The evening was a blur of soft lights and misty air as the rain drizzled down the narrow streets. A young man, no older than 24, walked briskly along the pavement, his head bent low, scrolling through his phone with the ease of someone used to the rhythm of the world. The umbrella in his hand shielded him from the relentless downpour, its fabric a quiet shield against the storm. He hummed a melody, lost in the music of his own thoughts, the world around him nothing more than a backdrop to the soft tune he carried in his chest.
As he walked, the familiar sights of the neighborhood passed by-weathered shop windows, dim streetlights, the occasional figure huddled beneath awnings. But then, his phone buzzed.
A single message appeared on the screen, its simplicity stark against the rain-slicked world:
I hope you see your daughter.
His breath caught in his throat. His thumb hovered above the screen, a chill creeping through him. The words gnawed at him, even as his mind fought to dismiss them. He paused for a brief moment, the umbrella still raised above his head. His heart pounded louder than the rain hitting the ground. Who could've sent this? The thought lingered, just beyond the edges of his comprehension.
He narrowed his eyes, scanning the message again. His hands trembled ever so slightly. It was a phrase he knew all too well-a phrase tied to a chapter of his life he wished he could forget. And in that fleeting instant, as his mind pieced it all together, realization struck.
"No," he muttered under his breath, barely above a whisper, as if saying it out loud could somehow undo the fear already sinking into his gut. It's not possible. He can't come. He made sure there's no one who would know him... Then how?
The streets around him seemed to stretch farther, the silence more oppressive. The shadows between the buildings deepened as if the city itself was closing in on him. He didn't have time. She was supposed to be safe. She was supposed to be...
The weight of the words sent a surge of panic through his veins. Without thinking, his feet were already moving faster. His mind screamed at him to go home, to see her, to make sure she was okay. It wasn't just a message anymore-it was a warning. A threat. And the fear that had been buried beneath the surface for so long finally broke free.
He ran.
The rain soaked through his jacket, his shoes splashing against the wet pavement. He didn't care. Nothing mattered except getting home, getting to her, making sure she was still where she was supposed to be. His heart raced, each beat quickening with the urgency of his steps.
The city blurred around him, the familiar sights fading into an indistinct haze, but in the back of his mind, the message echoed over and over. I hope you see your daughter.
He needed to. He had to.
The rain seemed to intensify, as if it, too, knew what he was running from. His breath came out in short, sharp gasps as his footsteps quickened. His phone was still clutched tightly in his hand, its screen now flickering as another message came through.
You're too late.
A cold wave of dread washed over him as he read those words. The world around him seemed to blur further, the streetlights becoming distant stars in a darkened sky. He could barely hear his own footsteps over the thunder now, but he kept running.
The distance to his home never seemed shorter. And yet, the fear gripping his chest only grew stronger.
Jungkook's chest heaved as he reached the door, rainwater dripping from his soaked clothes and pooling at his feet. His trembling fingers fumbled with the keys, his vision blurred by the tears threatening to spill over. The panic clawing at his chest was almost unbearable. He barely managed to push the door open, the creak of the hinges echoing ominously in the quiet house.
