Spring Afternoon – Park Bench, Near the River

The world looked different now.

The sun felt warmer on her skin. The wind didn’t bite the way it used to. The air tasted less like fear, and more like freedom.

YN sat on a quiet park bench, sipping warm coffee, her fingers curled around the paper cup. Her eyes followed the ripples across the river as cherry blossom petals floated past—soft and aimless, but free.

Free.

The word had meaning again.

She wore a long cardigan, loose jeans, and no makeup. She looked ordinary.

But inside, she felt undeniably alive.

Footsteps approached, unhurried, familiar.

“Still drink it with one sugar and no milk?” came a voice behind her.

She smiled.

“I could’ve changed in the last month,” she said without turning.

“But you didn’t,” Jungkook replied, stepping around and handing her a second cup anyway. “Muscle memory.”

He sat beside her, letting the silence stretch comfortably between them.

No suits. No courtrooms. Just a hoodie and jeans, a man who wasn’t a lawyer today—just hers.

YN stared ahead.

“I wake up sometimes still thinking I’m there,” she said quietly. “In the cell. Or worse… in that office.”

He didn’t interrupt. He let her speak, the way he always had.

“But then I remember I’m not. I’m here. Breathing. And part of that is because of you.”

He turned toward her then. “You saved yourself, YN. I just gave you the space to fight.”

She looked at him, eyes soft but certain.

“I’ve been thinking about that night. Not the attack. The one after. In the cell. When you walked in and said you’d fight for me.”

His gaze held hers.

“That was the first time I didn’t feel alone in years,” she whispered.

A moment passed.

Then she added, barely audible, “I regret saying no to you in college.”

Jungkook stilled. “You don’t owe me—”

“I’m not saying it because I owe you anything,” she cut in gently. “I’m saying it because I see you now, clearly. And because… if life’s giving me a second chance—” she turned toward him fully “—I don’t want to waste it this time.”

He didn’t smile like a man who won. He smiled like a man who had waited quietly for hope to come back.

“I’m still him,” he murmured. “The same idiot who wanted your heart back then. But this time, I won’t ask you to say yes right away.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder.

“You already have it,” she whispered.

And so, the girl who stood trial for surviving...

Began a new chapter—not as a victim, not as a defendant,

But as a woman who took her life back.

With a man beside her who once asked for forever—

And this time… she didn’t hesitate.

A Few Days Later – YN’s Apartment

The windows were open. Late afternoon light poured in golden and warm, catching tiny dust particles in the air like floating stars.

They were sitting on the floor of her apartment. No music. No distractions. Just a quietness neither of them felt the need to break.

A blanket lay around them. Two mugs of tea growing cold. Jungkook leaned against the wall, legs stretched out, watching her fold laundry—badly.

“Did you seriously just fold a shirt like that?” he asked, biting back a laugh.

She looked at the crumpled mess in her hands. “I survived prison. Folding shirts is low on my skillset.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, but there was something soft in his eyes when he looked at her. Like the world had gone quiet just for them.

She sat down beside him, closer than before.

“You know,” she said, her voice calm, “I used to imagine what I’d say if I ever saw you again. After college.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, watching her profile.

“I thought I’d apologize. Say I wasn’t ready. That it wasn’t you.”

He raised a brow. “And now?”

“Now…” she turned her head to him, lips slightly parted, voice gentler, “I still don’t know if I’m ready for forever.”

A beat.

“But I’m ready for this.”

He didn’t ask what she meant.

Because the next second—she leaned in.

Slow. Testing. Her hand rested lightly on his chest, as if asking permission.

And when his eyes fluttered closed, when he leaned forward too—the space between them disappeared.

Their lips met.

It wasn’t fiery.

It wasn’t perfect.

It was soft. Tender. Like a memory rewritten.

His hand found her cheek. Hers slid up his shoulder.

There was no past between them anymore. No courtroom. No blood. No unanswered confessions.

Just now.

Just her and him.

And when they finally pulled back, just an inch, she stayed close—foreheads touching.

He whispered, breath still tangled with hers, “Took you long enough.”

She smiled.

“You waited.”

“I would’ve waited a lifetime.”

The end...