When Love Forgets

Chapter 12

                        

                      Mina POV

It had been over two weeks since the last real conversation between Taehyung and me. Two weeks of silence, distance, and… nothingness. It was as though we lived in two different worlds, trapped under the same roof but never crossing paths. I never expected anything from him, but what stung the most was how easily he fulfilled his own wish. He asked for distance, for space—he got it. And now, I’ve become a ghost in my own life, ignoring him just as he ignores me.

The first few days were the hardest. I kept expecting something, some small acknowledgment from him—a word, a glance, anything. But there was nothing. Now, I’ve learned to live with it, to breathe in the same air and pretend he doesn’t exist. It’s what he wanted, and I’m not going to make it harder for either of us.

I spent most of my time at university now, drowning myself in books and lectures. It felt safer this way—detached. There was no room for anything else in my mind. No more space for the pain, no space for him. I was going to be okay, even if it meant walking this path alone.

The university library had become my second home. It was quiet, a refuge from the chaos inside my head. Today, I found a corner table, tucked away between towering bookshelves. I set my bag down and pulled out my notes, but my mind wandered again.

He must be relieved, I thought bitterly. We barely see each other now, and that’s exactly what he wanted, right?

But every time I passed by his door or heard the soft murmur of his voice on the phone with Sora, it hit me harder than I wanted to admit. He was right there, but it felt like he was a world away.

I shook off the thought and focused on the paper in front of me. I had work to do.

As I skimmed through my notes, I heard footsteps approaching. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Mina?” Nari’s voice broke the silence.

I forced a smile and looked up at her. “Hey, Nari.”

She pulled out a chair and sat across from me, her eyes scanning my face as if searching for something.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said softly, her gaze lingering. “And don’t say it’s just because you’re busy with school.”

I felt a lump form in my throat, but I pushed it down. “I’ve just... had a lot going on.”

Nari didn’t buy it. She folded her arms on the table, leaning in closer. “Is it Taehyung?”

The sound of his name made my chest tighten. I swallowed hard, my eyes flickering back to my notes as if they could shield me from the truth.

“Things are... complicated,” I whispered, not wanting to get into it.

Nari sighed, her expression softening with concern. “Mina, you don’t have to do this alone. You’ve been so distant lately, like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“I’m just... adjusting,” I say quietly, looking down at the open pages in front of me. “Sometimes you have to distance yourself from things that hurt, you know?”

Nari studies me for a moment before nodding slowly. “I get it. But just remember, you’re not alone. You can always talk to me.”

I offer a small smile, appreciating her support but knowing that some things are just too painful to say out loud.

After my conversation with Nari, I left the library, feeling more fragile than I wanted to admit. She was right, of course. I had been distancing myself from everything and everyone. But I couldn’t face any of it—especially not Taehyung.

The bus ride to my part-time job was a welcome distraction. The hum of the engine, the blurry cityscape outside, the sound of people chatting—it all blurred into background noise. I let myself get lost in it, my mind numb as I clutched my bag tightly.

My job as a small decoration engineer wasn’t glamorous, but it was something that grounded me. I was good at it—taking bland spaces and turning them into something more. Something beautiful. It gave me a sense of control, a brief escape from the mess my life had become.

As I walked into the studio, the familiar scent of fresh paint and wood greeted me. I set my bag down and got to work, running my fingers along the fabric swatches, measuring tools, and sample layouts. For the next few hours, it was just me and the designs. I could forget everything else, if only for a little while.

I started arranging the new set of decorative pieces for a client’s living room—small plants, framed art, throw pillows that would tie the space together. It was the small details that always mattered most. As I arranged the items, I felt a small sense of pride. At least this I can fix. At least here, things make sense.

The hours passed quietly. My hands moved automatically, placing, adjusting, perfecting every inch of the room. But no matter how much I focused on the work in front of me, a part of my mind kept wandering back to the house—to the silence between Taehyung and me, to the suffocating distance.

Was he even thinking about me? Did he notice how empty the house felt now?

I shook off the thought, grabbing another pillow for the sofa. I needed to stop thinking about him. He made his choice. I needed to make mine.

As I stepped back to admire the room, the door to the studio creaked open, and my boss walked in, a clipboard in hand.

“You’re doing a great job with this one, Mina,” he said, his eyes scanning the room. “You’ve got a real talent for making things feel... warm.”

I smiled faintly, but the word warm hit me differently today. I hadn’t felt warmth in weeks.

“Thanks,” I replied, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m almost done with this one.”

He nodded and left me to finish up. I glanced at the clock—it was almost time to leave. Another day done. Another day of pretending I was fine.

By the time I get home, it’s late. The house is empty, Jia isn’t here, and Taehyung… well, I haven’t seen him since this morning. I should feel relieved, but all I feel is tired.

I set my bag down and walk into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. As I stand there, sipping slowly, my mind drifts. I think about the distance between us—the silence, the indifference. It’s strange, isn’t it? How two people who once meant everything to each other can drift apart so easily. How promises can fade like old memories.

I pushed away from the counter and made my way upstairs. The house was eerily quiet. I could hear my own footsteps echoing through the hall as I passed by his room. I paused for just a second, my hand hovering over the door handle, wondering if he was asleep behind it. Wondering if he even noticed my absence.

I let my hand drop. It didn’t matter.

I walked into my own room, shutting the door softly behind me. The moment the lock clicked into place, I felt the weight of everything settle over me like a heavy blanket. I sank down onto the edge of the bed, staring at the space in front of me.

This is my life now.

I was exhausted. I had tried—tried to fight, tried to understand, tried to fix something that had been broken for so long. But how do you fight for someone who doesn’t even remember loving you?

The truth was, I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. I had become a shell of the girl I used to be—the one who had believed in promises, in forever. That girl died with my mother on that day. And the woman who remained… she was just trying to survive.

I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to stop the tears that were building up, but it was useless. One escaped, followed by another, until I was shaking, my shoulders trembling with silent sobs. I felt so small, so broken. And I didn’t know how to put myself back together anymore.

I didn’t know how to be anything but lost.