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Jimin had gone on hiatus. She decided to take a break from the spotlight and enrolled in university for a year — she was homeschooled over the years, of course. It was hard to keep a low profile, but the school found a way to make it work.
Meanwhile, Minjeong was buried under the weight of upcoming exams. Her third coffee sat half-drunk beside her as she stared blankly at her notes. Thermodynamics and quantum mechanics refused to make sense no matter how many times she read them.
She sighed, pushed away her books, and grabbed her camera. Maybe a walk would help.
She started taking photos — patches of light, tree shadows, leaves falling down. Then, she noticed a ginger cat in the hallway. Wanting to take a photo, she headed towards it. Just as she was just a few steps away, the cat moved.
The cat kept walking, and so did she.
Eventually, it led her to the wooded area at the edge of campus — a small, hidden forest with a wooden table under the trees. The cat jumped onto the table, and that’s when she saw her.
A girl was already there, playing with the cat. Not idly, she was completely absorbed, laughing softly as the cat pawed at her fingers. The light framed her face perfectly, like she was being bathed in sunlight. Without thinking, Minjeong raised her camera and clicked.
The sound of the shutter broke the silence.
The girl froze and her brows furrowed.
She turned and stood.
Minjeong’s heart skipped. Shit. She should’ve asked. She should definitely have asked.
The girl walked towards her.
“Hey... would you mind deleting the photo?” she asked, her voice calm but careful.
Now that Minjeong saw her up close, she froze for a different reason. The girl was beautiful, not just “pretty” but striking. Her dark hair fell just past her collarbones, catching little strands of sunlight. Minjeong’s eyes dropped to her ID: Jimin Yu, BS Geology.
She looked back up. She swore that face didn’t belong in a quiet forest behind a university, that face belonged on a screen.
“Oh, sure. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked permission first.” She turned her camera around, ready to delete it — only to see the screen flicker and go black. “...Shit. The battery's dead.”
Jimin sighed. “It’s fine,” she said. “Just don’t post it online or something.”
“Why would I post it?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t post stuff.”
“You could earn from that.”
Minjeong raised a brow. “Why would it earn anything? It’s just a normal photo. A girl with an orange cat.”
A girl, Jimin thought. Just a girl.
She chuckled, “Of course,” she said. “I wonder.”
She offered her hand. “I'm Minjeong, by the way.”
Jimin tilted her head slightly, watching the girl in front of her. She didn’t look startled, didn’t look like she recognized her, either. Maybe she was faking it, people usually were.
“You really don't know who I am?” Jimin asked, more curious than offended.
“Should I?” Minjeong scratched the back of her neck. “Look... I take photos of things I find interesting. Light, colors, cats. People with cats.”
“...People with cats,” Jimin amusingly repeated. She shook Minjeong's hand. “Jimin.”
There was a brief silence.
“You’re serious?” Jimin asked.
Minjeong nodded, looking puzzled now. “I mean... I don't really use socials. Just emails and group chats for school.”
Jimin studied her a little more closely. “No Instagram? Twitter? TikTok?”
“Nope,” Minjeong said, popping the ‘p’. “I use YouTube sometimes. Mostly for documentaries — astrophysics lectures.”
She said it so casually, like it was normal.
“...You watch lectures for fun?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
Jimin blinked, “Not really.”
“Well, it helps me sleep sometimes,” Minjeong said with a shrug. “But sometimes it keeps me awake because of existential dread. You know... heat death of the universe, black holes evaporating, the butterfly effect, that kind of thing.”
Jimin stared at her, and for the first time in a long time, she felt her lips form into a genuine smile.
This girl, she really didn’t know.
She really didn’t care.
“You're weird,” Jimin said.
Minjeong grinned, “So I’ve been told.”
Jimin sat down slowly on the bench, eyes still on the girl — Minjeong — who now sat across her, playing with the orange cat, scratching its chin.
“So,” Jimin began, leaning back slightly, “you spend your free time watching lectures and taking photos?”
Minjeong chuckled without looking up. “Pretty much.”
“You’re missing out.”
“Or maybe I’m just looking somewhere else.”
“Like where?”
Minjeong straightened up and shrugged, brushing off cat hair from her slacks. “Different universes.”
“Come again?”
“I’ve been obsessed with the concept of the multiverse since I was fourteen,” Minjeong said, her eyes lighting up a little. “The idea that there are infinite versions of us, out there — making different choices, living different lives. It sounds crazy, I know.”
Jimin leaned forward, getting interested. “No, go on. I want to hear this.”
Minjeong hesitated, then continued. “Like in one universe, I failed a physics class and gave up. In another, I’m probably an astronomer who discovered Rigel. In another, maybe I play Mozart or took a photo of an A-list celebrity or... I don’t know. Someone who actually goes outside more.”
She paused.
“And maybe, in one of them... I took that photo, and you didn’t walk up to me and ask me to delete it. You just smiled and let me keep it.”
Jimin was quiet for a moment. There was something oddly comforting and deeply unsettling about that thought.
“That’s kind of terrifying,” she murmured.
“I know,” Minjeong said with a small laugh. “But it also makes me feel... less stuck. Like nothing is really final. Or that there's a life out there that we made better choices... or worse ones — but neither is perfect.”
Jimin glanced at her. “Do you think there's a universe where we’re friends?”
Minjeong blinked, then smiled softly. “Maybe. Or enemies. Or married with four cats.”
Jimin leaned a little closer. “Married with four cats, huh?”
“You want more?” Minjeong asked with a playful tone.
Jimin narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”
“Maybe. Maybe I’m not.” Minjeong leaned back. “Schrödinger’s theory — until you check, it’s both happening and not.”
Jimin burst out laughing. “God, you’re such a nerd.”
“And yet, you’re still talking to me.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the breeze rustling through the leaves. The ginger cat stretched, yawned, and curled onto Jimin’s lap like it had chosen her.
Jimin stroked its back gently. “I think this might be a good universe.”
Minjeong didn’t say anything right away, just looked at her.
“Yeah,” she said finally. “Me too.”
Minjeong slipped her camera back into her bag, adjusting the lens cap with care. She stood and fixed the strap on her shoulder, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I should probably head back,” she said, glancing at the trees. “The idea of me failing physics might already be happening in this universe.”
Jimin smiled, “Okay. Will I see you again tomorrow?”
Minjeong paused, lips curling into a grin. “Maybe. Maybe not.” She pointed at the ginger tabby, now sleeping peacefully on Jimin’s lap. “Schrödinger’s Cheese Cat.”
Jimin groaned. “Now that’s cheesy.”
Minjeong was already walking backward. “Will I find you here?”
Jimin met her gaze. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Then I’ll collapse the wave function tomorrow.”
And with that, she turned and walked off, leaving Jimin behind with a cat on her lap, a strange flutter in her chest, and a smile she couldn’t quite stop.
Minjeong let out a long, suffering groan and slumped forward, forehead hitting the edge of her desk with a dull thud.
Six more chapters and three equations that looked like ancient spells. Her eyes burned from too much reading and too little understanding.
And her brain — traitor that it was — kept replaying yesterday’s encounter with Jimin.
“Married with four cats?”
“Schrödinger’s Cheese Cat.”
She groaned louder, smacking her forehead against the desk again. God, what on earth was she thinking?
“Uh... you okay there, MJ?” came Yizhou’s voice from the other side of the room.
Minjeong lifted her head just enough to let her cheek rest flat against the desk. “Yeah, my brain’s just being deep-fried in quantum oil.”
“Maybe if you actually majored in photography, you wouldn’t be suffering.”
Minjeong made a face. “Then I’d still be failing — just with more aesthetic lighting.”
"You say that like it’s a bad thing."
Minjeong didn’t answer, already staring at the cat photo she'd accidentally taken. She hadn’t deleted it yet. Not because she forgot — she just... hadn’t.
Jimin looked peaceful in it. Almost like she belonged there. Like someone from another universe.
Maybe she was.
Minjeong stared at it for a second longer, then stood up and began fixing her things. She was just zipping up her bag when Yizhou appeared at the doorway, holding a banana and a suspicious eyebrow raise.
“Where are you going?” Yizhou asked, casually peeling the fruit.
“University.”
“But you don’t have a class today?”
Minjeong swung her bag over her shoulder, eyes already elsewhere. “Just taking a walk.”
Yizhou took a bite. “You’re wearing lip balm.”
“No, I’m not.”
Yizhou grinned as Minjeong slipped out the door.
And Minjeong knew exactly where she’d be walking to, somewhere near a forest and a table, and hopefully, a ginger cat. And maybe a girl with eyes like she’d seen a thousand versions of this moment before.
When Minjeong arrived at the spot, the table beneath the trees stood empty. No Jimin in sight, just the rustling of leaves and a ginger cat stretching in the sun.
Maybe she’s not coming, Minjeong thought.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Schrödinger’s equation, in action.
She sat anyway.
For a few minutes, she just stared at her hands, at the forest floor, at the cat now circling her feet like it remembered her. Should she wait a bit more? Or go back to the dorm and solve an actual equation, the one due tonight?
Logic pointed to the latter, but her body betrayed her.
She stayed.
“You’re here early,” a voice came from behind her. Minjeong froze, that voice, low yet soft — she recognized it immediately.
She turned and Jimin stood there, hair up in a messy bun, a coffee in one hand… and a rock in the other…?
Minjeong blinked. “What’s that?”
“A rock,” Jimin said, placing it gently on the table between them.
Minjeong stared, “I mean, why do you have it?”
“We had a Mineralogy Lab earlier,” Jimin replied as she sat down. “We were identifying samples: luster, cleavage, hardness tests — classic rock stuff.”
She took a sip of her coffee, then added, “I kept this one.”
“Why?”
“It reminded me of a movie I watched last night.” Jimin paused. “After you left, I got curious. Looked up films about the multiverse. I ended up watching Everything Everywhere All At Once.”
Minjeong’s brows lifted. “You watched that?”
Jimin nodded. “Yeah, and I cried. A lot, like ugly tears. Definitely your fault.”
Minjeong let out a laugh. “I haven’t seen it yet.”
Jimin blinked as if she couldn't believe what she’d just heard. “What? You haven't watched that movie?”
“I’ve seen lectures about quantum mechanics, shadow matter, and bubble universes. Does that count?”
“No, not at all. You don’t get emotional damage from lectures.”
Minjeong chuckled. “You’d be surprised.”
Jimin nudged the rock toward her. “Well, now you have homework.”
“Is this mine now?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Jimin grinned. “Schrödinger’s rock.”
Minjeong sighed, “I think Schrödinger’s had enough.”
“You started it.”
“Fair.”
Minjeong glanced at the rock again, then at Jimin — smug, effortlessly pretty, and entirely too composed. She remembered how Jimin teased her for being a nerd yesterday.
So, maybe it was time for some light payback.
What do geology majors get excited about?
She pointed at the rock. “What if this is just… crystallized poop?”
Jimin snorted, “I mean, technically possible but not likely.”
Okay, not rocks.
“How about… Agartha? Do you believe in the underground city?”
Jimin rolled her eyes. “Pure fiction, esoteric nonsense — no scientific basis.”
Still too calm.
Not lost civilizations either.
Minjeong leaned in, like she was thinking hard. “I don’t think Megalodon ever existed.”
Jimin paused.
Very slowly, she set her coffee down.
“Oh?” she said, voice dangerously calm.
And then—
“Megalodon existed from the Miocene to the Pliocene epoch. Fossilized teeth have been found across every continent except Antarctica. Most of what we know comes from hundreds of teeth and a few vertebrae. Adults averaged over ten meters in length, and the largest specimens, based on tooth reconstruction and comparative anatomy, were estimated around seventeen to eighteen meters. They also weigh about sixty to a hundred and forty thousand pounds. And yes, females were bigger.”
Minjeong stared at her, stunned.
“What?” she asked.
“You were this close to drawing a diagram in the dirt.”
Jimin looked at her with suspicion. “You baited me.”
“Guilty.” Minjeong leaned back with a satisfied grin. “You’re kind of cute when you nerd out.”
Jimin reached for her coffee again, muttering, “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Jimin stared blankly at the projection screen, barely blinking as lines, folds, and faults filled in slow and dragging succession. The professor had been talking about brittle versus ductile deformation and the mechanics of folding and faulting for nearly two hours now.
Normally, she’d be at least half-engaged. But today, her brain refused to cooperate.
All she could think about was Minjeong.
They'd been talking for two weeks. Not really hanging out — at least not in the conventional sense. Just long conversations by the same table near the forest, with the ginger cat making occasional appearances. They talked about space, fossils, and strange theories. It was oddly easy to be with her.
The lecture ended, finally. As the lights brightened and her classmates moved from their academic stupor, Jimin packed her things and left the room like someone was chasing her.
She was halfway down the corridor when she accidentally bumped into someone.
“Sorry,” she said, quickly stepping back.
Aeri, their class representative and her friend, gave her a curious look. “No worries. But hey, why the rush?”
Jimin shook her head. “I’m not rushing.”
“You absolutely are.” Aeri raised a brow. “Are you going to meet someone?”
“I’m not.”
“You definitely are.”
Jimin looked away, adjusting her bag. “You’re imagining things.”
Aeri smiled knowingly. “Then you won’t mind if I walk with you?”
Jimin hesitated.
Aeri smirked, “Right… that’s what I thought.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Hmmm…” Aeri stepped aside. “Have fun not meeting someone, then.”
Jimin walked past her and her pace quickened anyway.
Minjeong was almost an hour late — this was a first. Maybe today was a not.
She sighed, picked up her coffee and stood to leave — only to freeze when she heard footsteps.
“Jimin!” Minjeong’s voice rang out.
She looked up.
Minjeong was jogging towards her, hair messy, camera bag bouncing at her side. She stopped, slightly breathless. “I’m so sorry I kept you waiting.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, really. The physics test made me question my life choices, and then, ugh, Chaewon dragged me to the mall.”
There it was again. Chaewon.
Minjeong dropped her bag on the table with a sigh. “She’s the worst when she wants something.”
Jimin sat down slowly. “So you just went along with it?”
“Yeah… I mean she was being dramatic about how I don’t go out enough and practically guilt-tripped me.”
Jimin nodded, but something in her chest tugged. She wasn’t sure what it was. Just that it made her feel... off.
Jimin tried to smile, but something inside her was tightening. “You talk about her a lot.”
Minjeong glanced up, “Do I?”
“A bit,” Jimin replied, reaching for her cup to avoid eye contact.
Minjeong laughed softly, “That’s fair. We’ve been close since we were kids.”
Jimin's gaze lowered, “Are you two... close-close?”
“Well,” Minjeong said with a light shrug, “She’s always around. She’s like a weird mix of clingy and bossy."
“Sounds like someone you care about.”
“Of course I do,” Minjeong said without hesitation. “She’s always the first to yell at me when I forget to eat, and she’s the only one who still calls me ‘Minmin’ even though I hate it. And I don't know… sometimes she just knows when something’s off. She bought me pastries this morning because she said I looked like I’d cry over my notes.”
Jimin didn’t respond. She just looked ahead, pretending to find the ginger cat stretching near the bushes fascinating.
“We were buying stuff for our grandma," Minjeong continued. “Chaewon insisted we bring snacks and a new blanket.”
Jimin turned her head. “Our grandma?”
“Yeah,” Minjeong smiled. “She’s my cousin.”
Jimin blinked, “Oh.”
Minjeong stared at her for a second, then grinned. “You think she’s my girlfriend or something?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You kind of did.”
Jimin pretended to brush dust off on her skirt.
Minjeong bit back a smile. “Were you... jealous?”
“No,” Jimin answered too quickly.
“Right,” Minjeong said, amused. “Maybe. Maybe not?”
It had been almost two months since Minjeong first photographed Jimin with the ginger cat.
Their “maybe” days had become routine. Minjeong would show up with her camera and Jimin would be there with coffee, sometimes with questions about the multiverse.
Whatever it was, it kept Minjeong grounded between quantum mechanics and impending exams.
Until one night, a week before finals.
Yizhou barged into the dorm with a tub of ice cream in one hand and her laptop in the other. “You will not believe who’s in this drama I’m watching.”
Minjeong barely looked up from her notes. “Is it Gong Yoo again? Because you always say it’s Gong Yoo.”
“No, better. It's Jimin Yu.”
That name made Minjeong freeze.
Yizhou didn’t notice. She sat beside her, laptop open and buffering the intro of some drama.
“Come on, you’ve definitely seen her somewhere.”
Minjeong’s gaze flicked toward the screen. And there she was: hair shorter, younger, and dressed in a school uniform.
Minjeong stared.
Slowly, things clicked into place. The way Jimin sometimes went quiet when Minjeong asked about her past. Her reluctance to be photographed. That first moment by the table, how she’d panicked at the sound of the shutter.
God.
She pressed her lips together. “I… think I’ve seen her somewhere.”
Yizhou squinted at her. “Wait. Do you know her?”
“No,” Minjeong said quickly. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“You’re being weird again.”
Minjeong stood and grabbed her hoodie. “I need air.”
The next day, Minjeong showed up at their spot.
“Are you okay?” Jimin asked, handing Minjeong a can of cold coffee.
Minjeong forced a smile. “I just didn’t sleep much.
“Another test?”
“Something like that.”
Jimin tilted her head. “You sure you’re okay?”
Minjeong met her eyes. “I think so.”
She didn’t say anything about the drama. About the fact she had replayed the clip of Jimin smiling on-screen. About how weird it felt — knowing that someone like her, who had featured in screens and magazines, had been sitting here every afternoon like she was just anyone.
“Hey,” Jimin called, trying to lighten the mood, “If you didn’t want to see me today, you could’ve just said so."
Minjeong raised her camera halfway. “Can I take your photo?”
Jimin looked up, surprised. “You’re asking now?”
“Trying to be decent.”
Jimin nodded, “Go ahead.”
She lifted the can to her lips, turned slightly toward the light.
Minjeong adjusted the lens.
Click.
Minjeong looked at her through the lens, trying to match this quiet girl in sunlight to the version etched into the back of her eyelids last night — the girl on the screen, poised, camera-ready, trained to smile.
Now she wasn’t smiling.
And yet she’d never looked more real.
Jimin watched her now, across the table. Minjeong had her camera in her hands again, but her expression wasn’t focused, it was… conflicted. There was something off with Minjeong today, Jimin couldn’t explain it, but she felt it in the way she didn’t ramble about space or make one of her weird Schrödinger jokes.
She’d asked if Minjeong was okay, she said she was tired. And Minjeong's request surprised her. She remembered the first time they met, the way she flinched at the sound of the shutter — the way she’d looked at Minjeong like she was a threat.
But now, she’d said yes without thinking.
She sipped her coffee and studied Minjeong. The girl was smart, she knew that. She watched documentaries for fun and solved equations like poetry. But this kind of silence was new and Jimin wasn’t dumb.
Maybe she found out.
She sighed and looked away.
Would it matter?
It shouldn’t, she was just another student now. Not the Jimin Yu, not the actress, and not the daughter of a scandal.
And yet… the thought of Minjeong knowing made her stomach twist in a way she didn’t like. She didn’t want to see that look in her eyes.
The way people’s curiosity always drowned whatever real thing was growing.
Maybe it was just her paranoia. Maybe she was imagining it.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Jimin hadn’t seen her in days — seven, to be exact.
She tried not to count, but she always noticed the silence. Of course she was used to random space stuff, Schrödinger's jokes, and theories regarding the birth of the multiverse.
Maybe it was finals, she told herself. Minjeong had mentioned exams, that test that “questioned her existence.” Maybe she just buried herself in books. Maybe she needed space.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
She still went to their usual spot every afternoon, just in case. She brought an extra can of cold coffee every single time. And every single time, she drank it alone.
Even the ginger cat seemed to notice. He lingered near her, tail twitching. She placed her hand behind his ear, scratching it.
“Where is she, huh?” Jimin muttered.
Cheese only blinked at her and yawned.
Then, on the eighth day, he didn’t show up either.
It was almost sunset when she saw the post on the campus community board. A blurry picture of a ginger tabby lying near the bike racks. Someone captioned it:
This cat’s injured. Anyone know if it belongs to someone?
Jimin’s chest tightened.
Cheese.
She was out of the campus before she could think.
Jimin stood near the front desk, still catching her breath. Her hoodie sleeves were damp from the rain. The student vet assistant blinked in surprise but quickly composed herself.
“The cat’s stable now, someone already brought him in.”
Jimin didn’t say anything, her breath still uneven.
“She’s in the room with him,” the assistant added. “Refused to leave. Said she was waiting for someone.”
Jimin followed the assistant down the narrow hallway. Her shoes squeaked against the linoleum, the fluorescent lights above whirring faintly. When the door opened, the first thing she saw wasn’t Cheese.
It was Minjeong.
Hoodie zipped, her hair slightly wet and sticking to her forehead. She looked up at the sound of the door — and their eyes met.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them spoke.
Then, slowly, Minjeong stood. Her joints stiff, like she’d been sitting there too long. “He’s okay,” she said. “The vet said it wasn’t serious. No fractures, but he might limp for a few days.”
Jimin stepped in. “Thank you... for finding him.”
“I wasn’t planning to be there,” Minjeong replied. “But I saw him and… I knew you’d be worried.”
Jimin’s gaze dropped to Cheese’s gently rising chest inside the carrier. “I was.”
“I didn’t hear from you for a week,” she said, almost a whisper. “I thought maybe it was your finals. Or maybe… you were done with me.”
Minjeong looked down, guilt was gnawing at her. “I wasn’t done. I just didn’t know what to do. After I found out who you were.”
“I’m still me,” Jimin said.
“I know. But it messed with my head,” Minjeong uttered like she was having a conflict. “It felt like there were two of you. The girl with a ginger cat and the other... the one from the screen. I didn’t know how to talk to you without feeling... small.”
“I never wanted to lie,” Jimin murmured. “I just didn’t want to be her. Not with you.”
“I get that now,” Minjeong nodded. “I just… I was scared if I said it, everything would change.”
“And if you didn’t?”
“I thought it might stay the same.”
They both looked at Cheese, who let out a grumpy meow — clearly not impressed, probably fed up with them.
Jimin let out bitter laugh. “He’s judging us.”
Silence again.
Jimin leaned against the wall. “I don’t know what you saw. Or how much you know.”
Minjeong stepped closer. “I didn’t know how to hold both versions of you in my head. But now I think… maybe I can.” She met Jimin’s gaze, voice gentle but certain. “You’re still Jimin who drinks too much coffee, talks about dinosaurs, and brings cat food in her pocket like some grandma.”
Jimin blinked, then smiled. The knot in her chest loosened. Her shoulders dropped, just a little.
Minjeong, quieter now, added, “I have another confession.”
Jimin raised an eyebrow.
“I still haven't watched the movie,” she confessed.
Jimin turned to her. “What?”
Minjeong looked guilty. “Everything Everywhere All At Once.” Minjeong raised her hands in surrender. “I was going to watch it, I swear. But finals happened. And then… you.”
“Me?”
“You’re kind of distracting.”
The words lingered.
Jimin’s voice softened. “You want to watch it?”
“Now?”
“After Cheese is settled. I’ll even let you make fun of me crying over the googly-eyed rock scene.”
“I wanted to understand what you liked,” Minjeong said quietly. “I just… kept putting it off.”
“Hey… it’s alright. Just don’t disappear on me again, okay?”
“I won’t,” Minjeong said, firm this time. “I don’t want to not talk to you again.”
Jimin’s heart twisted at the sincerity in her voice.
She nodded slowly, “Okay. But I’m warning you... I cry a lot.”
“Yeah, you do.” Minjeong smirked. “‘Til We Meet Again, huh?”
Jimin gave her a surprised look. “You’ve seen it?”
“Yizhou was watching it two nights ago. Said it was the first role you sang in. I got curious… and watched the whole thing instead of studying quantum mechanics.”
Jimin laughed, “That movie wrecked me.”
“It was good,” Minjeong admitted. “Four girls, separate lives, and different dreams. But somehow still found their way back to each other through music.”
Jimin tilted her head, now amused. “I thought you said it wasn’t your thing?”
Minjeong shrugged, a small grin on her lips. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Minjeong had been spiraling in their dorm room for the past thirty minutes, pacing back and forth in an ever-widening loop, like some chaotic Fibonacci spiral played out. She muttered thoughts to herself, rewinding moments, overanalyzing looks and words.
Minjeong stopped mid-step. “Should I ask her out?”
Yizhou, who had been quietly observing from her spot on the couch, finally paused her game and set the controller down. “Who?”
“Jimin.”
Yizhou raised her eyebrows.
“Just Jimin,” Minjeong added quickly.
There was a long silence before Yizhou asked, “Do you like her?”
“I don’t know,” Minjeong confessed, rubbing her forehead. “I’ve never liked anyone before. I mean… not in that way: romantically.”
Yizhou opened her soda. “Well, that might be because you don’t let anyone get close.”
Minjeong sighed. “That’s not true—”
Yizhou held up a hand. “No offense, but literally every time someone tries to talk to you, you deflect with some obscure physics fact or space theory. I’ve had people, guys and girls, ask me for your contacts. And then they come back telling me you freaked them out talking about quantum entanglement or thermodynamics.”
Minjeong crossed her arms. “It’s not my fault the universe is more interesting than small talk.”
“Exactly my point.” Yizhou leaned back against the cushion. “But Jimin didn’t freak out?”
Minjeong paused, “No. She... laughed. She kept up. She even called me a nerd. And I wanted to get back at her for it. I wanted her to keep talking. I wanted—” She stopped herself, eyes wide.
Yizhou smirked, “There it is.”
Minjeong sat down, hands fidgeting in her lap. “I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never — It’s like… for once, I don’t feel like I have to be less of myself.”
“Then that’s your answer, isn’t it?”
Minjeong glanced up.
“You like her. Maybe you’re just scared it’s the first time it feels real.”
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Minjeong let out a long exhale.
Yizhou smiled, gentle this time. “Ask her out.”
It had been three days since the accident.
And three days since Jimin last heard from Minjeong.
In that span, she decided to adopt Cheese. No second thoughts made — he belonged with her now. A constant, living reminder of the quiet magic that had brought them together. A strange little thread in the tangle of their story — a beginning and a bridge, all in one.
Minjeong had gone to visit her grandmother right after. But today… they were meeting again. Not in their usual spot. Not near the woods or under the bare branches.
They chose a café.
She wore a cream baseball cap with small, understated lettering. Her black hair fell in loose, soft waves. The fitted black tank top with tiny white polka dots, matched by the sleek black leather coat she draped over her shoulders. On her bottom, she wore dark blue high-waisted jeans that fitted closely at her waist.
“I’ll be out for a while, okay?” she murmured, scratching Cheese’s chin.
The ginger cat gave an approving blink and nudged her hand.
“You think it’s time?” she asked softly.
Cheese rubbed against her hand again, purring lightly.
She smiled, took a breath, and grabbed her keys.
The café smelled like cinnamon and espresso. The windows fogged slightly from the cold outside, each pane marked with condensation. Jimin stepped in, brushing snowflakes off her sleeves. She scanned the room, tightening her coat tighter around her.
At first, she didn’t see her.
Then the door closed behind her with a soft chime, and a head turned from across the room. Their eyes locked.
Minjeong.
She sat by the window, hands folded on the table, light illuminating her hair — which was now soft blonde, curling lightly below her shoulders.
She wore a cream-colored knit sweater, slightly oversized and neatly tucked into a black skirt that ended mid-thigh. Her legs were wrapped in thick, white tights, paired with clean Mary Janes. Round specs framed her face — an unfamiliar accessory that suddenly felt like it had always belonged.
When did she go blonde?
And the specs — oh my God.
Minjeong gave an almost shy wave. For a second, Jimin almost forgot how to move. Because Minjeong looked like something out of a daydream.
Jimin felt something shift inside her.
Something warm.
She walked towards her, heart skipping once — maybe twice.
“Hey,” Jimin greeted as she settled across from her.
God, blonde suits her.
Too well.
Minjeong looked up, smiling gently. Her specs caught the light.
“How was your grandma?” Jimin asked.
“She's well. More than okay, actually,” Minjeong replied. “I didn’t expect winter to come early, so I didn’t pack sweaters. Good thing she knitted a few during her free time and insisted I take them all.”
There was something comforting about how casually she said that. Like they hadn’t gone a week without speaking. Like they hadn’t sat across from each other in a vet clinic, words trembling.
Minjeong then reached into a paper bag and placed it on the table. “It’s for you. I hope you’ll like it.”
She stood before Jimin could say anything. “Open it later, we should order first.”
Jimin obeyed without thinking. What else could she do? When a pretty girl tells you what to do, you listen. Especially if she’s wearing specs and a skirt in December.
“Iced Americano, please,” Minjeong told the barista.
Jimin turned to her. “It’s December?”
Minjeong's smile was easy, her tone playful, “Even in December.”
Jimin chuckled, “Make it two, please.”
The barista nodded, then asked, “Would you like anything to eat?”
Minjeong didn’t chuckled, “Do you have apple hand pies?”
“Fresh out of the oven,” the barista replied.
“Two, please. And also cookies.”
Back at the table, the scent of baked apples lingered between them, sweet and warm. Their drinks sat untouched. The paper bag rested by Jimin’s hand, she ran her fingers across it but didn’t open it.
Instead, she looked up.
At Minjeong.
“What?” Minjeong asked, catching her gaze.
“Just… didn’t expect you to dye your hair.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Minjeong replied, and then lifted her hand, pushing her fingers through her hair.
The gesture was so simple — so casual — yet it made Jimin feel something. For a second, her thoughts were just static, blank except for oh no and why is that so attractive?
She forced herself to breathe, hoping it didn’t show on her face.
“It doesn’t look good?” Minjeong added, suddenly unsure. “I told her it was probably a bad idea.”
Jimin shook her head quickly, maybe too quickly. “No. It’s unfair how good it looks.”
Minjeong chuckled. She took a bite of her apple pie, then looked toward the unopened bag. “You know you can open it.”
“Oh. Right. Thanks,” Jimin said as she carefully opened the paper bag, unsure what to expect.
Her eyes widened. “Oh my God.”
Inside were two small crocheted figures: a green, long-necked brachiosaurus with stubby legs, and a chunky gray megalodon with tiny teeth — both soft.
Minjeong smiled, sipping her drink. “Grandma taught me how to crochet. Said it helps when your mind’s full. So… I tried.”
Jimin lifted the brachiosaurus gently, like it might unravel if she wasn’t careful. “This is so detailed.”
“I tried making a mosasaurus too,” Minjeong admitted. “But it ended up looking like a very confused rock. A deformed one."
Jimin laughed, her fingers still brushing the soft yarn. “This shark — wait, did you make this too?”
Minjeong shook her head. “No, Grandma made that one. After I told her about you.”
Jimin blinked. “You… talked about me?”
Minjeong looked away briefly, then met her eyes again. “Yeah. A lot, actually.”
There it was again — her heart skipping a beat.
Jimin was still inspecting the crocheted megalodon when Minjeong set her coffee down, suddenly quieter than before.
“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she said.
Jimin looked up, sensing the shift. “Yeah?”
Minjeong took a deep breath. Her fingers fidgeted with her coffee cup. “I’m switching majors.”
“To what?” Jimin asked, voice gentler now.
“Photography.”
Jimin stared at her for a second. “Photography?”
“I’ve been thinking about it for months.” Minjeong barely smiled. “Ever since I started carrying my camera around more. Not just for school projects. Just… to slow things down — to notice things.”
“I used to think physics was my thing,” Minjeong continued. “But I think I loved it because it made sense. There were rules. I could solve problems and feel like I was in control of something.”
She paused. “But then I started taking pictures of things I didn’t understand — you, for one. I didn’t always know why I was drawn to something, but I wanted to keep chasing that feeling.”
Jimin sat back slightly, trying to hide how much that moved her.
“So… you’re leaving certainty behind,” she said softly.
Minjeong gave a tiny nod. “Yeah, for something blurry and possibly stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Jimin said. “It’s you.”
“You don’t think it's stupid? That I’m letting go of something solid for something uncertain?”
“I’m saying it because I know what it feels like to walk away from what’s expected — and still hope someone sees you for the choice you made.”
Their eyes held for a long moment.
Minjeong’s voice softened. “I think you were the first person I wanted to take pictures of just because.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Minjeong’s lips curved just a little. “My grandma wasn’t even surprised. She said she’s seen this coming.”
“That sounds about right.” Jimin laughed. “She raised a genius who just happened to be soft.”
“Well, I did crochet a dinosaur that’s pretty soft.”
“And you gave it to me.”
“Are you saying you want more yarn-based stuff?”
Jimin shrugged, “I’m just saying... if you ever make that mosasaurus again, I’ll love it, even if it looks like a rock.”
For the next few hours, they talked like they hadn’t lost any time at all — floating from stories about Minjeong’s grandma’s endless knitting projects to Jimin’s horror at Cheese trying to climb the kitchen counter with a limp leg. They shared pastries, laughter, and quiet pauses throughout the afternoon.
By the time the sky outside had softened into early dusk, Jimin glanced at the clock on her phone.
“So…” she began, setting her empty coffee cup aside. “Where are we watching the movie? Yours or mine?”
“Is Cheese okay being left alone?”
“He’s still kind of limping and he gets dramatic when I’m gone for too long.”
“Then yours it is.”
They bundled up and stepped into the cold evening. The café door closed behind them with a soft thud, and snow had started to fall — thin flakes swirling in the air.
Jimin looked down at the paper bag in her hand and smiled. She still couldn’t believe Minjeong had learned to crochet, and that a dinosaur was her first creation. It was lumpy and a little lopsided, but clearly made with so much effort. She loved it more than she’d expected to.
Beside her, Minjeong stood still on the sidewalk, eyes lifted toward the sky. A snowflake had landed in her hair, just above her bangs. She didn’t brush it away.
Jimin watched her for a second, then teased, “Are you calculating how many seconds it will take that snowflake to hit the ground? Or Newton’s law of universal gravitation or something?”
“Close, I was actually thinking how to perfectly capture it.” She lifted her camera from her shoulder, adjusting the lens with slow care. “I wanted to catch one mid-fall, just… frozen in the air.”
She looked through the viewfinder but didn’t press the shutter.
“But that can wait,” Minjeong uttered as she lowered her camera. “I want to take a photo of you first.”
Jimin let out a laugh and adjusted her cap, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know… I can always model for you. Might’ve had some experience.”
Minjeong raised the camera again. “Yeah, but I want this version of you. The one smiling at snow and cradling a bag of yarn dinosaurs.”
Click.
“You didn’t even let me pose!”
“You already were.”
As they stepped into Jimin’s apartment, a familiar ginger greeted them — the soft, limping Cheese, who emerged from behind the couch with a pitiful meow.
“How are you?” Minjeong asked, crouching down to scratch his chin.
Cheese responded by flopping onto his side.
Jimin chuckled, “He does that when he wants attention. Or treats. Or both.”
Minjeong straightened up and turned to her. “Mind if I use your kitchen? I’ll prepare something for dinner.”
Jimin stared, surprised but not displeased. “Sure.”
She followed Minjeong into the kitchen, leaning against the counter while the other girl washed her hands and surveyed the space.
“Where do you keep the soy sauce?” Minjeong asked, pulling her hair into a low ponytail with a hair tie.
“First cabinet to the right.”
“What about flour?”
“Bottom drawer.”
“Got it.”
Jimin stayed close, not hovering, exactly, but moving just enough to pass her things before she could ask, or handing over a towel when her hands were wet. It felt natural and comfortable — domestic in a way Jimin didn’t expect to like so much.
“You’re making…?”
“Pork tonkatsu and kong guksu,” Minjeong said, already slicing ingredients with practiced ease.
“That’s amazing.”
Minjeong still focused on the cutting board. “It’s just dinner.”
But it didn’t feel like just anything.
Not to Jimin.
She watched the other girl work in the kitchen like she belonged there — her sleeves slightly rolled up to reveal her forearms. Somehow, that made Jimin's heart race more than anything else.
Cheese meowed again from the living room, offended by being ignored.
“We’ll eat soon,” Jimin called out. Then, more quietly, to Minjeong, “You’re really good at this.”
“I had to cook a lot growing up. Grandma’s hands hurt when the weather gets cold.”
“I’ll set the table,” Jimin offered.
Minjeong nodded, eyes meeting hers for seconds too long. “Thanks.”
It was such a small thing, but it sent a flutter through her chest anyway. Jimin turned away quickly — because if Minjeong kept looking at Jimin like that, she wasn’t sure what she’d say.
Or what she’d do.
Minjeong served the tonkatsu with crisp edges and perfectly tender meat, the kong guksu cold, savory, and nutty and strangely comforting in the winter air.
After dinner, they cleaned up together. Minjeong insisted on washing while Jimin dried. Then they moved to the living room, where Cheese had already claimed the center of the couch.
Minjeong carefully shoved him aside, settling into the left side of the couch. Jimin dropped beside her, pulling a soft blanket over her lap. She turned on the screen, queued up the movie, then hesitated, remote still in hand.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” she asked, half-teasing.
Minjeong leaned back, adjusting her glasses. “To witness your emotional breakdown over googly eyes and multiverse rocks?”
“Have you no respect for cinematic art?”
“I do. That’s why I brought this.” She lifted her camera slightly from beside her. “Figured I’d document the tears.”
“You’re cruel.”
Jimin threw a pillow at her. Minjeong laughed and ducked, then settled deeper into the cushions. The opening credits began, casting a flicker of light across their faces.
For the first few minutes, they didn’t speak — both of them letting the movie draw them in. Then, at some point during the tax office scene, Jimin felt Minjeong lean closer, her head gently brushing Jimin’s shoulder.
Neither of them said anything.
Jimin didn’t dare move. Her heart pounded, louder than the audio, louder than her thoughts. Minjeong’s warmth, her subtle presence, the brush of her fingers on the edge of the blanket — it all felt accidental. But also didn’t.
Then the rock scene came.
Jimin was already blinking fast, her jaw tight, and her chest ached.
Minjeong glanced at her.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “You are crying.”
Jimin wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “You don’t get it.”
“No, I think I do,” Minjeong murmured. “It’s not just the rocks, right? It’s what they say without saying anything.”
Jimin looked at her, startled by how accurately she got it.
Minjeong smiled softly, eyes reflecting the light of the screen. “You’re not as hard to read as you think.”
Jimin didn’t answer — couldn’t. Instead, she leaned slightly, just enough to let her head rest against Minjeong’s. Minjeong didn’t move away.
Their shoulders touched. Outside, snow continued to fall against the windows. Inside, two girls and a half-limp cat watched the film unfold.
“You know,” Jimin spoke, breaking the silence. “I seem to get where they're both coming from… Jobu and Evelyn.”
Minjeong didn't say anything. At least not yet. But Jimin knew she was listening.
“Jobu wasn’t angry at her, not really — at least that's what I think," she continued. "Even though her mom from the alpha verse broke her — shoved her into too many universes until her mind fractured — it wasn’t about revenge. She just wanted one version of her mother who could understand her pain.”
Jimin’s vision blurred again. She didn’t even realize a tear had slipped down until she felt the warmth on her cheek.
Maybe she wasn’t just talking about the movie.
“But yeah,” she exhaled, almost bitter, “I guess nothing matters.”
Minjeong shifted slightly, turning toward her.
“No. I think you only feel that way because everything matters.”
Jimin looked at her and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was falling alone.
Silence settled over the living room as the end credits rolled. The screen dimmed to black and Cheese was curled in the corner, sound asleep. Minjeong slowly adjusted her seat, straightening like she was bracing herself for a fall.
“Just be a rock,” she muttered under her breath.
Jimin laughed, finding her reaction unexpectedly cute. “That was my first thought too.”
But Minjeong didn’t laugh. She repeated it again but firmer. “Just be a rock.”
Jimin turned to her, smile fading into concern. “Hey… are you okay?”
Minjeong closed her eyes. “Just be a rock.”
“Minjeong?”
A deep breath, then—
“Jimin…” She opened her eyes and looked straight at her. “I don’t know if this is the right time — or if there’s ever going to be one — but I’m afraid I won’t get the courage to say this again if I let it pass.”
“I know you just cried your eyes out over a pair of rocks on a cliff," Minjeong's voice trembled, but her tone was sincere. “And I should’ve probably just held your hand or offered tissues or something. But the only thing I could think about was how beautiful you looked. Even in that moment — especially in that moment. And I hated myself a little for it, because it felt selfish.”
Her hands were on her lap, clenched lightly. “But I’ve been feeling it for a long time now — quietly and constantly.”
A pause.
“I like you, Jimin.” Minjeong inhaled, voice still shaky. “And I… I want to date you. If you'd let me.”
Her voice wasn’t dramatic, it was quiet and almost frightened.
She held Jimin’s gaze, and God, those eyes — those deep, dark eyes, felt like they might pull her into the very bottom of the Mariana Trench.
And Jimin — God, she could barely breathe.
Jimin's heart pounded. “Not one of maybe, maybe nots?” she asked, almost teasing, though her voice cracked with something far deeper.
Then Minjeong spoke again, barely a whisper, but clear.
“No. No maybes. Not even modifications in a wave function could account for uncertainties when it comes to you. My affection for you is… constant.”
Jimin felt that sentence in every part of her. Not just heard it — felt it, in her ribs, her throat, her chest. How did she make physics sound like something you wanted to be kissed with?
Minjeong laughed a little, nervously. “But I get it if you don’t feel the same. I just… I’d rather say it now than regret staying sile—"
She never finished.
Jimin leaned forward, fingers grazing Minjeong’s cheek — thumb resting just beside the corner of her mouth.
“May I?” she whispered.
Minjeong didn’t speak. Just nodded, once — like she was afraid even her voice might ruin the moment.
It was only a matter of seconds when she felt Jimin's lips pressed against hers — warm and soft — the kind of kiss that made time slow down. Minjeong responded instantly, instinctively, as if she’d been holding her breath for years, waiting for this exact moment. Every long stare, every brush of hands, every lingering silence had led them here.
Jimin pulled back just barely, her lips brushing against Minjeong’s with every word.
“Show me,” she breathed. “Show me how much you meant it.”
Minjeong did. She kissed Jimin again, firmer this time — with everything she couldn’t articulate, with everything she hadn’t dared to say until now.
As their kisses grew more desperate — more real — Minjeong felt her glasses shift slightly on her nose. Her hand moved upward to remove them.
But Jimin caught her wrist, stopping her.
“Keep them,” she murmured between kisses, voice low.
God, it made something in Minjeong’s stomach flip.
Jimin leaned closer, her lips brushing the edge of her ear. “You have no idea how hot you look right now. The glasses... the flushed cheeks... the way you're kissing me like you've been holding back for months. It's killing me.”
And it was true.
There was something maddeningly attractive about Minjeong in that moment — her hair slightly tousled, those black-rimmed specs fogging faintly between kisses, her fingers trembling but certain where they rested on Jimin’s waist.
Jimin shifted, now sitting on Minjeong’s lap, her coat slipping off her shoulder. Minjeong froze for a second — then swallowed hard. God, the sight of Jimin in her lap made every rational thought in Minjeong’s head flicker and short-circuit.
Jimin smirked, catching the way Minjeong stared. She leaned in again, pulling her for another kiss, slower this time — almost teasing.
“You know…” Minjeong whispered, hands trembling slightly as they settled on Jimin’s waist, “this is my first time… kissing.”
Jimin’s lips parted, caught off guard. “Seriously?”
Minjeong nodded.
“Well…” Jimin murmured, brushing her fingers along the nape of her neck, “it doesn’t feel like it.”
Minjeong smiled, the kind of smile that bloomed slowly, with just a bit of mischief. “That was my goal.”
Then she bit Jimin’s lower lip gently. Jimin gasped softly, mouth opening in response, and Minjeong deepened the kiss. Her confidence grew with every passing second. Little by little, Minjeong adjusted her pace — slower, then passionately — surprising Jimin with how accustomed she already seemed to be.
Snow kept falling: delicate, infinite, as if the world itself had paused to witness. Inside, the glimmer of a movie’s end and a sleeping cat, two girls finally found each other.
No more maybe or maybe nots.
Just gravity.
The kind that doesn’t crush—but connects. The kind that pulls the moon into tides and stars into constellations. The kind that says, you’re not drifting anymore.
They weren’t falling.
They had already fallen.
And tonight, they let themselves land.