PHOENIX

Chocolate

Minjun stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed on Evara.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back against the wall, her eyes trained on one of his books.

It was a psychology textbook—dense, complex, not the kind of thing a typical twelve-year-old would pick up. But then again, Evara was far from typical.

He couldn't help but smile at the sight. It wasn't the first time he had caught her poring over one of his books.

She was a mystery, one he had been trying to solve since the day they met.

There was something about her, something deep and hidden, something that drew him in, making him want to understand her even when she herself seemed lost in her own mind.

"Interesting?" he asked, walking into the hall.

Evara glanced up, her expression unreadable. "It's okay," she replied nonchalantly, her voice flat as she closed the book and set it aside.

Minjun didn't press further. He knew better than to push her.

She was like a closed book—hard to read, impossible to decipher unless she allowed it. But that was part of her charm, part of what made her so intriguing.

From the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew she was different, that there was something about her that was unlike anyone he had ever met.

She was a paradox, an enigma. On the surface, she was blunt, rudely honest, and had a foul mouth that could make even the most seasoned rapper blush.

Minjun still found himself puzzled by Evara more often than not. Despite the time they had spent together, revealing just enough to keep him curious but not enough to fully understand her.

He had learned to pick up on the small details, the subtle clues that hinted at her past and her personality, but there was so much more beneath the surface that he couldn't quite grasp.

One thing he had figured out was that Evara wasn't Korean.

It wasn't something she ever explicitly said, but it was clear in the way she struggled with certain Korean words, particularly when she rapped. Her pronunciation would get mixed up, and she'd occasionally stumble over the syllables in a way that a native speaker wouldn't.

But her English, on the other hand, was flawless—better than his, even. The way she spoke English was almost too perfect, as if she had been formally trained in it, but it was a stark contrast to her sometimes awkward Korean.

And then there was her talent. Her lyrics and compositions were raw, honest, and far beyond her years and though she was still learning to dance, she was a fast learner—frighteningly so.

She absorbed information like a sponge, adapting and improving with every passing day. It was almost as if she was determined to excel at everything, as if she was running out of time.

Minjun also noticed that Evara had a phone, but she barely used it.

It was a simple, outdated model, nothing fancy like the smartphones that were becoming more popular at the time. Sometimes, he would catch her staring at the screen, her face expressionless, before she tucked it away as if it held no significance. It made him wonder what, if anything, she was waiting for, or if there was someone she was avoiding contacting.

She had other habits that intrigued him as well. He'd discovered early on that she liked to read—a lot.

Whenever she wasn't busy with their training or out wandering the streets, she had her nose buried in a book.