TWISTED PATHS

“But this black would look good on you, Jimin-ah,” Mrs. Park said, pulling out yet another shirt from the closet, her eyes already scanning for the next option.

Jimin stood behind her, arms crossed, brow raised, rejecting every choice she presented with a quiet sigh or a shake of his head.

The pile of discarded shirts on the bed was growing—and so was her frustration.

“Honestly, you're worse than a bride,” she muttered under her breath, until her gaze landed on a deep red satin shirt tucked in the corner.

Her eyes lit up.
“That’s it,” she declared, yanking it free and holding it up against his chest. “You’re wearing this.”
Jimin frowned, his nose scrunching in protest.

“Red? Seriously, Mom?”
Mrs. Park cupped his cheeks with a sly grin.
“Because my Jimin-ah looks angelic in red,” she said sweetly, before smirking, “And sometimes dangerously hot too.”
Jimin rolled his eyes, and she added with a mischievous twinkle, “Who knows, this look might just make your partner fall for you—what was her name again?”
Jimin’s expression changed. “Who?”
“Ah! Yes—Nia!” she said, snapping her fingers excitedly. “That fierce little firecracker.”
Jimin scoffed, his face hardening. “I’d rather stay single than make her my partner.”
Mrs. Lee paused, the teasing in her eyes replaced by quiet observation. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the edge of the wardrobe, studying him.
Jimin placed the red shirt on the bed, sliding his hands into his pockets. His voice dropped, serious. “Unfortunately, she was my partner once… but she could never be my future anything.”
Their eyes locked. Silence stretched between them like a drawn bowstring.
Mrs. Park didn’t blink. Neither did Jimin.
But eventually, he looked away.
“She’s arrogant,” he muttered, voice colder now. “Girls like her push everyone away… they stay single their whole lives.”
Then came her voice, calm but piercing like a needle finding the weakest spot in armor.
“What if your fates are already tied?” she asked softly.
“What if one day you look up and realize… you’ve already fallen?”
Jimin froze for a second.
Just long enough for the red satin shirt on the bed to catch the light—gleaming like a whisper of warning.
Or maybe... a sign.
He chuckled softly, slow and effortless, before turning to his mother with that boyish smile that always melted her heart.
“Don’t worry, eomma,” he said gently. “If fate decides to collide with someone... you’ll be the first to know.”
Mrs. Park didn’t return his smile. Her eyes, sharp and unblinking, carried a storm of thoughts.
“I don’t like that girl,” she muttered, her voice tight.
Jimin arched a brow. “Nia?”
“No,” she snapped, then softened just a bit. “The one you’re getting ready for. The one whose birthday party has you standing here, debating shirts like it’s a runway show.”
Jimin laughed and stepped forward, pecking her cheek with affection. “She already apologized, eomma. Liking someone… that’s not a crime. And honestly?” He leaned back, his expression growing thoughtful. “I saw guilt in her eyes. Real guilt.”
Mrs. Park wasn’t convinced. “Really?” she asked, voice low with suspicion.
He nodded. “To be honest, I liked the way she said sorry. She wasn’t defensive… just vulnerable. At least she apologized. Not like your favorite girl, who spits venom like it’s her first language and stabs hearts without flinching.”
The room fell into a weighted silence at the mention of her.
Jimin turned away, picking up the red shirt, letting its fabric glide through his fingers. “But don’t worry. Everyone’s going—except that cactus.”
Mrs. Park frowned. “Cactus?”
“Nia,” Jimin replied, smirking. “I asked Hobi hyung to bring the others. And you know, eomma, no one can say no to Hobi hyung.”
He disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving the room filled with an uneasy quiet.
Mrs. Park stood still.
Her eyes slowly drifted to the red shirt now missing from the bed.
Something didn’t feel right.
Her chest tightened—a mother's instinct clawing at her heart. She didn’t know what, or why, but something about tonight made her blood run cold.
She whispered under her breath, barely audible.
“I just hope… everything ends well.”
With a heavy sigh and a haunted look, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room—her steps slow, her mind crowded with shadows.