Fate's Canvas | PJM ff

Y/n's POV

Next day.

The quiet was deafening.

No classes.

No Jimin.

My ankle still throbbed faintly if I put too much pressure on it, but I had gotten better at limping gracefully.

I had informed the café owner I needed a day off to rest.

My university group chat was dry.

No assignments. No lectures.

Our three-friends group chat was dry as well.

No noise. No chaos.

Just me... and my thoughts.

I hadn't stepped out since we got back from the trip.

Not because of the pain, no, not entirely.

But because I didn't know what to do with the ache inside me.

The one that had nothing to do with tendons or ligaments.

I kept replaying the kiss.

Not just the kiss... the way he kissed me. The hesitation. The sudden pullback. The way I pulled him in.

Was it real?

Was it for me?

Or was it just a moment? Something charged by adrenaline and emotion, a reaction, not a revelation?

I spent the whole day painting.

It was layers and strokes of confusion and longing.

You couldn't tell if it was a sunrise or a sunset.

It felt like both.

That in-between place where the light hesitates.

Kind of like us.

.◍°•♬~•~♬•°◍.

Next day.

The morning air smelled like coffee.

I tied my apron around my waist, a soft sigh escaping my lips as I stood behind the counter of the café.

My shift had just started.

The bell above the entrance jingled every few minutes.

Smiling customers came and went.

Couples with matching outfit, old men with newspapers, students with headphones.

But not him.

My eyes darted to the door every time someone walked in.

Part of me hated myself for it.