When Love Forgets

Chapter 5

                     Taehyung’s POV

I sat on the low stone wall outside the university courtyard, sipping my coffee and trying to focus on the conversation with Jimin. I had hoped it would help take my mind off things, but it wasn’t working.

“So,” Jimin began, glancing at me with a raised eyebrow, “how’s the whole... marriage thing going?”

I exhaled loudly, feeling frustration bubbling inside me.

“Stop with the bullshit, Jimin. You know it’s just on paper. Nothing’s changed.”

Jimin frowned but didn’t push the subject further. Instead, he gave me a long, knowing look.

“I still can’t believe you don’t remember her. You guys were more than just friends, man.”

I swallowed hard, my jaw tightening.

“Don’t get sentimental, Jimin. I’m with Sora now. That’s all that matters. I don’t need to be reminded of the past.”

Jimin’s face showed concern.

“I get it. But I still hope you can remember her one day. I know how much she meant to you.”

I felt a pang in my chest. It was hard to deny the weight of his words, but I couldn’t let myself go there. I loved Sora. That was the only truth I had left.

At that moment, I noticed Sora approaching from the distance. She was walking toward me with that familiar, carefree smile, drawing attention from everyone around her.

I quickly stood up, trying to shake off the strange sensation in my chest.

Sora greeted Jimin warmly before turning her attention to me.

“Hey, babe,” she said softly.

Her voice sent a jolt through me, but I quickly pushed it aside and forced a smile.

But my eyes kept drifting back to Mina, walking away with her friend, Nari. The sight of her black hair flowing behind her was hauntingly familiar.

I didn’t understand it. I couldn’t understand it.

I turned back to Sora, trying to push my thoughts away.

“I told you not to talk to me in university,” I said, my tone colder than I intended.

Sora looked at me in surprise but didn’t say anything more.

“Fine,” she said, her smile faltering for a moment. “Let’s go, then.”

She began talking about the time we had spent together, trying to keep my mind off what I had just seen.

As we walked toward the campus gates, I felt a nagging feeling that I couldn’t shake.

                   Mina’s POV

I walked away from the courtyard, my heart heavy. Every glance toward Taehyung sent a new wave of hurt through me. Seeing him with Sora had only confirmed what I already knew—he didn’t want anything to do with me.

I tried to focus on the conversation I had just had with Nari, but it was impossible.

The memory of Taehyung’s cold expression and the way he had told me never to talk to him in university gnawed at my mind. And now, seeing him with Sora, it felt like a slap in the face.

We arrived at the café near campus, and I slowed my pace. I glanced at Nari, unsure of what to say.

“Nari,” I started, my voice barely above a whisper,

“I know you’ve heard about me being Taehyung’s wife. But I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Nari gave me a kind, understanding look.

“Hey, I understand. It’s your personal life, Mina. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

I let out a breath, relieved by her gentle response.

“I just… I don’t know what to do anymore. Everything feels so confusing, and I feel so lost.”

Nari smiled softly and placed a reassuring hand on my arm.

“You belong here, Mina. And if you ever need to talk, I’m always here for you.”

I gave her a small, grateful smile. I didn’t deserve her kindness, but I appreciated it more than she knew.

As we sat down and I looked around at the students in the café, I couldn’t help but feel like an outsider in my own life. The weight of my situation seemed too much to carry.

I had no idea what to do with this marriage or the man I was supposed to call my husband.

But one thing was clear—I couldn’t keep pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t.

               Taehyung’s POV

As I stepped into the house, a familiar scent wafted through the air—the comforting aroma of dinner. I paused for a moment, taking in the scene before me.

There she was, Mina, sitting at the kitchen table, her posture slumped, her hair cascading over her shoulders like a dark curtain hiding her from the world. The sight of her made my heart ache.

She was silent, lost in her thoughts, and I could sense a sadness emanating from her that felt almost palpable.

“Hey,” I said, my voice hesitant, but she didn’t look up.

Instead, she stared down at her plate, pushing the food around with her fork as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. I could feel the weight of my own indifference pressing down on me.

It was as if I were watching a ghost, the vibrant girl I once knew slowly fading away, replaced by someone who seemed to have given up.

The memories of the past flooded my mind like a tidal wave. I remembered the conversations I’d had with my mother and Jin just days before. They talked about how Mina and I were inseparable, how our love was something special—something meant to last.

They showed me an old photograph of us, taken on a carefree summer day, laughter captured in the moment, our innocence radiating from the picture. We looked so happy, so in love, and it struck me like a lightning bolt.

Why couldn’t I remember that happiness? Why couldn’t I recall the love they spoke of? My head throbbed as I fought against the confusion that engulfed me.

“Mina…” I began, the name slipping from my lips, but before I could muster the courage to approach her, she stood up abruptly.

I watched, frozen, as she gathered her things, her movements quick and purpose-driven.

There was a distance in her eyes that I had never seen before—a quiet resolve that told me she was done trying.

For the first time, she was acting distant, retreating into herself like a flower closing up against a storm. My heart sank as I realized how much she had changed since the wedding, how she had stopped fighting for my attention, for my affection.

She didn’t look back as she walked out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts.

I wanted to call out to her, to bridge the chasm that had formed between us, but the words caught in my throat. I was terrified of what I might say, terrified of the vulnerability that would come with it.

My confusion morphed into frustration, and I slammed my hand against the countertop, the sound echoing in the empty space.

What had I done?

As I stood there, the silence enveloped me, heavy and suffocating. I knew I had to talk to her, to figure out what was happening between us, but every time I tried, I felt the walls close in.

I was a mess of emotions—fear, confusion, and a lingering sense of loss that gnawed at me.

I could see her retreating silhouette as she disappeared into her room, and I cursed under my breath.