62

The problem with public proposals—and I say this as someone who had just been emotionally body-slammed in a corporate canteen—is that they don’t come with an emergency exit.

There was no smoke bomb.No trapdoor under my feet.No dramatic fainting couch.

Just me, standing there with my tray halfway to the trash, Jungkook’s voice still echoing in the air like he’d accidentally fired a gun instead of a sentence.

Did he just—No.He didn’t.

He did.

The room didn’t erupt immediately. That would’ve been merciful. Instead, it froze. Forks hovered mid-air. Someone’s phone slipped out of their hand and clattered onto the floor, the sound so loud it felt like punctuation.

A full stop.

I blinked once.Twice.

Then Mirae whispered, very softly, very sincerely, “What the fuck.”

Same, babe.

I could feel every eye on me. Not just seeing—assessing. Calculating. Trying to retroactively connect dots they didn’t even know existed five minutes ago. The Director of Cybersecurity. The Assistant Manager. The tone. The tension. The looks. The fights. The silences.

Oh.So that’s what that was.

My throat locked.

Jungkook stood there like he hadn’t just detonated my entire professional life with one sentence. Calm. Spine straight. Expression unreadable, except for his eyes—which were fixed on me with a terrifying steadiness, like he’d already accepted every possible outcome.

Yes.No.Run.

I hated him a little for that.

Someone coughed. Someone else laughed nervously. I think Jae-Hwan actually choked on rice. Bo Ah looked like she was about to either scream or applaud, and I didn’t trust her to pick the correct response.

I dropped my tray into the bin with more force than necessary.

“Why,” I said, my voice louder than I meant it to be, “is everyone staring like I just announced I’m pregnant with triplets.”

That snapped a few people back to life. Chairs scraped. Conversations tried—and failed—to restart.

Jungkook didn’t move.

Of course he didn’t.

I turned to him, heat crawling up my neck. “Are you out of your mind?”

A murmur rippled through the room. Mirae gasped like this was the best free entertainment she’d had all year.

He didn’t answer. He just looked at me, like he was giving me space. Like he wasn’t cornering me. Like he wasn’t standing in the middle of my world with a ring-shaped sentence hanging in the air between us.

That—that was unfair.

I hated that too.

“I need air,” I said, to no one in particular, and started walking before my legs remembered they were attached to a human being with feelings.

Someone reached for me—Seulgi, I think—but I shook her off. Not because I was angry. Because if anyone touched me right then, I might’ve either sobbed or bitten them.

Neither were good for office morale.

I made it three steps before I felt it. Not his hand. Not his voice.

His presence.

He wasn’t following me. He wasn’t calling my name. He wasn’t doing anything dramatic or possessive or stupid.

He was letting me go.

That hurt more than if he’d grabbed my wrist.

I turned back.

He was still there. Still rooted. Still watching me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered, even as a hundred people pretended very badly not to stare.

For one insane second, I almost walked back to him. Almost said something reckless. Honest. Soft.

Instead, I lifted my chin and said, “We’ll talk later.”

It wasn’t a promise.It wasn’t a threat.

It was survival.

His jaw tightened. Just once. He nodded.

That nod followed me all the way out of the canteen, down the corridor, into the elevator that smelled like lemon cleaner and bad decisions.

The doors slid shut.

And then—because my body is a traitor—I sank against the wall and laughed.

Not a cute laugh.Not a romantic laugh.

The kind that bubbles up when your brain doesn’t know what else to do.

Marry him.

I pressed the heel of my hand into my eye.

Of all the things Jungkook could’ve done to ruin me, this was the most effective. He didn’t shout. He didn’t fight. He didn’t corner me into choosing him.

He chose me.

Out loud.

In front of everyone.

The elevator dinged.

I straightened, wiped my face, and stepped out like a woman who absolutely did not feel like her entire life had just shifted sideways.

Behind me, somewhere between floors and fate, the man who loved me enough to risk everything stayed exactly where I’d left him.

And for the first time since this whole mess began— I didn’t know whether I was running away or giving myself time to finally stop flinching.

---

There is a special kind of hell reserved for the hours after your boyfriend proposes to you in public and you do not respond.

It’s not loud.

It doesn’t scream.

It hums.

I learned this while sitting at my desk, pretending to review a quarterly report I had already memorised, my cursor blinking at me like it was personally disappointed in my life choices.

Blink.Blink.Blink.

Same, cursor. Same.

No one brought it up. That was the worst part. Neureva ran on unspoken rules and professionally suppressed chaos, and this? This had been neatly filed under We’ll Pretend It Didn’t Happen Until HR Decides Otherwise.

People smiled at me a fraction too carefully. Mirae dropped her pen twice in ten minutes and didn’t ask Jungkook to pick it up again. Seokjin avoided my line of sight like I might suddenly announce a wedding date between coffee breaks.

And Jungkook—Jungkook was nowhere near me.

He wasn’t avoiding me dramatically. He wasn’t making a point. He was doing something far more devastating.

He was respecting my space.

I hated that.

It felt like standing in the aftermath of a storm where the sky had cleared too quickly, like the universe was pretending nothing monumental had just happened. I kept expecting him to appear—by the elevator, at the coffee machine, leaning in my doorway with that infuriatingly calm expression and a we need to talk look.

He didn’t.

Instead, his presence haunted me in quieter ways.

Someone mentioned a cybersecurity briefing and my mind went, Jungkook would hate that approach.

The elevator chimed and my heart jumped like an idiot.

A male voice laughed down the corridor and I looked up before I could stop myself.

Nothing.

Every time, nothing.

I tried to be angry. I really did. I told myself he had no right—no right—to spring that on me without warning, without preparation, without even a heads-up like Hey, I might emotionally ruin you during lunch today, cool?

But anger requires momentum.

And all I had was stillness.

By evening, the building felt heavier, like it was pressing in on me. I packed my bag slowly, dragging out every movement as if time itself might get the hint and reverse.

It didn’t.

I made it to the lobby before I finally cracked and checked my phone.

No messages.No missed calls.

My chest tightened.

Fine.

If he was going to be mature about this, then so was I. I squared my shoulders and stepped outside, immediately realising that confidence is useless when your emotions ambush you under fluorescent lights.

The city air was sharp. The sky was bruised purple, evening settling in like a held breath. I walked without direction, heels clicking angrily against the pavement until my feet hurt enough to give my thoughts something else to focus on.

Marry him.

The word still felt unreal. Too big. Too final. Too—forever.

I loved him. That part wasn’t the problem. The problem was that loving Jungkook felt like stepping into a fire you trusted not to burn you, and marriage felt like promising to stay there.

What if I disappointed him?What if I failed at being someone’s wife the way I had failed at being someone’s forever before?

My phone buzzed.

I stopped walking.

For one wild second, my heart leapt into my throat.

Then I looked.

Bo Ah.

> You alive or should I start planning your funeral?

I snorted despite myself and typed back with shaking fingers.

> Currently haunting my own life.

She replied instantly.

> He’s wrecked, you know.

That hit harder than I expected.

I swallowed.

> He shouldn’t be. I didn’t say no.

> You didn’t say yes either, she shot back. And you ran.

Okay. Fair.

I shoved my phone into my pocket and started walking again, slower now. My steps carried me somewhere familiar before I realised it—my favourite quiet street, the one with the closed bookstore and the café that stayed open too late for people like me.

I sat on the low wall outside and let myself breathe.

I thought about his face when he’d said it. Not hopeful. Not smug. Just steady. Certain. Like this wasn’t a whim or a grand gesture—it was a conclusion he’d arrived at slowly, carefully.

He had chosen me.

And I had… stalled.

The thought made my throat burn.

I didn’t want a fairytale proposal. I didn’t need flowers or applause or spectacle. What I needed—what terrified me—was the weight of being wanted like that. Fully. Without hesitation.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown number.

I frowned, then answered before anxiety could stop me.

“Hello?”

Silence. A breath.

Then his voice—low, familiar, wreckingly calm.

“Haerin.”

My name on his tongue always did something to me. This time, it hurt.

“I’m not calling to talk,” he said immediately, as if anticipating my panic. “I just wanted you to know—I meant what I said.”

My fingers curled into my coat.

“I know,” I whispered.

“I’m not taking it back,” he continued. “And I’m not asking again. Not because I’m stubborn—but because I don’t want you to feel cornered.”

That made my chest ache.

“I’m here,” he said softly. “Whenever you’re ready. Even if that’s not tonight.”

A pause.

“And if the answer is no—” His voice dipped, controlled but strained. “—I’ll survive. I promise.”

I closed my eyes.

“Jungkook…”

“I won’t push you,” he said. “I just needed you to hear that.”

The line went dead.

I sat there long after the call ended, the city moving around me like I was standing still in a river.

He wasn’t asking for certainty.He wasn’t demanding reassurance.

He was offering patience.

And somehow, that was the most devastating thing of all.

Because I realised, sitting there under the dim glow of streetlights, heart aching with a truth I could no longer dodge—

I wasn’t afraid of marrying Jungkook.

I was afraid of how much I already felt like his wife.

---

I didn’t sleep.

I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended me, replaying every version of my life where I made the wrong decision and survived it anyway. I counted cracks. I counted breaths. I counted how many times I almost reached for my phone before stopping myself like a coward with principles.

Morning came without mercy.

I showered, dressed, tied my hair too tight, then loosened it again because I didn’t need a headache on top of an existential crisis. I stared at my reflection longer than necessary, trying to recognise the woman who had been proposed to and didn’t immediately combust from joy.

She looked the same.

That was the problem.

At work, everything felt louder. Chairs scraping. Phones ringing. Laughter echoing just a second too long. I moved through it all like a ghost pretending to be employed.

People still didn’t ask.

They looked, though.

Mirae smiled at me like I was a fragile artifact. Seokjin gave me a thumbs-up from across the floor like I’d just survived a natural disaster. Someone whispered congratulations under their breath and then panicked when I turned around.

I didn’t see Jungkook.

Of course I didn’t.

He was good at this—at restraint, at control. At not forcing himself into spaces where he wasn’t invited.

That thought followed me all the way through the morning, through emails and meetings and a presentation I delivered on autopilot while my heart paced itself like it was waiting for a verdict.

By lunchtime, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I carried my tray to the canteen and sat at the far end, pushing rice around my plate without actually eating it. I watched people come and go. I watched couples laugh. I watched colleagues complain about deadlines and weather and things that didn’t alter the course of their lives.

I wondered, absurdly, if Jungkook was eating.

The thought made my chest tighten.

That’s when I saw him.

He wasn’t looking for me. That much was obvious. He stood near the counter, jacket off, sleeves rolled, posture relaxed but guarded in that way I knew too well now. Someone from his team was talking to him, animated, unaware that I was watching the man I loved from twenty feet away like he was a memory instead of a person.

He laughed—quietly, briefly.

It felt like a punch to the ribs.

Not because he was happy.

Because I wanted to be the reason.

I stood up before my brain could stop me.

My legs carried me forward on instinct, my heart thudding so loud I was sure the entire canteen could hear it. I stopped a few steps away from him, suddenly aware of how public this was. Of how many eyes would turn. Of how little control I had over my voice.

“Jungkook.”

He turned.

God.

There was no anger on his face. No accusation. Just surprise—followed immediately by something softer, something careful, like he was afraid of scaring me off by existing too loudly.

“Haerin,” he said, evenly.

The world tilted.

“Can we talk?” I asked.

He nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

People stared as we walked out together. I ignored them. If I thought about them now, I would lose my nerve, and I didn’t come this far to retreat at the last second.

We stopped near the stairwell, quiet and empty except for the hum of fluorescent lights.

He waited.

That was the thing about him. He always waited.

I took a breath so deep it hurt.

“I’m sorry,” I said immediately, because the words had been sitting in my throat all night, clawing their way up. “For running. For not answering. For making you stand there like that.”

He shook his head once. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” I cut in, gently but firmly. “Because you didn’t embarrass me. You didn’t trap me. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“I was scared,” I continued. “Not of you. Not of marriage. I was scared because… I realised I already think of you as permanent. And that terrified me more than the idea of signing papers ever could.”

Silence settled between us, heavy and electric.

“I’ve spent my life preparing for exits,” I said, my voice steadier now. “For the moment someone decides I’m too much, or not enough, or inconvenient. And you—” I laughed softly, shakily. “You don’t plan exits. You plan stays.”

His eyes darkened, emotion flickering dangerously close to the surface.

“I didn’t answer you because saying yes felt like stepping off a ledge without knowing if I’d fly or fall.”

I looked at him then. Really looked.

“And the truth is,” I said quietly, “I already jumped. I just didn’t realise it until you asked.”

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath for days.

“Haerin,” he said, low and earnest, “I don’t need certainty from you about forever. I just need honesty about now.”

I stepped closer.

“Then be honest with me too,” I said. “Do you still want this? Even knowing I’m messy and slow and terrified of happiness?”

He didn’t even blink.

“I want you,” he said simply. “As you are. As you’ll be. Even on days you can’t say yes easily.”

My throat burned.

I reached for his hand before I could overthink it, fingers threading through his like they belonged there. The contact grounded me in a way nothing else had.

“I don’t want a perfect marriage,” I said. “I want one where I can argue with you, and choose you anyway. Where I can be scared and still stay.”

A beat.

“I want to marry you,” I said, voice trembling but sure. “Not because it’s safe. But because it’s you.”

For the first time since I’d known him, Jungkook looked undone.

He lifted my hand, pressing his forehead briefly against my knuckles like he needed the contact to stay upright.

“Is that a yes?” he asked softly.

I smiled through the sting behind my eyes.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s a yes. It’s always been you.”

He pulled me into his arms then—careful, reverent, like I was something precious rather than fragile. I held him just as tightly, breathing him in, letting the world fall back into place around us.

Somewhere behind us, someone gasped. Someone else whispered oh my god.

I didn’t care.

I rested my cheek against his chest and laughed quietly, the sound muffled and real.

“I guess,” I murmured, “this means I do.”

He smiled against my hair.

“And I will,” he replied.

Always.

---THE END---

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmZvrVB515w