THE WEIGHT OF ALMOST II
1032 Words
They both turned.
And froze.
Standing there, in heels and a sharp designer coat, was a woman neither of them had expected.
Her lips curled into a smirk. “You didn’t call. So I came.”
Minjae’s face drained of color, which only meant one thing. Amani stiffened.
So this is the ghost from the past.
Amani didn’t know why her chest suddenly felt tight. She didn’t fully recognize the woman standing in the doorway—but the way Minjae’s entire demeanour shifted said enough.
His shoulders, which had finally begun to relax beside her, tensed like piano strings pulled taut. His jaw locked. His hand, resting casually against the balcony rail moments ago, curled into a fist.
“Yejun,” he said finally. The name fell like glass against concrete.
The woman’s smirk widened, but her eyes didn’t soften. “So you do still remember how to say my name.”
Amani took a slow, cautious step back, giving them space even though her feet screamed to stay rooted. She was the outsider here. The shadow. The mystery woman who suddenly felt like she had wandered into a moment not meant for her.
Yejun’s gaze flicked over to her like a blade. “You must be the reason he’s been dodging me.”
Minjae stepped in, voice firm. “Don’t do that.”
“Oh, I’m not doing anything,” Yejun replied, running a manicured hand through her sleek hair. “I just wanted to see for myself what’s been keeping you too busy to return my calls.”
“I haven’t been too busy. I’ve been uninterested.”
Amani blinked. That was... blunt.
Yejun’s laugh was sharp. “Uninterested? You weren’t uninterested when you called me crying the night your contract almost collapsed. You weren’t uninterested when we were sharing the same bed and studio and silence for months. Or have you conveniently forgotten how much of you I’ve already seen, Minjae?”
Silence.
Amani wanted to disappear. This wasn’t her fight. But the rawness in Yejun’s voice, the way Minjae’s hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting—this was more than drama. This was an old pain, dredged back up into the light.
Minjae exhaled shakily. “That version of me is gone.”
“Is it?” she asked, stepping toward him. “Because from where I’m standing, you still run away the moment someone actually gets close.”
And that’s when Yejun turned fully to Amani.
“I hope you know what you’re getting into,” she said, a tone laced with both pity and warning. He’s good at making you feel seen. Until you realize he’s only seeing his reflection in your eyes.”
Amani stiffened, holding Yejun’s gaze.
“I appreciate the unsolicited advice,” she said coolly, “but I’m not here to fix anyone. I’m just here to do my job.”
Yejun gave a slow, mocking clap. “Impressive. The assistant has claws.”
Minjae stepped between them, voice low. “That’s enough.”
Amani didn’t wait to hear what came next.
She turned and walked back inside the penthouse, each step echoing against the tiled floor. Her heart raced—not from the confrontation, but from how badly she hated the way Yejun looked at Minjae. Like she owned pieces of him Amani hadn’t even seen yet.
________________________________________
Back in Her Room
Amani paced, arms crossed, trying to will her heartbeat into something resembling calm.
It wasn’t jealousy. She didn’t do jealousy.
But something about Yejun’s presence had shaken her. The way Minjae looked like anyone else caught between two burning bridges.
A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
She hesitated. “Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
His voice.
Of course, it was him.
She opened the door slowly, and Minjae stood there, hands in his hoodie pockets, eyes uncertain.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She blinked. “Why?”
“For... that. For her. For everything.”
Amani stepped back, letting him in. “You don’t owe me an apology.”
“I feel like I do.” He moved to sit on the edge of the couch, staring down at his feet. “She wasn’t supposed to be here.”
Amani sat across from him. “Were you close?”
He nodded, slowly. “For a while, yeah. We were... something messy. We worked together, created music. And then it all fell apart. She wanted things I couldn’t give, and I was too proud to say I wasn’t ready.”
“And now?”
“She wants to come back. Or maybe she just wants to see if she still has power over me.”
“Does she?” Amani asked, her voice softer than she intended.
Minjae looked up. “Not like you do.”
The air stilled.
Amani’s throat tightened. “I don’t have power over you, Minjae.”
He stood, walking over to where she sat, crouching so they were eye level.
“You’re wrong. You walk into a room, and I lose my focus. You tell me what to do, and I actually listen. "You look at me like I’m still worth betting on—and that scares the hell out of me.”
She searched his face, uncertain if she should say what was clawing at her throat.
“And yet... we keep pretending like we’re not on the edge of something dangerous.”
He gave a half-smile. “I’m done pretending.”
Her breath hitched. “What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t care what the internet says. Or what Yejun thinks. I just want to know what you feel when you look at me.”
She didn’t answer. Not immediately.
Instead, she reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead.
And then, almost in a whisper—
“I feel like... I’m falling. Even though I swore I wouldn’t.”
Minjae leaned in. Their foreheads touched.
“But you are,” he whispered. “And so am I.”
They stayed like that for a moment—close, steady, hearts pounding in sync.
Not kissing.
Not yet.
Just feeling.
- Writer
