Jimin and Jungkook are lovers. They have been dating for a year and are very happy, just like other couples. However, an incident occurred that caused Jimin to leave Jungkook. What happened to Jimin? Will Jungkook forgive him?
The taxi driver, a man in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, turned to look at me. His tired eyes softened when he saw the urgency on my face.
“Gamcheon, huh?” he said, scratching his chin. “It’ll take a while, but I can take you.”
I nodded, relieved. “Thank you, Uncle.”
The taxi rumbled to life as we pulled away from the station. The city’s busy streets slowly faded behind us, replaced by the winding roads that led to Harabeoji's house. I stared out the window, watching the scenery change, my thoughts drifting to the warm memories of summers spent in Gamcheon, helping Grandpa in his garden.
Two more hours. I sighed, but the familiar comfort of those memories made the long journey feel a little shorter.
"Where are you from?" the uncle asked as he eased the taxi onto the main road.
"I'm from Seoul," I replied, glancing at him.
"Study?" His voice held a casual curiosity.
"Yes. I'm a psychology student from Seoul University." I couldn't help but feel a hint of pride when I said that. Getting into Seoul University hadn’t been easy. It had taken years of hard work, sleepless nights, and endless determination.
"Wow," the uncle said, his tone brightening with admiration. "Your family must be proud."
I smiled, thinking of my parents. If they were still alive, they must be proud of me. Every achievement, every step forward, I took with them in my heart. Though they're not here to see it, I know they would have celebrated each of my successes as if they were their own. The thought of them watching over me, somewhere, made the long journey feel a little less lonely.
"My grandpa is very proud of me." I glanced at the taxi driver's face, wondering if he had sensed the absence of my parents from my life.
He gave me a kind look, as if understanding without asking. "I can imagine your grandpa's happy face when he sees you," he said, gently steering the conversation away.
"Yes," I nodded, my voice softening. "He'll probably cry with joy. I haven't seen him in a year."
The driver raised an eyebrow. "That long, huh?"
"Yeah," I said, sighing. "There's no telephone service where he lives, so it's been hard to stay in touch. I’ve missed him a lot."
The thought of Grandpa's face lighting up when he sees me filled me with warmth. Two more hours until that reunion.
The entire ride was filled with conversations between me and the taxi uncle. He was incredibly friendly, and it didn’t take long before we were exchanging stories. He spoke fondly of his family, especially his clever 6-year-old grandson. I loved hearing about the boy—the pride in his voice and the sparkle in his eyes showed just how much he adored him.
As he spoke, I couldn’t help but smile. His love for his grandson made me think of my own grandfather and how much I missed him. I could already picture his face lighting up when he saw me again. I imagined him standing there, arms wide open, waiting for me to run into his embrace. The thought filled me with warmth, making the ride feel a little faster, a little more hopeful.
The conversation between me and the taxi uncle came to an abrupt end when we saw a speeding car heading straight toward us. My heart raced, and before I could fully process what was happening, I screamed as the car swerved into our lane.
"Uncle!" I shouted, fear surging through me.
With a split-second reaction, the uncle steered sharply in the opposite direction. I heard the screech of tires, the crunch of metal. The world seemed to spin, and the last thing I saw was the looming tree ahead.
We hit it.
Everything went dark. In the haze of my fading consciousness, a single word escaped my lips:
"Harabeoji..."
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