Chapter 1- Just that night
2235 Words
New York was quieter than usual that night.
Not silent—just… slower.
The city exhaled differently at night—quieter, but not calm. The chaos softened into distant sirens, occasional honks, and the low hum of life that refused to pause. Streetlights cast long shadows across empty roads, painting everything in amber and silence.
Mivika barely noticed any of it. Her mind was already ten steps ahead—calculating, planning, adjusting.Tomorrow wasn’t just another day. It was the day.
An international food expo. The kind where global brands didn’t just showcase—they competed. Investors, critics, collaborations… everything depended on impressions made in a matter of hours. And she had worked too hard to leave anything to chance.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel as her eyes flicked to the dashboard again.
“Don’t do this right now,” she muttered under her breath.
The car jerked.
Once.
Then again—harder this time.
And then—
Dead.
Right in the middle of the road.
For a second, silence pressed in from all sides.
Mivika stared straight ahead, unmoving, as if disbelief alone could restart the engine.
It didn’t.
“Unbelievable.”
She let out a sharp breath, pushing the door open and stepping out into the cold night air. The chill hit her instantly, but she ignored it, already walking toward the front of the car.
The hood lifted with a metallic click. Steam lightly curled upward.
“Perfect timing,” she murmured dryly, tying her hair back quickly. “Absolutely perfect.”
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.A message from her team.
Did you pick up the shipment? We need it first thing in the morning.
She exhaled through her nose, typing a quick reply:
On the way.
A lie—but one she intended to fix.
Fast.
A few meters away, footsteps slowed. He had been running for nearly an hour. It was the only time he truly felt invisible.
No cameras.
No flashing lights.
No expectations stitched into every breath he took.
Just the rhythm of his feet hitting the pavement… and his own thoughts, uninterrupted.
The hood was up, his face partially hidden behind a black mask, hair slightly damp from the run.
He should have kept going.
He knew that.
But then he saw her.
Standing alone under a streetlight, frustration evident in the way she leaned slightly over the car, examining something she clearly didn’t like.
There was something… grounded about her.
No panic.
Just irritation—and focus.
He slowed.
Then stopped.
He hesitated for a second—long enough to remind himself why this was a bad idea.
And then—
He walked toward her anyway.
“Need help?”
Mivika didn’t look up immediately.
“I’ve got it,” she replied, her tone calm but firm.
He paused, slipping his hands into his pockets.
“You… sure?”
That made her glance up.
Her eyes scanned him quickly—black hoodie, mask, no visible identity. Just… a stranger.
Late night.
Empty road.
Her instinct tightened.
“I said I’ve got it.”
Clear. Controlled. Final.
He nodded once.
“Okay.”
But he didn’t leave.
Instead, he leaned slightly closer—not invading, just observing.
“You should… maybe check coolant line,” he said, words measured, accent noticeable.
She frowned.
“I already—”
She stopped mid-sentence, glancing back at the engine.
There was a brief silence.
Then, reluctantly—
She stepped aside.
“Fine. Five minutes,” she said. “If it’s not fixed, I’m calling a tow.”
A faint smile tugged under his mask.
“Okay. Five minutes.”
...
They worked in near silence at first.
Mivika didn’t interrupt. She simply watched.
There was no hesitation in the way he moved—no trial and error. His hands were steady, precise, like he understood exactly what he was looking for. Not someone guessing. Someone who knew.
That alone made her pay attention.
As he adjusted something near the engine, he pushed his sleeves up slightly.
That’s when she noticed.
His arm.
Ink—running across his skin. Not random. Not careless. Each piece looked deliberate, layered, like it carried a story she couldn’t read yet.
Her gaze lingered a second longer than intended.
Then she looked away.
“You do this often?” she asked, her tone composed, almost formal.
He glanced at her briefly.
“Broken car… in middle of night?” he said, a faint pause between words. “Not really.”
There was something restrained about the way he spoke. Careful, but not unsure.
She studied him for a moment.
“You’re not from here.”
Not a question.
A quiet observation.
He shook his head once. “No.”
“Accent,” she said simply.
He let out a soft breath, almost amused.
“You notice fast.”
“I have to.”
A brief pause settled between them—not awkward, just… aware.
Then, almost casually—
“한국인이세요?” (Are you Korean?)
His hand stilled.
Not completely—but enough.
He looked up at her then. Properly this time.
There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes—clear, unguarded.
“…네.” (Yes.)
Something shifted.
Subtle. Immediate.
When he spoke again, he didn’t switch back.
“한국어 잘 하시네요.” (You speak Korean well.)
His tone was smoother now. More natural. Effortless.
Mivika’s lips curved slightly—not quite a smile, but close.
“일 때문에 배웠어요.” (I learned it for work.)
He nodded, returning his focus to the engine—but there was a new awareness now.
“그래도 발음이 좋아요.” (Even so, your pronunciation is good.)
“칭찬으로 받아들일게요.” (I’ll take that as a compliment.)
A faint, almost invisible smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“맞아요. 칭찬이에요.” (It is a compliment.)
For a moment, the city disappeared.
No noise. No rush. No urgency.
Just a broken car, open hood—
And a conversation that felt… unexpectedly easy.
A few more minutes passed.
A small adjustment. A tightened valve.
And then—
“Try now.”
Mivika walked around, sliding into the driver’s seat. She turned the key.
The engine sputtered—
Then came back to life.
Smooth.
Steady.
She paused for a second, almost surprised, before stepping out again.
“It’s working,” she said, her tone controlled but lighter than before.
He gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
She looked at him properly this time—no rush, no distraction.
“Thank you for helping me out,” she said. “This would have been a huge problem otherwise.”
He shrugged lightly, like it didn’t matter as much as it clearly did.
“Was nothing serious.”
A brief silence followed.
Not uncomfortable—just… unspoken.
Mivika inclined her head slightly, a quiet acknowledgment more than a gesture.
Then, as she turned toward her car, she paused and looked back at him.
“Would you like me to drop you somewhere?” she asked.
Then shook his head.He looked at her for a moment—really looked this time.
Then, instead of answering in English, he said quietly—
“이 시간에… 모르는 사람을 차에 태우는 건 위험해요.”
(At this hour… it’s dangerous to let a stranger into your car.)
A slight pause.
“특히 이런 도시에서는요.”
(Especially in a city like this.)
Mivika didn’t react immediately.
Then, almost as calmly—
“걱정해 주셔서 감사합니다.”
(Thank you for your concern.)
There was the faintest hint of a smile in her voice.
“하지만 괜찮아요. 상황은 제가 판단할게요.”
(But it’s alright. I’ll judge the situation myself.)
For a brief second, something shifted in his expression—something close to respect.
He nodded once.
“그래도… 조심하세요.”
(Still… be careful.)
She held his gaze.
“I will.”
A quiet beat passed.
Then he added, more casually this time—
“제 호텔은 바로 저쪽이에요.”
(My hotel is just across the street.)
She glanced in the direction he indicated, then back at him.
“그럼 다행이네요.”
(That’s good, then.)
Another pause.
Soft. Unspoken.
“Goodnight,” she said.
“Goodnight.”
She drove off.
He stood there for a moment longer, watching the taillights disappear into the distance.
Then exhaled.
A small, almost amused smile formed behind the mask.
“재밌는" (Interesting).
The airport was brighter than the rest of the city.
Busy. Awake. Functional.
Mivika walked in with purpose, her focus already back on work. The delay, the car—none of it mattered now. Only the shipment did.
As she reached the parcel collection area, she slowed slightly.
Five or six men stood there.
All Korean.
For a brief second, a thought crossed her mind—
What is it today… some kind of Korean encounter day?
She ignored it and walked to the counter.
“My shipment—from Seoul,” she said. “It should have arrived.”
The staff nodded, then hesitated.
“It has, ma’am. But there’s an issue. The upper layer was damaged during transit. There’s another parcel—same size, same weight, also from Korea. We need to open both to verify.”
“And?”
“They’ve refused,” he said, glancing toward the group. “They say it contains their employer’s personal belongings.”
Mivika exhaled once.
Then turned and walked straight toward them.
“This is unnecessary,” she said in Korean. “If the parcels are similar, we verify and move on.”
One of the men stepped forward.
“그건 어렵습니다.” (That’s difficult.)
“어려운 게 아니라 비효율적이에요.” (It’s not difficult. It’s inefficient.)
Neither moved.
The air tightened slightly.
Then—
“무슨 일이에요, 이 팀장님?”
(What’s going on, Mr. Lee?)
The shift was immediate.
Mivika turned.
Two men approached.
No mask this time.
Clear faces.
Recognition clicked—not emotionally, just factually.
BTS.
Her sister’s posters flashed in her mind.
But she didn’t react.
Taehyung stepped forward. “What’s the issue?”
Mr. Lee explained.
Beside him, Jungkook said nothing.
He was looking at her.
Directly.
She felt it.
Ignored it.
Taehyung turned to her. “I’m sorry—”
“굳이 영어 안 써도 돼요, 형.”
(No need to use English, hyung.)
A pause.
“이분 한국어 잘하세요.”
(She speaks Korean well.)
Mivika blinked once.
Taehyung smiled slightly. “그럼 더 편하겠네요.” (That makes it easier.)
He gestured. “먼저 확인하시겠어요?” (Would you like to check first?)
She nodded.
The parcel was brought forward.
She opened it.
Checked.
Relief.
“제 거 맞아요.” (This is mine.)
The tension dissolved.
“Thank you,” she said to Taehyung.
He nodded.
But her gaze shifted—
To Jungkook.
His arm.
The tattoos.
The memory clicked.
The road. The mask.
“You fixed my car.”
He didn’t deny it.
“Yeah.”
A brief pause.
She exhaled softly.
“That was you.”
Taehyung looked between them. “Wait—what?”
“He helped me earlier,” she said.
Taehyung laughed lightly. “Of course he did.”
Mivika shook her head once.
“That’s… unexpected.”
Jungkook’s lips curved faintly. “Was just car.”
She looked at him properly this time.
“Still. Thank you.”
Then added, almost casually—
“My sister is a huge fan. She wouldn’t believe this.”
Taehyung grinned. “We like her already.”
“I don’t remember your names properly though,” Mivika admitted.
They both laughed.
“Kim Taehyung,” he said, offering his hand.
“Jeon Jungkook,” he added.
She nodded. “I’ll try to remember.”
A staff member called her.
She turned briefly, gave instructions, then looked back.
“I should go.”
“Good luck for tomorrow,” Taehyung said.
“Thank you.”
Her eyes met Jungkook’s for a second longer.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
She walked away.
Didn’t look back.
But her mind—
Wasn’t as clear anymore.
Taehyung glanced at Jungkook.
“You got her name?”
A pause.
“…No.”
Taehyung stared at him. “Seriously?”
Jungkook shrugged slightly.
“…forgot to ask.”
Taehyung shook his head, half amused, half annoyed.
Jungkook didn’t respond.
His gaze lingered where she had disappeared.
And for the first time that night—
Neither of them walked away unaffected.
- Writer
