Suci's POV
Sleep never came.
I lay in bed with my eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. My pillow was still damp from the tears I never intended to shed.
One night.
That's all it took to turn my life upside down.
First kiss—stolen.
A stranger who wasn't a stranger.
A secret engagement I never agreed to.
A death.
A collapsed boy.
A whisper of destiny.
If this was a K-drama, this would be the third or fourth episode, where all the secrets start slipping out and everything you believed about your life turns into a lie.
Except this was my life.
No script. No director yelling "Cut!" when things got too real.
My phone vibrated beside me.
A message from Dad.
> "Suci, come down for breakfast. We need to talk."
Of course we did.
---
The kitchen smelled like garlic fried rice and eggs—Mom's usual comfort combo whenever emotions ran high. She looked at me, concern already written on her face before I even sat down.
Dad cleared his throat.
> "We weren't planning on telling you like this," he started gently, "but now that it's all out... you deserve to know everything."
I stayed quiet, only nodding. My chest tightened with every beat, preparing for whatever truth they were about to serve along with the rice and tocino.
> "You know the Wolins were our closest friends in college, right?" Mom began.
> "You said they were in a band together," I replied.
> "Yes. We shared everything—including dreams. One of those dreams... was to raise families connected by music, values, and... maybe, if fate allowed it, love."
> "So you arranged my life?" I asked, not bitter, just numb.
> "We hoped—not arranged," Dad clarified quickly. "We signed an agreement when you were eight. Nothing legal, just symbolic. We promised if you two naturally found each other, we'd support it."
> "Did Artum know?"
> "Not until he turned eighteen," Mom said.
> "So while I was just living... he was watching me like... like some assigned soulmate?"
> "No!" she said, reaching across the table. "He kept his distance. We all did. But after seeing you two last night... we can't pretend this connection isn't real."
I stood up, pushing the chair back gently.
> "Connection? I barely know him."
Dad looked me in the eyes.
> "But you felt something, didn't you?"
I looked away.
Denying it would've been easier.
Lying would've been safer.
But my heart whispered a truth I wasn't ready to say aloud.
---
Later that afternoon
I found myself pacing in front of my mirror, dressed but unsure why I was even getting ready.
Then the knock came.
I opened the door and there he was.
Artum.
Looking pale, worn down, and quieter than I had ever seen him.
He wasn't wearing anything impressive—just a simple black hoodie and jeans—but his eyes looked straight into mine like he was searching for a version of me that had vanished overnight.
> "Hey," he said softly.
> "Hey," I echoed, unsure if I wanted to slam the door or pull him into a hug.
> "Can we talk?"
I stepped aside.
---
We sat in our garden under the mango tree. The air smelled of fresh leaves and old memories. He stared at his hands, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
> "I'm sorry," he said finally.
> "You should be," I replied.
> "I kissed you without asking. I crossed a line."
> "Yeah, you did."
> "I know sorry isn't enough, but... I want to explain."
I waited.
> "I've watched you grow up. From a distance, yes, but... not in a creepy way. I admired you—your music, your strength, the way you light up when you perform. I never thought I'd fall for you. But somewhere between my admiration and our parents' dreams, my heart caught up."
> "You fell for someone you didn't really know," I whispered.
> "Maybe. But last night—when we danced, when you smiled—I felt it wasn't just me anymore."
That made me pause.
Because part of me had felt something too.
And I hated that I couldn't erase it.
> "You should've waited," I said. "You should've asked."
> "I know. I let emotion lead. I was scared you'd pull away again. I thought if I didn't do something... I'd lose the moment."
We sat in silence.
> "Your mom," I said, changing the subject. "I didn't know she was that professor."
His face darkened again.
> "Yeah. She didn't tell people much about her family life. She kept her worlds separate."
> "I liked her."
> "She liked you too. She just never wanted to pressure you knowing... well, you were part of the plan."
> "And now?" I asked. "What happens now?"
He looked at me, eyes uncertain.
> "Now... I let you decide. I won't push anymore."
And for the first time, I believed him.
---
That evening
I lay in bed again, but this time, a different kind of ache settled in my chest.
Not confusion.
Not anger.
Loss.
I couldn't stop seeing his mother's face.
And his.
So young to lose so much.
I pulled out my guitar—my safe space—and began playing soft chords until a melody took shape.
A sad one. A little angry. A little confused.
Kind of like me.
And as I hummed the tune into my phone recorder, I whispered to the silence:
> "This isn't love.
Not yet.
But maybe it's something waiting to begin."
---
Artum's POV
I stared at the photo frame on my desk.
Mom, laughing.
It was her favorite shot, taken during one of our last performances together.
I didn't cry. Not because I didn't want to. But because I couldn't. I felt like grief had locked me in a glass box, and I could only scream from the inside.
Suci's face flashed in my memory again.
The way she shoved me. The anger in her eyes.
But also... the moment she held my hand at the hospital. The way she didn't leave.
I touched my lips, still remembering the kiss I shouldn't have stolen.
I ruined it.
But I also meant it.
I just hoped that someday, she could forgive me.
---
Two Days Later
Suci's POV
I went back to school today. Everything looked the same but felt different.
People greeted me with warm "Happy Birthday" wishes, not knowing my mind was tangled in grief and secrets.
At the entrance to the Art Building, someone handed me a note.
"Meet me in Room 204 after class. – A"
I didn't know why I walked there. I could've crumpled it and walked away.
But curiosity won.
Inside the classroom was empty—except for a small canvas propped on an easel.
It was a painting.
Of me.
Dancing.
In a gown.
Masked.
Floating in colors like a dream.
And at the bottom corner, a signature:
Artum.
I stepped closer, touched the dry paint.
He had painted this from memory.
My heart skipped a beat.
Then I saw the envelope beside the painting.
Inside was a note.
> "I'm not asking for your heart. Just your patience. Let's start with a song, a story, a friendship. Let me earn the next moment with you—not steal it.
– A"
And just like that...
Something melted inside me.
Not love.
Not yet.
But maybe...
Hope.
---
To Be Continued...