𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 - 𝘚. 𝘑𝘢𝘦𝘺𝘶𝘯

Doubts again

The evening sky was a gradient of soft pinks and purples, the air cool against Jake's skin as he walked home. The streetlights flickered on one by one, casting warm pools of light onto the pavement, but none of it registered in Jake's mind. He was too lost in the haze of everything that had just happened.

I was in Yeri's house. Her room.

His steps slowed, and his heart thudded harder in his chest as the memory replayed itself. The warmth of her home, her mom's easy smile, and Yeri's quiet voice telling him to come upstairs. It had felt unreal, like stepping into a scene from one of those romantic dramas he'd never admit to watching.

But now, as he walked alone under the dim streetlights, the dreamlike haze began to twist into something else.

She doesn't know.

Jake paused in the middle of the sidewalk, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. The stars were faint, barely visible against the glow of the city, but they seemed to mock him with their distant, unwavering calm.

she doesn't know I saw her play the piano.

He pressed a hand to his face, groaning quietly. "She's going to think I'm some kind of... stalker."

The thought hit him like a weight in his chest. He'd heard her music by accident—purely by chance—but that didn't change the fact that he'd stood there, hidden, listening to her play without saying a word.

And now? Now, the same pen that had started this whole mess was sitting on her desk like some kind of cruel joke.

Jake resumed walking, his pace slower now, as if dragging his feet could somehow delay the inevitable. The memory of her twirling the pen between her fingers flashed in his mind, and his stomach flipped. She'd looked so... calm. So Yeri.

Her voice from earlier echoed in his mind: "I play for myself."

It had been such a simple sentence, but the way she'd said it—quiet, soft, like a secret she wasn't sure she wanted to share—had stuck with him. She played the piano for herself, not for anyone else.

And yet, he'd been there, watching her, listening to something so personal without her knowing.

Jake's hands tightened into fists in his pockets. How was he ever going to explain that? "Oh, by the way, I saw you playing the piano and didn't say anything because I was too mesmerized to move" wasn't exactly going to win him any points.

But it wasn't just guilt weighing on him. There was something else, something he couldn't quite put into words. Being in Yeri's room, seeing the small, quiet world she'd built for herself, had only made him like her more.

The books on her shelf, the little trinkets on her desk, the piano figurine—it was all so her. And then there was Yeri herself, sitting on the edge of her bed, awkward and shy but still so undeniably... Yeri.

Jake stopped again, this time leaning against the cool metal of a streetlight. He pressed his forehead to the pole, closing his eyes.

What's wrong with me?

She was going to find out. Sooner or later, Yeri would figure out that the pen on her desk was his. She'd put it together, piece by piece, and realize he wasn't just the guy who'd brought her ice cream after school. He was the rude neighbor who'd texted her about a stupid package. He was the guy who'd hidden in the shadows, watching her play piano like some lovesick creep.

Jake let out a shaky breath, his chest tightening.

When that moment came—when Yeri turned to him with that wide-eyed look of realization and maybe even hurt—what would he say? How could he make her understand that it wasn't intentional, that it wasn't some weird, calculated thing?

The answer was simple: he couldn't.

Jake straightened, rubbing a hand through his hair. The cool breeze ruffled his jacket, but it did little to calm the heat creeping up his neck. This is why I don't like people, he thought bitterly. They're messy. Complicated. They make you feel things you can't explain.

But then his mind flickered back to the way Yeri had smiled—just barely—when she'd thanked him for the ice cream. The way her cheeks had flushed when her mom teased her. The way she'd seemed surprised, almost disbelieving, when he'd been kind to her.

And Jake realized, with a sinking feeling, that it was too late. He couldn't undo the texts. He couldn't undo listening to her play. And he definitely couldn't undo the fact that he liked her.

The walk home stretched on, the quiet hum of the streetlights filling the silence. By the time Jake reached his front door, his nerves were frayed, his mind spinning in a thousand different directions.

He leaned against the doorframe, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh. The pen. The piano. Yeri. It was all too much, and yet, it was all he could think about.

The universe really has it out for me, he thought, his lips quirking into a wry, self-deprecating smile. I'm officially doomed.