightly and stood, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Okay,” she said, turning back to Zoey. “How about this: you write him a letter. No pressure. Just how you feel.”
Zoey hesitated. “…No props?”
“No props.”
“No theatrics?”
“No theatrics.”
Zoey sighed. “…Fine.”
Rumi beamed. “See? You’re doing great.”
She turned toward Jinu and Mira. “Hey, can you two help me keep her from spiraling again?”
Mira raised an eyebrow. “Help how?”
Rumi gestured vaguely. “Moral support? Backup? Physical restraint if needed?”
Jinu stood immediately. “You’re doing amazing, love.”
Mira nodded solemnly. “Truly. A+ de-escalation. Ten out of ten mom energy.”
Rumi froze. “…Mom?”
Jinu laughed softly, stepping closer and brushing his thumb along her knuckles. “She means nurturing. You’re incredible at it.”
Her cheeks warmed. “You’re biased.”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Completely.”
Mira watched them for a moment, then shook her head. “I swear, the way you look at her should be illegal.”
Jinu slipped an arm around Rumi’s waist, pulling her gently against his side. “She’s my wife. I’m allowed.”
Rumi melted into him instinctively, resting her head against his shoulder. “I like when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Exist near me.”
Mira made another gagging noise, louder this time. “I need hazard pay.”
Zoey, now seated at the table with a pen and paper, glanced up. “If I write something embarrassing, can I blame all of you?”
“Yes,” Rumi said immediately.
Jinu leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Rumi’s temple—slow, affectionate, unhurried. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second, a small, content smile spreading across her face.
Mira threw her hands up. “That’s it. I’m leaving the room.”
Rumi laughed, turning just enough to kiss Jinu properly—sweet, lingering, full of warmth but nothing too much. When she pulled back, her eyes sparkled.
“You’re making me too happy,” she murmured.
Jinu smiled, forehead resting against hers. “That’s my job.”
From the table, Zoey sighed dramatically. “Okay… I’ll do it your way.”
Rumi turned, relief washing over her. “Really?”
Zoey nodded. “Yeah. No elevator traps. No quartets. Just… me.”
Rumi smiled warmly. “That’s more than enough.”
As Zoey bent over the paper, Mira returned just long enough to mutter, “I hate how right you are.”
Jinu squeezed Rumi’s waist gently, another kiss pressed to her lips just because he could.
Rumi laughed into it, happiness bubbling over, feeling safe, loved, and very glad she’d followed her heart—both in love and in friendship.