OVERDUE

FATE

Six months later.

Park bench. Same one. Paint’s chipped worse. The green is almost gone near the armrest, worn down to gray wood by weather and elbows and time. Rabbits are fatter. There’s three of them now, not two.

Saeah’s there. 3:17pm. Like clockwork.

Navy hoodie’s gone. Replaced by a brown cardigan. Too big. Sleeves still cover her hands. Some things don’t change. The buttons are mismatched. She stole it from his apartment and never gave it back. He stopped asking.

She’s holding a book. Not _The Bell Jar_.

_The House on Mango Street_. Dog-eared. Cracked spine. Lived in. There’s a coffee ring on page 89. His fault. She didn’t get mad. Just bookmarked it with the receipt.

Jungkook sits. No 17-minute timer. No desk between them. No rules taped to the table.

He’s got coffee. Two cups. Paper cups with plastic lids. Library coffee’s still trash, so he makes it at home now. In a chipped mug that says “World’s Okayest Librarian.” She bought it as a joke. He uses it every day.

Hands her one.

She takes it. Blows across the top. The steam fogs her glasses for half a second.

*“Still terrible,” she says.*

*“Yeah,” he says. “Made it myself.”*

*“Tragic.”*

*“Consistent.”*

She almost smiles. Drinks it anyway. Burnt. Bitter. Familiar.

He opens his own book. _Open City_. Teju Cole. She picked it for him. Said it was “3am brain in novel form.” He’s on chapter four. He reads slow now. Stops to think. Sometimes he reads parts out loud. She pretends she isn’t listening.

They read.

The park is louder than the library ever was. Kids yelling two fields over. A dog barking at a squirrel. Cars on the road past the trees. Neither of them minds.

At 3:22pm, her phone buzzes in her cardigan pocket. She ignores it. He notices. Doesn’t ask. He knows the number. Her caseworker. Check-in day. She’ll call back later. Or not.

At 3:34pm, a rabbit comes close. Fat. Bold. It’s the same one from six months ago, she’s pretty sure. It has a nick in its left ear.

Saeah tears a corner off her book’s page. Not 47. Not any page that matters. Just the blank flyleaf in the back. The part with the publishing info.

Holds it out. The rabbit sniffs. Takes it. Shred by shred, patient and unafraid.

Jungkook watches. His book is forgotten in his lap.

*“You’re gonna get fined for that,” he says.*

*“Worth it,” she says. “Tell them to send the bill to 3:17pm.”*

*“They don’t take reservations.”*

*“They do now.”*

His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Close.

She shifts on the bench. Her knee bumps his. Neither of them moves away.

*“You’re reading slow,” she says, nodding at his book.*

*“You picked a slow book.”*

*“You asked for honest.”*

*“I’m regretting it.”*

*“No you’re not.”*

He huffs. A quiet sound. Goes back to reading. She goes back to watching the rabbit.

At 3:51pm, his cup is empty. He crushes it in his hand, just a little. Habit. He catches himself. Sets it down instead.

*“Still counting?” she asks.*

*“No,” he says. “Just noticing.”*

She nods. That’s fair. She notices too. The way the light hits the back of his hands. The way he doesn’t check his watch anymore. The way he looks at her when he thinks she’s reading.

At 4:00pm, she closes her book. Doesn’t dog-ear the page. Uses the receipt bookmark instead. Progress.

Stands. Stretches. Her spine pops. The cardigan slips off one shoulder. She doesn’t fix it.

He stands too. Picks up both empty cups. His and hers.

*“Walk?” he asks.*

*She nods. “Yeah. Walk.”*

*“Anywhere specific?”*

*“No,” she says. “Just not back.”*

*“Never back,” he agrees.*

They start toward the path. Not the one that leads to the library. The other one. The one that goes past the pond and keeps going.

The rabbits watch them leave. Unbothered.

No destination. No checkout time. No sticky notes with times and rules and threats.

At 4:07pm, his phone buzzes. Work. He silences it without looking.

At 4:11pm, she slips her cold hand into the pocket of his jacket. Not his hand. Not yet. But close.

At 4:15pm, he adjusts his steps to match hers. Shorter. Slower. He doesn’t comment on it. She doesn’t thank him.

Just 3:17pm people. In daylight. Learning how to exist in minutes that don’t need counting.

The bench sits empty behind them. Paint chipped. Wood gray. Waiting.

It’ll be there tomorrow.

They might be too.

Or they might not.

---

___END ___