49

                                    

                                          
"I don't want you to leave," she repeated, her voice breaking. "Not now. Not ever."
Jihoon, still with his back facing her in the embrace, heard the tremor in her voice. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, one filled with a mix of relief and quiet joy. 
"I won't," he whispered, his voice steady, the weight of his promise clear in the simple word. Jihoon then looked down at her hands, resting gently on his waist. His gaze softened as he studied the way her fingers clung to him, the delicate pressure of her touch grounding him. For a long moment, he didn't turn to face her. His eyes stayed on her hands, the connection between them so simple yet so profound.
Slowly, he placed his own hands over hers, covering them with a tenderness that spoke more than words ever could. His fingers traced the lines of her hands subtly, as if memorizing the warmth, the reality of her presence. He could feel the flutter of her pulse beneath his fingertips, the quiet steadiness of her breath, and it made his chest tighten.
After a beat, Jihoon exhaled softly, his words low and quiet. "I don't think I ever really understood how much I needed this... needed you," he confessed, the gravity of his own admission settling between them.
His heart beat in time with the rhythm of her breath, and he realized, for the first time, how truly connected they were. He wasn't just holding her physically, he was holding onto something far more important — something worth protecting, something real.
Finally, he turned to face her, his movements slow and deliberate, until he was looking into her eyes, the delicate vulnerability in hers reflecting back at him. He couldn't help but smile, a quiet, bittersweet curve of his lips.
"Trust can be shattered in just a millisecond," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "but rebuilding it takes so much more — time, patience, understanding." His hand reached up gently, wiping away the tear that had escaped her eye. He looked at her softly, his gaze full of both apology and hope. "But .. would you like to star over?" he suggested, his voice steadier now, as if each word he spoke was a step toward something new. "Wipe everything clean... and take things slow."
Jinhee's heart stuttered in her ribcage, caught between the remnants of her fear and the warmth of his words. She searched his eyes, finding only sincerity there, and her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, as if making a decision she'd been afraid to make for so long, she nodded.
"Start over," she whispered, her voice trembling, but with a quiet strength that hadn't been there before. "Yeah... I think I'd like that."
In that moment, the world outside seemed to fade away, and all that remained was the shared promise between them — one of patience, understanding, and a chance to rebuild what had been lost.
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The next day, Minji entered their shared room to find Jinhee sitting on her bed, the glow of her laptop screen lighting up her face. She was smiling, genuinely smiling, and Minji couldn't help but stop in her tracks for a moment. The sight was a stark contrast to the Jinhee she had been seeing over the past few weeks, who had often seemed weighed down by worry and doubt.
"Hey," Minji greeted, her voice light and warm as she stepped further into the room.
Jinhee looked up, her face brightening even more as she saw her friend. "Hey! Good morning!" Her tone was enthusiastic, and for a second, it was like all the tension that had been there before had evaporated. Minji couldn't help but notice the difference, but decided to not press on it for now.

A few days later, the girls found themselves sitting together in their favorite corner of the campus cafe, a small, cozy spot that had become their quiet escape. The hum of conversations and the light clinking of cups filled the air around them, but in this corner, it felt like just the two of them. Jinhee was sipping her coffee, her expression more relaxed than Minji had seen in weeks.