Nineteen - Twenty Seven || JJK || ✔️ [EDITED ✔️]

CHAP 18: Tormented by lost love

Y/N's POV:

Days turned into weeks, and I struggled to adjust to my new life. The emptiness inside me was a constant ache, a reminder of the love I had sacrificed. I avoided social media, fearing the sight of Jungkook's face, the updates on his life that would only deepen my wounds.

Namjoon and his friends did their best to distract me, to fill the void with new experiences and gentle support. But every night, as I lay in bed, I would close my eyes and see Jungkook's smile, hear his laughter, feel the warmth of his embrace. The knowledge that I had done this to protect him was the only thing that kept me going.

I wrote him letters I would never send, pouring out my love and sorrow, my hopes for his happiness, and my apologies for the pain I had caused. Each letter was a catharsis, a way to cope with the unbearable silence between them.

In my heart, I held onto the hope that one day, when the danger had passed and the wounds had healed, I might find my way back to him. But for now, I had to let him go, to live his life without the shadow of my past looming over him.

And so, I faced each day with quiet strength, knowing that the hardest decisions were often the most necessary. I had chosen love in its purest form—the kind that sacrifices everything for the safety and happiness of another. And that, I believed, was the truest expression of my love for Jungkook.

I also hanged my number so that Jungkook cannot contact me. 

A/N's POV:

The thought that he might never hear from her again has wrapped itself around his mind like a vice. It's as if every second that ticks by without her voice on the other end of the line is a deliberate stab at his sanity.

His heart thrashes against his ribcage, each beat a reminder of her absence. Did she change her number on purpose? The thought claws at him, driving sharp, icy shards of panic deep into his consciousness. Jimin tries his best to calm him down but sometimes it gets out of his hand.

His world is reduced to chaos. In a fit of rage and desperation, he lash out, his hands seizing anything within reach to hurl against the walls. Glass shatters, books scatter, and furniture topples. 

Each crash and splinter feels like an external manifestation of the storm inside him, but it does nothing to quell the torment. Instead, the pain amplifies, reverberating through the wreckage of his apartment and settling like a heavy, toxic fog.

The silence that follows each outburst is deafening, pressing down on him with a weight that threatens to crush what little remains of his composure. Living without her feels like a slow, agonizing death. 

Every breath is a struggle, every moment a battle to stave off the creeping darkness that her absence has summoned. His mind races through a thousand scenarios—did I say something wrong? Did I miss a sign, a plea, an indication that this was coming?

Hope and despair war within him, a brutal and relentless conflict that leaves him exhausted, yet unable to find peace. The world outside continues as if nothing has changed, but for him, everything has. 

The colors are muted, the sounds dull, the very air feels thicker and harder to breathe. Life without her is a landscape of desolation, a barren wasteland where memories of her are the only fleeting, ghostly reprieves from an otherwise unending night.