The Silence Between The Notes// MIN YOONGI

He used to say your name like it was a melody-soft, careful, like he was afraid one wrong note would make you disappear.

Kia never believed in forever until she met Min Yoongi.

It wasn't loud, the way they fell. No grand confessions under fireworks, no dramatic declarations. Just quiet nights, shared earphones, and conversations that lingered longer than they should. He'd talk about music like it was oxygen, and she'd listen like it was her favorite song.

"You'd be a good mom," Yoongi once said, out of nowhere.
She laughed, nudging his shoulder. "And you? You'd be too soft. Our kids would get away with everything."
He smirked. "Not true. I'd be strict."
"You?" she teased. "You'd write lullabies for them at 3 a.m."
He didn't deny it.
That was the thing about Yoongi-he didn't say things he didn't mean.
So when he talked about "someday," she believed him. She pictured it too: a small home filled with music, tiny footsteps running across the floor, his piano echoing through quiet mornings. Him, standing in the kitchen, pretending he knew how to cook while she laughed behind him.
He was supposed to be the father of her kids.
He was supposed to be her always.
But life didn't shatter them in one moment. It unraveled them slowly.
Schedules got heavier. Messages got shorter. Calls turned into "I'll call you later," and later became never. The distance wasn't just miles-it was silence, growing louder each day.
The last time they saw each other, it rained.
"Maybe in another life," Kia whispered, her voice breaking more than she wanted.
Yoongi looked at her like he wanted to argue, like he wanted to rewrite everything-but for once, he had no words.
And that hurt more than anything.
Because Yoongi always had words.