Rewrite the Rules

Radio Silence: : Part 19

Days later he never called or texted or well, anything. I stared down at my phone. Frustration gnawed at me. Here I was, picturing myself as the effortlessly cool girl – the one who wouldn't obsess over a phone number exchange. Yet, here I was, playing a ridiculous game with myself.

My phone, usually an extension of my hand, lay abandoned on the far side of the hotel room. Every muscle in my body tensed as I pretended to focus on organizing my work, my gaze constantly flicking towards the abandoned rectangle.

"Stupid," I muttered under my breath. This wasn't me.

I prided myself on my casual confidence, not this desperate need to check for a text that might not even come. Taking a deep breath, I marched across the room, snatching up the phone with a defiant air. Of course, the screen remained stubbornly blank. A wave of disappointment washed over me, quickly followed by a surge of anger – at him, at myself, at the ridiculous situation.

Tossing the phone back onto the bed, I flopped down into a nearby chair. Maybe the cool girl act wasn't the answer. Maybe, just maybe, it was okay to be a little... interested.

With a resigned sigh, I picked the phone back up, scrolling through social media with a newfound purpose.

Maybe a distraction would help. But even as I scrolled, a part of me couldn't help but hope – a tiny spark of anticipation waiting to be ignited by a single notification.

My fingers scrolled mindlessly through social media, each passing post a fresh stab of nervous energy.

The internet had exploded with the news of the "mystery girl" – me – and Namjoon's kiss. A whirlwind of theories and opinions swirled around me, a virtual storm threatening to pull me under.

"Planned PR stunt?" one tweet blared, the harsh accusation dripping with cynicism. My stomach clenched. Planned? The surprise had been painted all over my face in those high-definition close-ups.

Another post displayed a screenshot of the kiss, the caption a single, possessive word: "Mine."This wasn't just an online discussion anymore, it felt dangerously personal.

The sentiment seemed to be split down the middle, with passionate pleas for Namjoon's happiness battling with territorial pronouncements from possessive fans. "I hope he's, her boyfriend!" some declared, their well-wishes tinged with a hint of envy.

"Stay away from my oppa!" others shrieked, their words laced with venom.

Was this the reality I was signing up for? A life under constant scrutiny, my every move dissected and debated by millions?

Pictures of him happily smiling with the other members out and about in Los Angeles. But still no contact from him.

The shrill ring of my phone tore me from the vortex of work emails. It was Daisy, again. With a sigh, I swiped to answer, bracing myself for another round of social media speculation.

"Finally!" her voice crackled through the receiver, laced with a hint of playful accusation. "I thought I might have to send a search party."

"Don't worry," I countered, a wry smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "I haven't called anyone back yet."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she shot back, her voice tinged with mock disappointment.

"Well..." I stammered, momentarily flustered. Was I supposed to be reassuring her, or myself?

"Yeah, hold on a minute," she interrupted, the sound of rustling fabric replacing her voice. "I'm going to put you on video. Samina's going to join, and let's just say, she has questions."