My Boss is a CHICKEN?!

Yuna had already left for work.

Praise the heavens, planets, and all retrograde-hating astrologers.

That meant I could leave without being interrogated like a criminal on trial for stealing Henry Cavill's hoodie.

Now ladies and gentlemen, it's time for—

GRWM to meet the Jeons: Mira edition.

Step 1: Open wardrobe. Stare. Close it dramatically. Repeat 3 times.

Step 2: Try on 7 outfits. Settle on the first one.

Step 3: Fight eyeliner like it's a final boss.

Step 4: Spray perfume like I'm trying to kill mosquitoes.

Step 5: And oops, I almost forgot to wear my chanel lipstick which costs $200.

Ready to slay—or die.

Then atlast, I put on my heels like I was arming myself for war.

I snatched my phone for the final check and then—

WHAT IN THE BTS WORLD?!

Park. Freaking. Hanuel. Followed me.

ON. INSTAGRAM.

I SCREAMED.

Like full-throated, horror-movie-final-girl type scream.

The kind that summons ghosts and alarms your ancestors.

WHAT IN THE SPICY, SLOW-BURN, HIGH-SCHOOL-RIVALRY REUNION IS THIS?!?

I didn't even breathe before hitting Yuna's number.

She picked up the call like a criminal hiding in the office janitor's closet.

"Hello?"

Low voice.

Whisper-level one.

Sus levels: 100.

"GUESS WHO FOLLOWED ME?!?" I hissed, holding back the urge to fly to her office just to scream in her face.

She inhaled like she was preparing to levitate.

"Who?" she whispered, suspiciously calm.

"HANUEL!!!!"

"AHHHHHHHHHH!!!" she screamed back.

I screamed.

She screamed.

We screamed.

The neighbor's dog probably screamed.

Then I paused.

Wait.

"...Aren't you in the middle of a board meeting?!"

"Hold up" she whisper-hissed like a drama queen caught cheating in an exam.

"PARK HANUEL?!"

"YES!!!"

"...EW."

…Excuse me?

"What?!"

She sighed like a betrayed lead in a K-drama.

"Aren't you ashamed?"

HUH???

I gulped. "W-why?"

Her mood changes faster than the Wi-Fi signal in my apartment.

One second it's "AHHHH HANUEL"

Next second it's "ew."

Someone please reset her factory settings.

"Remember the time when he made you propose?"

EW.

My soul left my body for a moment.

Not the kneel and beg arc—

"You kneeled for him… and still got rejected?"

I clutched my chest like I was 97 and hearing bad news from the doctor.

YUNA, PLEASE—HAVE MERCY.

"And then when he came crawling back two months later with a lame, 'I finally understood you're the one'? And you actually said YES?!"

God, take me now.

Who was that girl?

Oh right—me.

Tragic.

"And THEN—during your relationship—he didn't answer your calls or texts for an entire week?"

"…Because his mom was sick," I mumbled like a brainwashed cult member.

"AND THEN YOU SAW HIM PARTYING WITH HIS FRIENDS AT THAT LOUNGE WE GOT BANNED FROM FOR THROWING A SHOE?!"

I slammed my head on the wall.

I wanted to disappear into the earth.

Not to be dramatic—but BURY ME.

"AND— AND-AND THE TIME HE GHOSTED YOU RIGHT AFTER THE BREAKUP???"

I covered my ears. "STOPPPP YUNA I'M BEGGING!!"

She was on full attack mode.

Maximum over-slander.

"…It's like he was waiting for me to say those three words."

"What three words?" I sighed

"Let's break up.." I whispered in pain

.....

"Huh?"

"I said… let's break up," I repeated, louder this time, my voice steady. Too steady. Like I had rehearsed it a hundred times in my head. (Because I had.)

He stared at me, searching for a smile, a sign, a joke in my eyes. But there wasn't one.

…...

I was waiting for him at our usual spot—the café tucked behind our old high school.

Same tiny table. Same chipped blue mug. Same memories that now felt like acid in my throat.

And, of course...

He was late.

As usual.

Twenty minutes in, the bell above the door chimed and he finally walked in.

Disheveled hair. Casual grin. That same stupid charm that used to make my heart skip.

"I'm so sorry, Mimi" he said breathlessly. "My bike got punctured."

He sat down, still catching his breath.

Same lie.

Different day.

I let out a dry laugh and looked down at my untouched coffee.

It wasn't funny.

It wasn't even frustrating anymore.

It was just… sad.

I watched him for a second.

The boy I once loved like he was the sky and I was the idiot trying to hold the clouds.

"You know" I said, my voice quieter than I intended, "you've had more bike punctures than actual rides."

He blinked. "What?"

"It's okay" I whispered, placing my spoon down. "You don't have to lie to me anymore."

"Mira, I'm not—"

"I'm not angry," I cut in gently. "Really. I think I was… for a long time. Angry that you didn't show up when I needed you. Angry that I kept waiting. But now—" I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes. "Now I'm just tired."

"What do you mean?"

"Hanuel…" I said gently, wrapping my fingers around the warm coffee cup.

"I'm not doing this anymore."

"Mimi, come on… I said I'm sorry. I didn't mean to— And I'm really not lying." He reached out across the table, fingers brushing toward mine.

But I pulled my hand back.

Not angrily. Not dramatically.

Just… gently.

Like I was untying the last thread of us.

"Hanuel" I said again, more firmly this time. "I waited for you."

He opened his mouth to speak, but I shook my head. "No. Not just today. I mean... I waited. For months. For replies that never came. For plans that always fell through. For the version of you I used to know to come back."

He looked at me like he didn't understand.

But maybe that was the problem.

He never really did.

"I kept making excuses for you" I whispered, eyes stinging. "Telling myself you were just going through something. That you'd show up eventually. That maybe I just needed to be more patient."

He sat there.

Silent.

Maybe guilty.

Maybe not.

"I loved you" I continued, voice barely above a breath. "I probably still do. But love shouldn't feel like this. Like I'm always waiting for you to choose me back."

I stood up and was about to leave.

"It's not fair mimi." He looked down at his hands. His jaw clenched, then relaxed again. "You didn't hear my side of the story"

I paused and turned to him one last time. "Take care, Hanuel."

I walked away.

I didn't look back.

Not because I wasn't hurting—

But because I knew…

If I did, I'd stay.

…

I slammed the brakes so hard in front of the Jeon mansion I'm pretty sure my seatbelt filed a complaint.

Panting, I wiped the dramatic sweat moustache clinging to my upper lip.

What in the emotionally unstable flashback was THAT?!

What kind of hormonal soup was I swimming in back then?!

Seriously—who let me be that version of myself?

No way that was me.

No.

I rebuke her.

Delete her.

Unsubscribe.

It's been almost 8 years… and yet the cringe was still fresh—like leftover garlic from last night's dinner.

Ew.

Just—ew.

Jesus control my brain!

I can't be trusted with my own memories.

I dragged my feet toward the Jeon gate like I was walking into my own execution.

Same mansion. Same intimidating gate.

And probably the same Doberman with the soul of a tax collector.

I peered through the bars.

And of course—Mr. Sunglasses Security Extra #1 was already giving me that "Peasant? Again?" stare.

Let the game begin.