Me? Obsessed? | Bbangsaz Au

You.

Minji POV:

She always walked by with others, I wish it was me.

I wish she looked at me the way I looked at her.

I'd give away everything just to have a chance to be in her life.

The first time I saw her, it felt like the world had stopped. Her laughter, a melodic symphony, echoed through the halls of our university. Her smile, radiant as the morning sun, could light up the darkest corners of my heart. From that moment, I knew she was meant to be mine. I could only hope she realized it soon.

Every day, I watched her from afar, my heart swelling with an inexplicable warmth every time she came into view. She was always surrounded by friends, her presence like a magnet drawing people in. But even in a crowd, she stood out. I found myself longing to be one of those friends, to share in her joy, to be the reason behind her laughter, her smile.

As time passed, I started learning everything about her, piecing together the puzzle of her life from the fragments I gathered. Her favorite coffee shop, the way she liked her coffee – two sugars, one cream. The routes she took to her classes, the books she borrowed from the library. Each detail was a treasure, a connection that brought me closer to her.

It was in those quiet moments, when I followed her to the library or watched her study at the cafe, that I felt a sense of peace. I imagined scenarios where we would accidentally bump into each other, where our hands would touch as we reached for the same book, where our eyes would meet and a spark would ignite. My imaginations fuelled by the relationships I saw on tv, if they could have it, why couldn't I?

I started keeping a journal, meticulously recording every encounter, every glimpse, every word she spoke. Her voice was music, and I replayed the snippets of conversation I overheard, savoring each syllable. I wanted her to be mine.

I began to collect what I call, souvenirs. Just things to remember her by, it started with a discarded coffee cup, then a lost hairpin, then a fallen leaf from the tree she sat under. Each item was a piece of her, a fragment of her essence that I could hold onto.

I stored them in a box under my bed, a shrine to my unspoken love.

Sometimes, late at night, I would open the box and hold the objects, feeling a sense of closeness to her.

I want more. This simply isn't enough. I need more.

Yet, despite my careful observations and collected treasures, there was always an invisible barrier between us. She didn't know I existed. To her, I was just another face in the crowd, another passerby in her busy life.

How cruel.

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Hanni POV:

She always walked by with others, I wish it was me.

I wish she looked at me the way I look at her.

I'd give away everything just to have a chance to be in her life.

The first time I saw her, it felt like the world had stopped. Her quiet strength, the way she moved with a purpose, captivated me. Her eyes, deep and intense, seemed to hold secrets I was desperate to uncover. From that moment, I knew I was destined to be near her, to understand her, to love her.

Every day, I watched her. Although surrounded by friends I always noticed her when she was around. She had regular company, but apart from that, she seemed alone, a solitary figure in the populated school. I want to be the one to break her solitude, to share her hidden world, to be the reason behind her smiles.

I started learning everything about her, piecing together the fragments of her life like a delicate mosaic. Her favorite study spot in the library, the way she liked her coffee, black, no sugar, the paths she took through campus, the books she read late into the night. Each detail was a thread, weaving a connection between us, drawing me deeper into her world.

But it wasn't enough.

I wanted more.

I started stalking her Instagram, LinkedIn, anything I could get my hands on. Slowly I found became familiar with her schedule, her hobbies, friends, family. Everything.

After all, they would become my family one day. Best to get to know them now.

I imagined scenarios where we would accidentally brush against each other, where our eyes would meet and the world would fade away, where we would share a secret smile that spoke volumes. But reality was harsh, and those dreams remained just that. Dreams.

I started keeping a journal, meticulously recording every encounter, every glimpse, every word she spoke. Her voice was mine to enjoy, and I replayed the snippets of conversation I overheard, savoring each word.

I began to collect mementos, a discarded notebook page, a lost pen, a napkin. Each item was a piece of her, a fragment that I could hold onto. I stored them in a box under my bed, it would be mine and only mine to see and hold.

Yet, despite my careful observations and collected treasures, there was always an invisible barrier between us. She didn't know I existed. To her, I was just another face in the crowd, another passerby in her busy life.

How cruel.