Jin glanced up from his plate, his tone calm, almost casual — but there was a trace of something quiet beneath it. Curiosity, maybe. Or something else entirely.
"Who was the guy you met outside?" he asked, not looking directly at her.
Mian paused for half a second, her chopsticks stalling midair before she smiled lightly.
"Oh… Ji Hoon. He was my best friend from high school," she replied easily, as though it were just a passing memory. Her voice was steady, unrehearsed. Almost too effortless.
Jin nodded slowly, his eyes dropping back to his food.
"Hmm. Alright," he said simply.
The silence that followed was soft but noticeable — not uncomfortable, but layered. Like there were words neither of them knew how to say just yet. Still, they continued eating, the sound of utensils clinking against plates filling the space between them.
When they finished, Jin leaned back slightly, folding his napkin beside his plate.
"You can rest for a while," he said gently, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.
Mian shook her head, already beginning to clear the dishes.
"I have things to be done… I should go."
She didn't look at him when she spoke, focusing instead on stacking the plates, her hands a little too careful, a little too quick — like keeping busy could protect her from feeling too much.
Jin watched her quietly for a moment. Then he smiled — soft, restrained.
"Alright," he said again, the word wrapped in something unspoken.
Mian turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing softly through the corridor of Jin's sleek, modern office. Her pace didn't slow, even when her heart gave a tiny twist that she quickly ignored.
Outside, the city wind tugged at her coat as she stepped toward the car waiting for her.
But before she could reach the door, a voice called out behind her.
"Mian!"
She turned, startled — and there was Ji Hoon, slightly breathless, jogging up the steps. His cheeks were pink from the sudden movement, hair tousled from the wind.
"You're leaving already?" he asked, trying to catch his breath. "I mean, we didn't get to talk much earlier. Why don't we catch up sometime? Can I have your number?"
There was a boyish nervousness in his tone, but his eyes were bright — the same brightness from years ago, when their world had been smaller and simpler.
Mian hesitated for a moment, then smiled softly and handed him her number.
"Sure. It'd be nice to catch up," she said, her voice light.
Ji Hoon beamed, clearly pleased, and waved cheerfully as she turned to leave.
"See you soon then!"
Mian slid into the expensive black car, the leather seat cool against her back. As the door closed, muffling the sounds of the outside world, her smile slowly faded. She rested her head against the tinted window, watching Ji Hoon walk away with a spring in his step.
He didn't think too much of it — just a happy reunion. A moment that made him feel young again.
But for Mian, the moment lingered.
Not because of Ji Hoon, but because of Jin.
Because even in that quiet, casual conversation… in the way he said "alright" and nothing more… she felt something tighten in her chest.
It wasn't what he said.
It was what he didn't.
And as the car pulled away, taking her farther from the building, farther from him — her heart whispered a question she wasn't ready to ask aloud:
Why does it feel like I'm running away from something I still want to hold on to?
Mian arrived back at the mansion just as the sky melted into dusk. The golden light faded behind the tall estate walls, casting long shadows across the courtyard. She moved quietly through the grand entryway, her presence barely a whisper against the marble floors.
After changing into her uniform, she went through her usual evening routine — tidying up the guest parlor, refilling the tea cabinet, checking the fresh flowers in the sitting room. Everything was as it always had been… n
.
She then thought about ji hoon , the way he teased her like they were still those carefree teenagers. That version of her felt so far away, so untouched by the heavy air of this mansion.
Later that night, after her tasks were done and the halls had gone mostly quiet, Mian retreated to the small staff room at the back of the house. She loosened her collar and sat on the edge of the bed, checking her phone.
There it was — a message from Ji Hoon.
"Don't forget how bad you were at math. I had to save your grade like a hero."
"Still owe me, by the way."
Mian smiled, biting her bottom lip. Her fingers flew across the keyboard in response, and soon they were exchanging texts again — stories, jokes, memories that lit up parts of her heart she hadn't felt in years.
She couldn't stop laughing.
For once, she let herself fall into it — that warmth, that comfort, that flicker of something light. Something that felt like freedom.
She packed up her bag, ready to head out for a short walk before bed — something to clear her thoughts. Still texting, she stepped into the hallway, her attention fully on the glowing screen in her hand.
She never noticed the footsteps approaching.
She turned a corner too quickly—
—and bumped right into someone.
Hard.
Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a dull clack.
Mian gasped, stumbling back a step, but before she could fall, strong hands caught her by the waist.
She froze.
Her eyes slowly rose to meet his.
Jin.
His eyes locked onto hers, unreadable. His grip was firm — not rough, but grounding, like he'd been ready to catch her even before she fell. The air between them shifted, something electric pulsing in the silence.
She could feel her pulse in her throat.
Jin looked down — just briefly — and saw the name on her phone screen still glowing: Ji Hoon.
Mian's breath hitched. She opened her mouth to say something — anything — but the words wouldn't come.
Jin's voice came low, rough around the edges.
"You're distracted."
She swallowed, trying to steady her thoughts.
"I didn't see you there," she whispered.
He didn't let go of her waist. Not immediately. His eyes studied her — not her face, but her expression. Her flustered breath. The faint blush creeping up her neck. The way her chest still rose and fell a little too fast.
"You were laughing just now," he said, eyes narrowing slightly. "I haven't heard you laugh like that… in a long time."
There was no accusation in his tone — just observation. Quiet. Intimate. But it still struck something deep in her.
"I… It was nothing. Just a friend," Mian said quickly, stepping back, breaking the contact.
Jin didn't move. He just watched her, his jaw tightening slightly.
"A friend," he repeated, almost to himself.
The silence that followed wasn't empty — it was heavy, filled with all the things they hadn't said. All the tension that had been building quietly in glances, in pauses, in moments like this.
And Mian, clutching her phone now, felt suddenly exposed — like he could see straight through the screen into everything she was trying to keep separate.
"I should get going ," she said softly, without looking at him.
Jin didn't stop her.
But as she walked past him, she felt his gaze on her back like a touch — warm, lingering.