Later that night, i had my dinner, and i went straight up to bed. I am just thinking about a hug. I wrote in my diary.
Dear Diary,
Why did he hug me? What is he thinking about and the hug... it was warm, comforting in a way I never expected. I felt safe in his arms, and for a second, I didn't want to let go. But why? Why am I feeling this way about Jimin? It's confusing, and I don't know what to do.
----------------------💜💜💜💜💜---------------------
Days passed in blur. Scribbling on the walls became a part of my life, a silent ritual I looked forward to every evening.
The mysterious exchange with the anonymous writer gave me something to hold onto—an invisible connection that made me feel less alone. Day after day, I would go to the terrace, leaving a piece of myself behind, and in return, I'd find a part of them, someone who understood the weight of hidden thoughts and unspoken fears.
Until one day, everything changed.
Scribbler:
"People don't care about me."
I felt a pang of sadness reading it. Without hesitating, I wrote my reply:
"They just don't show it, but they do care."
---
The next day, the scribbler responded again:
"I want people to act like normal with me."
I couldn't help but feel for this person. My reply was simple but true:
"Then you need to talk and let them know."
---
The day after that, the message appeared again:
"Do you think they really listen to me?"
My heart ached for them. I wrote back:
"You need to make them listen. Keep trying until they do."
---
Another day passed, and the message was shorter but even more vulnerable:
"I am scared."
I replied, hoping to give them strength:
"Don't be. If you're scared to talk now, you'll carry this fear for the rest of your life."
---
Today, I found a message that surprised me:
"I don't know who you are, but I will listen to you and talk to them."
I smiled as I wrote back:
"Thanks for taking my advice."
---
Now, as I sit here at home, my thoughts keep drifting back to the anonymous scribbler. Did they talk to the people they've been mentioning these past few days? I hope they found the courage to say what's been on their mind.
Whoever they are, I just want them to be okay.
Dear Diary,
I hope the scribbler confessed what they wanted to confess. There's something about their words that makes me want to be there for them, even if I don't know who they are. I'm waiting for tomorrow. I'm curious and a little anxious to see their next message. I wish I could be there for them in person. -----------------------💜💜💜💜💜-----------------
The next day, when I went to class, Bora was out sick, so I had to face it alone. As soon as I walked in, I noticed Jimin, Jungkook, and Jhope were already seated. Everything felt off. Jimin wasn't giving me his usual cold stare. Instead, he was... looking at me in a way that made me feel seen, but not in the usual intense way.
I tried ignoring him, but Jimin made that impossible. He came and sat next to me, and every time I glanced at him, he was looking right back, his eyes soft instead of cold. Then, out of nowhere, he lightly tapped my head with his pen and said, "Focus on the class, not on me," followed by a smile.
Wait—did he just smile?
What? Jimin can smile?
Am I dreaming?
I couldn't help myself; I reached out and touched his forehead, checking if he was running a fever.
He looked at me, confused.
Jimin: "What's happening?"
"Are you sick?" I asked.
"No... why?"
"Then why did you smile? Why are you talking to me like a normal person?" I blurted out.
Jimin just smiled again, shaking his head like I was the weird one. "Let me copy the notes. Don't disturb me."
I nodded, completely dazed, and ended up dozing off instead of focusing on class.
Later that evening:
I went upstairs to the terrace, hoping for a new message. But as I stepped onto the familiar space, my heart sank.
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