Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Y/N's POV
It had been three long months since my debut, and yet, avoiding Jimin had become an art form in itself. Every time I saw him, whether it was at the company, near the stores, or even at cafes, I made a conscious effort to steer clear of his path. I ignored him as if he were invisible, refusing to acknowledge his presence no matter how hard he tried to catch my attention.
What annoyed me the most was the way he looked at me with those puppy dog eyes, filled with pity and guilt. It was as if he expected me to forgive him for whatever transgressions he believed he had committed. But I wasn't about to be swayed by his sudden change in demeanor. I had made up my mind to keep my distance from him, no matter what.
It wasn't easy, of course. There were moments when our paths inevitably crossed, despite my best efforts to avoid him. Each time it happened, I felt a surge of frustration rising within me, but I pushed it aside, reminding myself of the reasons why I had chosen to keep my distance from him in the first place.
I couldn't afford to let myself be distracted by him, not when I had worked so hard to establish myself as a solo artist. My focus needed to be on my music, my performances, and my career. Jimin was nothing but a distraction, a complication that I didn't need in my life.
He was nothing but trouble.
No matter how hard I tried to evade him, it seemed that Park Jimin had a knack for appearing when I least expected it. Take this particular day, for example. I was innocently browsing the aisles of the convenience store, on the hunt for my favorite spicy Shin Ramyun, when fate decided to intervene in the form of a collision.
As I turned a corner, lost in my search for the perfect instant noodles, I bumped into someone—someone who I immediately recognized as none other than Park Jimin himself. The root cause of my stress and hair fall, standing right in front of me.
"Y/N..." he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. But I wasn't about to let him draw any unnecessary attention to us. With a quick shushing motion and a pointed glance at my disguise—a mask pulled down over my face—I silenced him before he could utter another word.
"Shhh! I'm not a trainee anymore! Do you not see this mask?" I hissed, my tone sharp with irritation. His eyes widened in realization, and he offered a sheepish apology, glancing around as if expecting a swarm of fanboys to materialize out of thin air at the mention of my name.
"Oh shit, sorry..." he muttered, clearly embarrassed by the potential consequences of his slip-up. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his obliviousness. If he had said my name any louder, we might as well have broadcasted our whereabouts to the entire city, attracting the attention of both fans and paparazzi alike.
I could already envision the sensational headlines: "Y/N, BigHit Soloist, Spotted Indulging in Shin Ramyun—How Does She Stay in Shape?" The last thing I needed was to become the subject of yet another tabloid scandal.
In the dimly lit aisle of the convenience store, as I stood frozen in shock at the journalists' unexpected conversation, it seemed as though time itself had ground to a halt. The words hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the fragile peace I had worked so hard to maintain.
