Girl group oneshots

Cassette (Kim Minji)

The old cassette clicked into place with a satisfying snap. I pressed the worn "play" button on my ancient cassette player, its once glossy surface now dulled by decades of use. There was a brief, crackling silence before her voice filled the room.

"Y/N... is this working?" Kim Minji's voice came through, hesitant at first. The sound of her soft laughter followed, and I could almost see her – sitting on the wooden bench outside the old vinyl shop where we used to spend our afternoons. The warm glow of the sun had always danced across her face back then, catching in her hair like threads of gold.

I leaned back in my armchair, the scent of old leather and dust filling my senses. The years had changed so much. But her voice, even after all this time, brought everything rushing back—the way she used to look at me, the warmth of her hand in mine, the dreams we once wove together, only for them to unravel too soon.

"Okay, let me start again!" She laughed, that sound I could never forget, so full of life. 

"Y/N, it's been three months since we left school. Can you believe it? I miss seeing you every day. I miss... well, I miss a lot of things."

I closed my eyes, letting the years melt away. I could see her as she was then—so young, so full of hope. We'd been reckless, running through the streets of our little town like we had the world at our feet. Minji, always a little ahead of me, leading the way. Her laughter echoed in the narrow alleyways, her skirts swishing with every playful step.

The tape continued.

"I don't know if I'm ever going to see you again," her voice softened, and I could hear the emotion she was trying to suppress. 

"But I'm recording this because I need you to know something. I... I loved you, Y/N. Maybe I still do. But life is pulling us in different directions, and I don't know how to stop it."

That confession—it still hit me like the first time I listened to it. I could remember the exact day she gave me this cassette. She'd slipped it into my jacket pocket the morning before she left for Seoul. She'd been accepted into an art program, a dream she'd nurtured for as long as I'd known her. I was so proud of her, but it had hurt more than I was willing to admit. We both knew that the distance would change things. And it had.

"Do you remember the day we skipped class and went to the river?" Her voice had lightened again, as if she was smiling. 

"You were too scared to jump into the water, and I had to push you. You were so mad at me afterward, but you got over it pretty fast."

I chuckled softly to myself, the memory playing out vividly in my mind. That summer day, the sun beating down on us, the cold shock of the river as I flailed and Minji stood on the shore laughing at me. She'd always been braver, more daring.

"I hope you're doing okay, wherever you are now," she continued, her voice growing fainter, as if she was speaking from another world entirely. 

"I just wanted you to know that you meant everything to me. Even if we can't be together now... you were my first love, Y/N."

I took a deep breath, my fingers tracing the edge of the cassette player. It had been 20 years since I last saw her. Twenty years since we stood on the platform at the train station, the wind whipping around us, carrying our unspoken words away. Minji had cried that day, and I'd tried so hard to be strong. I had promised her I wouldn't forget. And I hadn't.

The cassette clicked off, and silence filled the room once more. The years had flown by, sweeping me up in the current of life. I'd gone to university, built a career, settled into the rhythms of adulthood. But Minji... she had always been there, in the background of my mind. I'd kept this cassette as a reminder of the life we almost had, the love we shared when we were too young to understand what we had.

I stood, walking over to the small bookshelf in the corner of my room. There, tucked between novels and trinkets from the past, was a faded photo of us. Minji and I, barely out of high school, standing in front of that old vinyl shop. She was beaming, her arm looped around mine, and I was looking at her the way I always did—with a quiet adoration I never quite had the courage to put into words.

I placed the photo next to the cassette player, the two relics of our past side by side. The years had come and gone, and I'd moved on in many ways. But the echoes of her voice, the laughter that filled those fleeting moments, they had stayed with me.

I never heard from Minji again after that final recording. I'd thought about looking for her, wondering where she was, whether she had found happiness. But there was something about leaving it like this—preserved in memory, untouched by the weight of time—that felt right.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, I pressed "play" one more time. The crackle of the tape greeted me, followed by her familiar voice.

"Y/N... is this working?" Minji's voice asked again.

And just like that, for a brief moment, it was as if nothing had changed.

"Y/N," she began again, "I hope you're doing okay..."

And as the sound of her laughter filled the room, I smiled. It was a memory, after all. But some memories are meant to last forever.