jihyyonesarang2
Some days, Jeemin felt like she was living quietly between moments that mattered. The city moved around her in a blur-voices, traffic, lights-but she moved differently. She observed. She read. She wrote. She connected with words more easily than with people.
And yet, even in the stillness of her ordinary days, she felt a subtle pull, a sense that something-or someone-was waiting for her. It wasn't love she recognized yet. It wasn't excitement or heartbreak. It was a quiet anticipation, a small curiosity that made the mundane seem slightly more vivid, slightly more dangerous.
She didn't know it then, but those ordinary days were preparing her. They were teaching her patience, the small joys of noticing, of understanding from afar. They were shaping her heart for something-or someone-who would come like a spark in the quiet of her life, bright enough to shake it all awake.
Sometimes, she imagined it. The person she hadn't met yet, the connection that might one day feel inevitable. She imagined laughter, long conversations, the warmth of knowing someone in a way that no one else could reach. It was a faint daydream, a soft longing, but it made her pulse quicken in ways she didn't fully understand.
And so, she waited. Quietly. Patiently. In the ordinary, in the everyday, in the small routines of her life. Waiting for the story that had yet to begin.