She unlocked her phone and showed me a picture of a pretty girl.
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She smiled sadly.
"That's shin Jimin, my daughter. You guys were friends ever since you were born. But my pretty girl dies when she was seven years old. You were devastated."
I sighed, relieved.
We weren't talking about the same Jimin.
I left to my car.
My Jimin was way prettier in my eyes.
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