WARNING SIGNS
924 Words
Amani woke to the sound of music.
Low. Rough. Off-key.
She sat up slowly, brushing a curl from her face. The digital clock on the side table blinked: 6:12 a.m.
She hesitated—then slipped out of bed and moved toward the source. The notes were broken, irregular. A guitar. Not polished. Raw.
She found him sitting cross-legged in the living room, facing the window.
Minjae. Hoodie half-zipped, hair wild, shadows under his eyes like bruises.
He strummed again. Cursed softly.
Amani lingered in the hallway, watching.
He was struggling.
But he was trying.
She retreated quietly, not wanting to interrupt. But the image stayed with her—the broken melody, the sliver of vulnerability.
Maybe there’s still something left in him.
________________________________________
At breakfast, the silence was thick.
Minjae sat across from her, eyes bloodshot but defiant. She poured herself coffee and flipped open her tablet, already reviewing his digital analytics.
“I see you didn’t sleep,” she said without looking up.
“Neither did you.”
“I was working.”
He gave a faint scoff. “That explains the permanent frown.”
She glanced up. “I’m not here to babysit you, Minjae. I’m here to resurrect you.”
“Such confidence.” His eyes were sharp, mocking. “I suppose you’re going to teach me how to sing next?”
“I’ll leave the music to you,” she said. “If you still remember how to make it.”
The tension crackled.
She could feel his temper rising—but more than that, she saw the way he stared at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Curious. Conflicted. Maybe even intrigued.
She didn’t like what it did to her.
Didn’t like how her pulse quickened just slightly.
________________________________________
Later that morning, Jisoo stormed in like a tornado with Wi-Fi.
“Do you ever turn your phone on?” she barked at Minjae. “We’re losing sponsors by the minute.”
Minjae leaned back lazily on the couch. “Let them go. They were fake fans anyway.”
Jisoo turned to Amani, flustered. “How do you manage him without flipping a table?”
“I haven’t ruled it out,” Amani said dryly.
Minjae laughed—unexpected, low, a bit real.
It caught Amani off-guard.
Not the laugh. The warmth in it.
Like it remembered something about who he used to be.
________________________________________
That afternoon, they reviewed old footage in the media room. Award speeches. Concert clips. Interviews.
“Who is that?” Amani asked, pointing at the screen where a younger, brighter version of Minjae grinned.
He shrugged. “Someone who cared.”
“You still do. You’re just hiding.”
He didn’t answer.
She clicked pause. “What happened to you?”
His voice was flat. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Minjae turned to her, eyes distant.
“She left,” he said. Took my songs. Took my producer. Took my story and made it hers.”
Amani blinked. “Is she an artist too?”
“She was everything. Until she wasn’t.”
For a second, the silence between them held something fragile. Something honest.
Then he stood. “Forget it. You’re not here to play therapist.”
But he didn’t walk away.
He lingered at the door for a heartbeat too long before disappearing down the hallway.
________________________________________
By the third day, the tension had teeth.
Every glance between them felt loaded.
Every word held a double edge.
When Amani brushed past him in the kitchen, his breath hitched—barely—but she noticed.
When he watched her across the table, his gaze lingered at her lips longer than necessary.
She told herself it meant nothing.
That he was just curious.
That his stares were just... another habit of narcissists.
But when he caught her staring back and gave the tiniest smile—like he’d won something—her stomach fluttered.
That annoyed her more than anything.
________________________________________
One night, after reviewing press strategy with Jisoo, Amani stayed behind to finish notes.
Minjae walked in, barefoot, eyes heavy with sleep, hair tousled.
He stopped when he saw her.
“You don’t sleep much, do you?”
“I sleep when there’s less at stake.”
Minjae stepped closer. “Why did you take this job?”
She didn’t look at him, “because I was told you were brilliant. But broken.”
“Which part are you here for? The brilliance or the broken?”
Amani raised her eyes to meet his. “Both. If I fix one, the other might return.”
He stared at her like he was searching for a lie.
Didn’t find one.
“You’re not like anyone I’ve met,” he said quietly.
“Good,” she replied. “Maybe that’s what you need.”
________________________________________
That night, as Amani stood on the balcony overlooking Seoul’s neon pulse, she wrapped her arms around herself.
She didn’t like the way he looked at her sometimes.
Didn’t like the warmth in her chest when he joked.
Didn’t like how familiar he was starting to feel.
You’re here to fix his career, not catch feelings.
She knew this was dangerous. Their worlds didn’t align. Their countries, cultures, pasts… all wrong.
But still—he had looked at her like she mattered.
Like she wasn't just another assistant.
Her phone buzzed.
Hyunwoo: New song idea tonight. He might ask you to hear it. Don’t let him pretend it’s nothing.
She sighed.
It wasn’t just him pretending anymore.
- Writer
