"What if I said I have met you before."
"What do you mean."
"I mean we were lovers in the past."
"..........Fu*k off dude"
They were meant to cross their paths again, a story left incomplete was meant to be completed in this life or was this??
A Na...
Hyung - Korean word for older brother or used by a male to call another male who is a little older than them.
Nonna - Korean word for older sister or used by male to call another female who is a little older than them.
He stared blankly at the city lights from the balcony of his penthouse, unable to fall back asleep after the nightmare. The terror still lingered in his chest like smoke after a fire. The night air had turned cold, a quiet sign that winter was on its way. Unclenching his fingers from the railing, he moved toward the open balcony pool. The water reflected the crescent moon above, its pale light shining like a silvery claw across the rippling surface.
Lowering himself onto the edge, he dipped his legs into the water. The cold touch grounded him—soothed the nerves still frayed by the haunting images from his dream.
He couldn't understand it. What could possibly scare him so deeply that he'd dream of flames, blood, and heartbreak night after night? He didn't remember ever knowing such pain. The vividness of it—the way it felt like his skin burning, his heart breaking—was too intense to explain. Even the soft rustling of fallen autumn leaves or the distant chirping of crickets and cicadas couldn't distract him from the echo of grief the dream had left behind.
Worse than the nightmare itself was the certainty that it would return. Just like it had every night this week.
He wasn't afraid of it anymore. But it wasn't helping either.
He already had enough fear and trauma bottled up to last a lifetime—he didn't need more.
A buzz jolted him from his spiral. His phone lit up beside him.
"Meet me at this place at 10. I have something for you."
He stared at the screen. His face went blank. All the dread and emotion he'd been feeling just a moment ago vanished like smoke. Replaced by nothingness.
Dragging himself inside, he forced his heavy limbs toward the shower. No sleep. No energy. A mind blurred by exhaustion and pain. All he could do now was hope that whatever his friend had for him would be good news.
The bakery was... unexpected.
Soft pastel colors painted the exterior. The front wall was made entirely of glass, giving a clear view of the warm, inviting space inside. Dozens of colorful flowers draped from the awning like vines, swaying gently in the breeze. A few white tables were set outside on the patio, while inside, a small cluster of tables sat further back, away from the large display of baked goods.
It was a European-style bakery—charming, elegant, and utterly out of place in the urban landscape. Whoever had designed it had poured heart and soul into it, and it worked. It was peaceful. Serene. A sharp contrast to the storm brewing inside him.
Of all the places...
"Couldn't he pick a less cliché place to meet?" he muttered under his breath, already irritated. The nightmares had left him raw, and his friend's choice of location wasn't helping.
"I mean, if you don't like this place, sir," a voice drawled behind the counter, "you're more than welcome to find somewhere else."
The sarcasm hit him like a slap.
His eyes narrowed at the speaker—clearly a staff member. The man wore a crisp white button-down shirt tucked into crème-colored pants, with clean sneakers and a white apron that read Dalkom Bakery. He was handsome—annoyingly so—and clearly too confident for his own good.
"If I had a choice," he replied flatly, "this would be the last place I'd ever step foot in. I'm here to meet a friend."
The worker scoffed, not missing a beat. "Could've fooled me. That look says 'murder,' not 'meeting.'"
They were polar opposites: one in white, the other shrouded in black—black t-shirt, black cargos, boots, and a mess of hair that fell slightly across his forehead. And both voiced at the same time:
"What a waste of looks."
Their heads turned sharply toward one another.
"Are you fuc—" The counter staff began, only to be cut off by a sharp smack to the back of the other's head.
"Nonna!" the man yelped. "Why'd you hit me?"
A woman stood beside him shooting subtle daggers at him. She wore a simple white tee, jeans, and sneakers, with an apron wrapped around her waist. Despite her youthful looks—short jet-black hair and petite frame—she exuded the calm authority of someone much older.
"You're harassing customers, Jackson."
"I wasn't harassing him! He started it. He was glaring at the bread!"
She ignored his whining and turned to the brooding customer with a kind, apologetic smile.
"I'm so sorry about that. Please be seated comfortably and how about a coffee—on the house?" She paused, looking at him more carefully. "You look like you need it."
Left with no better option, he gave a stiff nod and followed her inside. The door chimed softly behind him. As soon as he stepped in, a warm, sweet aroma hit him—comforting and strangely familiar. It wrapped around him like a blanket. The place was bigger than it appeared from the outside. Rows of breads, cookies, cakes, and pastries lined the glass cases, the scent of sugar and spice filling the air.
He felt his shoulders drop without realizing it. He hadn't even known how tense he was.
Irene—he now knew her name—led him to a quiet table, took his order, and disappeared behind the swinging kitchen doors. Jackson stood sulking behind the counter, stealing glances at him that felt strangely... watchful.
It was unsettling to feel anything in this place. He thought he'd buried those feelings long ago. Being an orphan had hardened him, carved the softness out of his heart. But something about this place clawed at him. Something he didn't know how to welcome—or reject.
He didn't want to admit it.
But the bakery felt like home.
The door chimed again.
He glanced up instinctively.
A tall figure stepped inside, scanning the room. Their eyes met. The tension in his chest released just slightly.
"Kai," he said softly.
His friend hurried over and dropped into the seat opposite him, breathless.
"Traffic," Kai muttered apologetically.
He nodded once, then leaned in, voice low. "Did you find anything?"
Kai's expression darkened. "Jin... he's gone. No one's seen him. He's missing."
Silence crashed between them.
The bakery, once soft and warm, suddenly felt distant.
"Kai," he whispered, his voice steady and cold, "we must find him. No matter what."
Thanks for reading, there wasn't much going on in the chapter. I am sure it will get more intense with flashbacks in the next few chapters.
The picture at the top is a little reference to how the bakery looks like.
Have a beautiful day, pls vote and share the story. 💜
Editor: aster_inthesea
Beauty Queen Irene. 💜😍
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
