꥟˚｡Love Unexpected ꥟˚｡
꥟˚｡Pairing - Lee Know × Fem Reader
꥟˚｡Plot - Two years after a horrible accident, YN is left paralyzed but secretly finds purpose in a quiet job. The stranger who saved her life reappears unexpectedly at her workplace, stirring emotions and memories she thought were buried. Their fateful encounter raises questions about second chances and unspoken connections.
꥟˚｡Genre - Angst, Trauma, Hurt, Comfort, Fluff
꥟˚｡Warnings - Mention of accident, blood, trauma, paralysis, anxiety, insecurities of yn, mention of the word gore, hurt to comfort, au, non idol au, Strangers to lovers au
꥟˚｡Word Count - 10.8 K ꥟˚｡Screenshot Count - 4
꥟˚｡A/N - Staymas Episode 2 is here! Dive into Y/N’s emotional journey of healing and rediscovery after life-altering events, and witness how Minho’s unwavering love and support become her guiding light. A story of resilience, love, and finding hope again. ( Inspired by Japan's Dawn Robo Cafe for disabled workers ) It's just slightly proofread so apologies for any mistakes 🙂↕️
꥟˚｡SKZ Masterlist ꥟˚｡Staymas Masterlist
The neon lights of Tokyo stretched endlessly, their vibrant colors blending together in the misty evening air. As you hurried down the crowded sidewalk, your breath formed small clouds, visible in the crisp chill of early winter. The rain from earlier had left the pavement slick, creating mirrors that reflected the glow of countless shop signs, vending machines, and the steady stream of passing cars. The city felt alive, buzzing with energy, but all you could focus on was the time ticking away. You were late…again.
“They’re going to kill me,” you muttered under your breath, gripping the straps of your bag like a lifeline. You had promised to be on time for the movie night, yet here you were, rushing through the streets twenty minutes after it had already started. The culprit? A last-minute customer at the café, who wanted all of the last stock left for the puddings.
Your phone vibrated incessantly in your pocket, no doubt another flurry of teasing texts from your friends. They loved to give you a hard time for always being late, and this would only add to their ammunition. You didn’t dare check the messages yet; it would only slow you down.
The crosswalk ahead blinked green just as you reached it. A small blessing. Without hesitation, you broke into a jog, your footsteps echoing faintly against the damp asphalt. The weight of guilt pressed heavily on your chest as your mind scrambled to come up with a plan.
"Should I bring snacks to make up for it?" you thought, already considering a detour to the nearest convenience store. "Maybe that’ll soften the blow. But what if they’re already too annoyed to let me in?"
Pulling your phone from your pocket, you quickly typed out a message to your friends, asking if they wanted anything specific. Your thumb hovered over the send button when a sharp, blaring horn shattered your concentration.
The world seemed to freeze.
Your head snapped up, and your eyes locked onto a truck barreling toward you, its headlights glaring like twin suns cutting through the darkness. Time moved in slow motion as panic gripped your entire body. Instinctively, your legs pushed you forward, trying desperately to cross the street, but it was too late.
This can’t be happening.
The impact came like a thunderclap, a brutal force that knocked the air from your lungs. Pain exploded through your body as you were flung backward. The world spun wildly,a chaotic blur of neon lights, muffled screams, and the distant screech of tires. When your body finally hit the ground, the cold, unforgiving pavement sent a jolt through you.
You tried to breathe, but each inhale was shallow and sharp, like your ribs were made of glass. Every part of you ached, your arms, your chest, your head. But what terrified you most was the eerie numbness in your lower body.
Your legs.
You tried to move them, but they wouldn’t respond. Panic clawed at your throat as the realization sank in. Something was horribly wrong.
Before your mind could spiral further, you felt a pair of strong arms scoop you up from the pavement. Warmth flooded over you as your cheek pressed against someone’s chest.
His scent-woodsy, clean, and faintly familiar,calmed you in a way you couldn’t explain.
“Stay with me,” he said, his voice deep and steady, cutting through the haze of pain and confusion.
You squinted, trying to focus on his face, but the pounding in your skull blurred your vision. All you could make out was the faint outline of his jaw and the shadows of his features against the streetlights. It seemed like you've seen him before, but where ?
“Who… who are you?” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling with pain and fear.
“Can you hear me? Are you okay?” he asked, his tone gentle but urgent. He shifted you slightly in his arms, cradling you as if you were made of glass.
“My… my legs,” you stammered, tears spilling over as you struggled to get the words out. “I can’t… feel them.”
His grip on you tightened just slightly, a quiet curse escaping under his breath. “Don’t worry about that right now,” he said, his voice firm yet soothing. “We’re almost there. Just hold on.”
The sound of approaching sirens grew louder, mingling with the distant hum of the city. Each step he took was deliberate and steady, as if he was determined to keep you safe no matter what.
Your vision blurred as the voices of the paramedics grew louder, their words a distant hum against the roaring chaos of your mind. The relentless pain and exhaustion finally overwhelmed you, lulling you into a deep, heavy sleep. The darkness took hold, pulling you further away from reality.
The last sensation you felt before slipping into unconsciousness was his hand,warm, firm, and undeniably reassuring, gently squeezing yours. His voice followed, low and steady, like a lifeline in the storm.
"You're going to be okay."
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Two years had passed since that fateful evening.
Minho stepped off the bustling train platform in Tokyo, the city’s vibrant energy hitting him like a wave. It was a stark contrast to the quieter streets of Seoul, where he'd spent the last couple of years, working tirelessly to climb the ranks at his job. And now, he was back in Tokyo, taking on a new position. Not even two weeks into the job, and already, he found himself buried in meetings and overwhelmed by tight deadlines, leaving him exhausted.
One evening, with no work to occupy his mind, Minho decided to take a stroll around the city to clear his thoughts. The cold December air hit him sharply as he stepped out of his apartment, but there was something in the atmosphere that urged him to walk. Whistling a soft tune, he wandered through his neighborhood, which, to his surprise, was unusually quiet even in the early evening hues of 6 pm. Of course, people were likely busy, either shopping for the holidays, nestled in the warmth of their homes, or working, just as he had done for most of his days.
After hours of aimless walking, he found himself on a street that seemed strangely familiar. At first, he couldn’t place the memory, but as the traffic light turned green and he crossed the street, it hit him like a truck. This was the same street where the accident had occurred,the one where he had saved that woman….
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Two years ago, Minho's friends were having a get-together, and he had one simple task: bring dessert. Yet, as always, he had forgotten. Panic set in as he rushed through the streets, desperately searching for any café or restaurant still open that evening. Unfortunately, the city seemed to have shut down after 8 PM. He ran through neighborhood after neighborhood, street after street, but every café he passed was dark and locked up tight.
Finally, in the last neighborhood, feeling defeated, he was about to turn back when a soft glow from an establishment caught the corner of his eye. It looked like a café from a distance. His legs moved automatically in that direction, hoping, praying they still had any desserts left. Huffing and puffing, he pushed through the door, the sudden entrance startling the woman who was packing up some boxes for closing.
"Sorry," Minho said, breathless as he approached the counter.
"We’re about to close, sir," she replied, her voice distant, her attention still on the boxes.
"I’m so sorry for barging in last minute," he blurted out in a rush. "I completely forgot to bring dessert to a get-together with my friends, and every café in the neighborhood seems to be closed. If it’s possible, could you sell me any puddings you have left? I’ll take them all and be on my way."
He spoke so quickly that he almost didn’t pause for a breath, but still, she didn’t look up. The sincerity in his voice, however, seemed to reach her, and she paused her work, glancing up at him. She walked over to the counter, her gaze softening as she met his eyes.
"We’re closing, sir. I don’t think it’s possible," she said gently, though there was a hint of regret in her voice.
Minho felt a pang of disappointment but couldn’t help but notice how sweet her voice was, like honey. He blushed, and the warmth spread across his cheeks as he looked back at her. "I’m so sorry, I humbly request just a couple. I’ll pay, and I’ll be out of your way, I promise. It won’t take long."
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From the woman’s perspective:
The man in front of her looked to be about the same age, his face a perfect mix of soft features and a sharp jawline. Even in a basic hoodie, sweat dripping from his face from his rush, there was an undeniable handsomeness about him. She felt a sudden catch in her throat, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words.
"Is that okay?" he asked again, his voice pulling her out of her daze.
"Y... yeah," she stammered, shaking herself from the shock. "We have a couple of puddings left. How many do you need?"
"Thank you," Minho replied, a grateful smile lighting up his face. "Could you pack 20, please?"
She nodded, quickly starting to pack a box full of puddings. Under her breath, she cursed as she glanced at the clock, she was running late.
End of her POV.
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Half an hour had since passed and Minho was rushing back to his friend's apartment when the scene unfolded in front of him. A truck barreled down the street, and there she was-the same woman from the café-standing frozen in its path. His heart dropped as he realized what was about to happen. Panic set in as he scrambled to help her, dropping the box of puddings he was carrying. But it was already too late. The truck struck her with full force, throwing her into the air. Her body slammed into the cold pavement with a sickening thud, and a pool of blood began to spread from beneath her head.
Minho didn't hesitate. He ran to her side, desperately trying to scoop her up. His phone was in his hand, but when he tried to call an ambulance, no one picked up. The nearest hospital was ten minutes away, and he knew carrying her was the only chance he had to save her. Adrenaline surged through him as he lifted her into his arms and began running, each step feeling like a race against time.
He spoke soothingly to her, trying to keep her awake. " Stay with me! She stirred beneath his touch, murmuring softly, "Who are you?"
Minho felt a rush of relief when he saw that she was still conscious. His voice, though gentle, carried a trace of urgency as he asked, “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” His words, meant to comfort, felt hollow, as if they couldn’t reach the depth of his fear. Panic surged through him once more when she whispered that she couldn’t feel her legs.
“Don’t worry about that right now,” he said, his voice steady but laced with an underlying tension. “We’re almost there. Just hold on.”
Even as fear twisted in his chest, Minho forced himself to believe in the calm he was trying to project. He spoke with more confidence, hoping that the reassurance would reach her, and that it would somehow settle his own racing heart.
When Minho reached the hospital, the building seemed eerily quiet, almost deserted. Panic clung to him like a second skin as he rushed inside. Before he could make it to the emergency room, the paramedics arrived and took over. They moved quickly, whisking her through the double doors, their voices urgent but steady. Minho stood frozen at the entrance, unable to do more than hold her hand one last time. Giving it a soft squeeze, he whispered, “You’re going to be okay,” his voice trembling with determination, even as fear gnawed at him.
As the paramedics disappeared into the depths of the hospital with her, Minho finally released a shaky breath. His hands were still trembling, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he stared at the now-empty hallway. Moments later, the quiet was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps and frantic voices. A group of people burst through the hospital doors, their faces etched with panic and fear.
“Y/N! Y/N, please wake up! You’re going to be okay! Just stay with us!” a young woman cried, her voice breaking as she rushed toward the direction the stretcher had gone. Her desperation was palpable, raw, and it hit Minho like a wave.
Minho, still standing at the door, desperate to be of any help, quickly picked up on her name. Y/N. It echoed in his mind, anchoring him in the chaos. “Y/N, hang in there,” he whispered softly, as if somehow his words could reach her through the walls.
Turning to the young woman, her sister, he realized.Minho tried to offer what little comfort he could. “I was there,” he said gently, his voice low but steady. “I saw the truck coming. It swerved out of nowhere. I… I got her out of the way just in time.” His voice faltered as the memory replayed in his mind. “But the impact… I’m so sorry.”
Her sister’s tears streamed freely as she listened, clinging to every word. She nodded, her voice trembling as she whispered, “You saved her. You saved my sister.”
When Y/N was finally wheeled into the operating theater, her sister turned to Minho, her face streaked with tears, her eyes glistening with gratitude and heartbreak. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re her guardian angel. I don’t even want to imagine what could’ve happened if you hadn’t been there.”
Minho nodded mutely, overwhelmed by the weight of her words. He couldn’t find the right response, couldn’t process the mix of emotions swirling inside him,the relief of knowing he’d done what he could, the fear of what might come next, and the raw ache of seeing a family on the verge of losing someone they loved.
As the night stretched on, Minho stood outside the hospital, his figure silhouetted against the dim glow of the streetlights. A strange mixture of hope and helplessness washed over him. Her name, Y/N, echoed in his mind, repeated like a lifeline, tethering him to the present moment
Even after the chaos subsided and he returned home...
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Minho's throat ran dry as he recalled the scene unfolding in front of him that day.Her face remained etched in his mind. He often wondered if she had fully recovered, if her life had returned to normal after the tragedy…
"Focus," Minho murmured to himself. The past was just that, the past. He couldn’t change it, and now, his craving for something sweet tugged at him. Even though he had tried to forget her, a persistent voice in his head urged him to seek out the café she once worked at. He never had the chance to taste her desserts after he’d accidentally dropped them to save her. The memory lingered, but he couldn’t quite shake the need to return to that place, to experience what he missed.
As he wandered through the winding backstreets, he found himself standing at the corner where the café had stood two years ago. But instead of the familiar cozy spot, there was only a pharmacy now. The café was gone,nothing more than a distant memory. His heart sank in disappointment, and he sighed, deciding to head home. The chill in the air was becoming sharper by the minute.
Taking a shortcut through a narrow alley, he walked into a quieter street, the contrast to the bustling lanes he had passed earlier striking. It was much calmer here, with the glow of a few lit shops casting soft, warm lights onto the pavement. As he neared the corner, a café sign caught his attention. The bold letters “Open” gleamed back at him, and curiosity bubbled inside him.
He approached and stepped inside, greeted by a rush of warmth. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries filled the air, the soft hum of machinery a backdrop to the quiet atmosphere. A curious name adorned the café’s front: Twilight Robo Café. Minho raised an eyebrow. The name intrigued him.
The interior of the café was unlike any he had seen before. Robots, sleek and small, glided around with surprising grace. They served drinks, delivered snacks, and interacted with customers in a way that blurred the lines between technology and humanity. Their screens displayed animated avatars, mimicking emotions with perfect accuracy. It was futuristic, yet oddly comforting.
Minho chose a seat by the window, gazing out at the winter landscape as snowflakes began to fall, casting a soft veil over the world outside. He could feel the warmth of the café against the chill creeping into his bones. He exhaled, content for the moment.
Moments later, a small robot wheeled up to his table and stopped in front of him.
"Welcome to Twilight Robo Café!" the voice chirped brightly, warm and inviting. "What can I get for you today?"
Minho froze. There was something about the voice, something unnervingly familiar. His mind raced, but he couldn’t place where he had heard it before.
"Sir?" The robot’s voice broke his train of thought.
Minho blinked, shaking himself from his stupor. "Uh, I’ll take a pudding... and a black coffee, please."
“May I know whose name it’s going for?” the robot voice asked.
“Minho,” he replied.
“A pudding and a black coffee for Minho, coming right up!” The screen flashed a wide smile before the robot zipped away.
Minho stared at the empty space where the robot had been, confusion clouding his thoughts. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the voice belonged to someone he knew, or at least someone he had once met.
Minutes passed, and soon enough, the robot returned, carefully placing his coffee and pudding on the table. "There you go! Anything else I can do for you?" it asked, the screen flashing another bright, animated grin.
Minho leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Um, this might sound strange, but your voice... do you choose it yourself?”
The robot's head tilted in a quizzical way, that made it seem almost human. Behind the screen, you were controlling it, your fingers hesitating on the joystick as your heart skipped a beat. There he was, he was here. The man who had rushed to your aid that night, the one you had tried to forget, yet never could. The same man who had been by your side when everything had fallen apart. You hadn’t expected to see him again, let alone hear his voice now.
Sitting in your dimly lit apartment, you blinked twice, your eyes wide in disbelief. Was this really happening? It couldn’t be him... but it was. The man from that day. The one you had barely spoken to but had thought about constantly since then. How was it possible that he remembered your voice? That day, your words had been barely audible, lost in the chaos of the accident. Your voice had been raw and broken. You had been a mess…scattered emotions and fear. And after everything, after your accident, your life had changed so drastically.
You had become a shadow of the person you once were, paralyzed from the waist down, the scars marking your body and face a constant reminder of everything you had lost. The woman you once were, vibrant, full of life, running the café you owned, with ease and a warm smile, was no longer. Now, you hid behind the screen of a robot, controlling its every movement, its every expression from the confines of your small apartment. It was the only way you could still interact with the world, without the fear of frightening people with your appearance. The very face that had once greeted customers with warmth now carried the weight of painful memories, and you couldn't bear to see the looks of pity or fear in the eyes of those who might recognize you. So, you stayed behind the safety of the screen, crafting your persona through the robotic avatar, a small semblance of the woman you used to be, but never fully seen.
But there he was, still as handsome as you remembered. His smile hadn’t changed, and it made your heart ache. You hadn’t expected him to recognize your voice, yet here he was, doing just that.
Minho knocked gently on the screen, as though checking if the robot was malfunctioning. The action snapped you back to the present, your palms suddenly clammy. You quickly moved the controls, realizing you’d left the robot on idle for too long.
"I certainly do," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, keeping your voice light. "It just... your voice sounds oddly familiar. Like I’ve heard it before."
Minho’s brows furrowed as he tried to place the voice. "Maybe I just have one of those voices," you deflected, not wanting to reveal too much.
"Maybe?" Minho murmured, taking a sip of his coffee and watching the world outside with a contemplative look on his face.
For the next several minutes, Minho continued asking questions, trying to get to know the person behind the robot. Each answer you gave was carefully measured, trying your best to keep your emotions in check. You couldn’t risk revealing your identity, not yet.
"So," Minho asked, setting his coffee down and leaning forward, "how does this work? Are you controlling it remotely?"
"Yes," you replied, trying to keep your tone even. "I control it from home. Everything you see, the movements, the voice, the expressions, it’s all me, just through a robot."
"That’s amazing," Minho said, his lips curling into an impressed smile. "Does it feel weird... interacting with customers like this?"
"Not really," you answered. "At first, it was awkward. But after a while, you get used to it. And maybe it’s a nice way to interact with people in ways I couldn’t before."
Minho nodded, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table. "Do customers ever forget there’s a person behind the robot?"
You laughed softly, a genuine chuckle that escaped without you meaning to.
"Of course! You’d be surprised how many people forget and just say things like, ‘This robot has great customer service.’ Like it’s some kind of AI program," you giggled. "It’s fun, though."
"Yeah, seems like you enjoy your workplace," Minho replied with a grin, taking a bite of the pudding. His eyes lit up as the sweetness of the caramel and the creamy texture hit him. It was the perfect balance of flavors, nothing too overwhelming. He closed his eyes for a moment in pure satisfaction. Behind the screen, you couldn’t help but smile, warmed by his enjoyment.
"Miss, may I know who made this?" he asked eagerly.
You smiled, pride swelling in your chest. "It’s my family’s recipe. I just control the robot to make it perfect here. After a couple of trial and errors, we finally got it just right."
"It’s delicious!" Minho exclaimed, his smile widening.
"Thank you," you said, pleased to see him enjoying it.
The conversation continued to flow naturally, the lighthearted exchanges easing some of the tension you’d felt earlier. But then Minho asked a question that made your heart stutter.
"Did your family own a café?"
Your breath caught in your throat. You had almost said too much. You froze, but then tried to cover up the slip.
"Yes... they did, but I did, too. It was just around the... " You stopped yourself mid-sentence. The words you almost let out were too dangerous.
Minho looked at you, confused. You quickly recovered, the warmth on your face barely hiding the panic you felt. "I mean, yes, it was a family recipe turned into a business... but not anymore," you added awkwardly, forcing a smile.
Minho nodded, his attention returning to the pudding. "That explains the taste."
Minho leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on the robot, as though he were studying it for answers. "So, do you get a lot of people like me? The ones who ask too many questions?"
You laughed more genuinely this time, the sound like music in the quiet café. "You’d be surprised. So many of them treat me like a therapist, venting about their day and asking for advice. Others just make small talk about the weather."
Minho chuckled at one of your stories, the conversation feeling more relaxed. It almost felt like you could breathe again.
But then he asked something that made your heart race once more.
"Do you think we’ve met before? I can’t help but think your voice reminds me of someone."
Your heart skipped a beat. You froze, not sure how to respond.
"Maybe I just have one of those voices?" you said, your voice light and carefully measured.
"Maybe?" Minho replied, though his tone carried a hint of doubt. "But I can't shake the feeling that that's not it... The way you talk, it's just too personal."
Minho tilted his head slightly, studying the robot as though the answer might be hidden there, etched into its smooth surface.
Your grip on the controls tightened, and your pulse raced in your ears. A wave of heat flushed over you, making it feel like you were trapped in a sauna. Every part of you screamed to deny it all, to retreat, but your heart, oh, your heart, yearned for him to remember you.
"Well," you said, forcing a light smile, "It's a small world. Maybe we've crossed paths before?"
Minho’s gaze narrowed, his expression thoughtful. "You think so? Tokyo's a big city. Anything's possible."
Your voice softened as you responded, "Maybe."
Minho’s next question caught you completely off guard. "Do you ever wish you could meet the person you're talking to? In person, I mean?"
You hesitated, fingers trembling slightly as you processed his words. "Sometimes," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "But it's complicated."
Minho didn’t interrupt. He just kept looking at you with that same, unwavering curiosity, as though he could see beyond the surface, searching for the truth that you had buried deep within.
"I believe it's easier for people to connect when they don’t see the messier parts of someone's life," you said quietly. "The robots, they make things simple. No judgment. No awkwardness. And I'd like to keep it that way."
Minho frowned. "That's not fair, though. Everyone has a messy past. That's what makes us human."
You were left at a loss for words once again. How could he say such things so easily? The very reason you applied for this job was to avoid letting anyone see who you really were. They couldn’t see you like this, not when you were too broke to even afford to hide the scars on your face. Not when going outside felt more like a monumental task. It was exhausting, living without the use of your legs.
A tear slipped down your cheek, but you wiped it away quickly. You had no answer for him. The silence between you felt deafening.
"It’s just..." you finally managed to croak, "Not everyone thinks like you."
Minho tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful. "Maybe they should..."
He smiled gently. "I’d like to meet the wonderful lady behind this voice as well."
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It was almost 10 p.m., closing time for the café. Minho was disappointed when another robot politely told him it was time to leave. The robot he'd spent so much time talking to was now busy attending to another customer. Maybe it was his questions. Maybe he had overstepped or overwhelmed her.
She had excused herself to tend to others, and Minho was left standing there, contemplating the conversation. As the clock ticked closer to 10, a thought struck him,one that seemed silly but lingered in his mind. He wasn’t sure if anything would come of it, but he wanted to know more. It had felt nice talking to her.
Before he left, he handed the next robot worker a note addressed to the wonderful robo Missy.
‘It was nice talking to you. I’m really sorry if I overstepped. Call or text me if you ever need to vent.”
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"It was nice talking to you. I'm really sorry if I overstepped. Call or text me if you ever need someone to talk to or vent."
You stared at the note for what seemed like an eternity, the words dancing in front of your eyes but never quite sinking in. Weeks had passed since your last encounter with Minho, yet you couldn’t stop replaying that moment over and over. He had wanted to meet you, to know you, but you had been frozen in place, unable to say a word. You had scrambled for an exit, seizing the first opportunity; A last-minute customer ordering takeout. You had apologized to him, your voice a strained whisper, as you quickly steered your robot towards the new customer. You avoided his gaze, his eyes, still burning into your back, full of something you couldn’t quite read.
And now, you were holding this in your hand, a simple note with his number scrawled across the bottom, an apology for something Minho didn’t even know he had done. He had respected your boundaries, your silence, even when everything in you had screamed for him to see you, to understand you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to speak up, to make it clear that you were not just the voice behind the screen.
Yesterday had been one of those days, the kind that chipped away at you slowly, piece by piece, until you were left wondering how much more you could take. The café was bustling as usual, but the warmth that typically filled the air had been replaced with an unsettling, tense energy.
A group of rude customers had strolled in, their voices cutting through the usual hum of the café like a razor. At first, it was subtle. They made snide remarks about the novelty of the robot café, their laughter sharp and mocking. But soon, their jabs became more pointed, their words carrying an edge that sliced deeper than you wanted to admit.
One of them leaned in close to your screen, his sneer almost palpable. "Oh, how lucky you are to be working from home," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as if your reality were some kind of twisted privilege.
Another chimed in, her tone laced with venom. "Really? Don’t you think you’re being ungrateful? Life handed you a golden opportunity, and you’re complaining?"
Their words stung far more than they should have. Because they didn’t see you. Not truly. They didn’t know the reality behind the screen. The daily battles you fought, the pain of waking up in a body that no longer obeyed your will. They didn’t know how exhausting it was to perform even the smallest tasks, how something as simple as getting dressed could feel like scaling a mountain. They didn’t know the humiliation of needing help for the most basic functions, or the way the world seemed so much larger, harsher, and more inaccessible now.
They didn’t know about your sister, your fiercely loyal, stubborn sister, who had taken on the role of caregiver without hesitation, even when you begged her not to. You had pleaded with her to chase her dreams, to live her life without the shadow of your limitations hanging over her. But she refused. And every time you saw her push her own happiness aside for your sake, guilt gnawed at you, sharp and unrelenting.
Life before the accident felt like another lifetime, a fleeting memory of who you used to be. Back when you were independent, whole, and full of possibilities. That person felt like a stranger now, someone you’d never quite find your way back to. And days like today only widened the chasm between who you were and who you had become.
Their cruel words echoed long after they had left, bouncing around in your head like a relentless reminder of everything you had lost. You had kept your voice steady, your responses professional, but inside, you were crumbling. The mask you wore was cracking, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold it together.
Later that night, as the silence of your apartment pressed down on you, your eyes landed on the letter Minho had left at the café. His handwriting was neat and careful, but the words… they were like a lifeline thrown to you in the middle of a storm. An invitation, a chance to connect, to be seen. You had read it over and over, the lines blurring as doubt crept in.
What if he didn’t mean it? What if he had only written it out of politeness or guilt? The idea clawed at you, feeding the insecurities that always lingered just below the surface. But another thought followed, quieter and far more dangerous. What if he truly meant it? What if he actually wanted to know you, not out of pity, but because he cared? Because he saw something in you worth knowing?
That thought scared you more than anything. Because you weren’t the same person he had saved two years ago. That version of you had been whole, bright, and full of potential. Now, you were a patchwork of scars and insecurities, trying desperately to hold yourself together. Would he even recognize you? Would he still care if he knew how much you had changed?
You stared at the letter for what felt like hours, caught between fear and hope. The weight of the day pressed heavily on your chest, and the idea of reaching out felt impossibly daunting. But something in Minho’s words lingered, a warmth, a sincerity that made you want to believe, even just for a moment, that someone might see you for who you were now, not who you used to be.
Finally, you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room,
"What if?”
You wiped a tear from your cheek, your hand trembling as you stared at the number Minho had written at the bottom of the page. It had been days of battling conflicting thoughts, of wondering whether you should even try to reach out.
Part of you wanted to hear his voice again, to feel that connection, but another part of you warned against it. What if you burdened him with your pain? What if he thought you were just being dramatic, that you were too much to handle?
The weight of yesterday pressed down on you, suffocating and relentless. Every word, every sneer from the café replayed in your mind like a broken record. Tonight, the walls of your apartment felt closer than ever, the silence too loud to bear.
With trembling fingers, you found yourself reaching for your phone. You hadn’t planned this, hadn’t even allowed yourself to consider it. But now, your hand moved as if it had a will of its own. You scrolled through your contacts until you found his name. For a moment, your thumb hovered over the call button, doubt creeping in. What if this was a mistake? But before you could overthink it, you pressed down, the ringing filling the void.
It felt endless. Each tone seemed to stretch on for an eternity, echoing in your ears and amplifying the pounding of your heart. With every ring, a fresh wave of nerves rolled over you, making you question what you’d even say if he picked up.
And then…voicemail.
A deep sigh escaped your lips, a mix of disappointment and relief. The automated message played, his voice absent, replaced by a mechanical tone inviting you to leave a message. You hesitated, the silence on the other end daring you to speak. But the words you wanted to say felt caught in your throat, tangled with fear and uncertainty
"Of course," you whispered to yourself. "He’s probably busy. Why would he want to hear from me?"
You set the phone down, shaking your head at your foolishness. He had saved your life that day, yes, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear about the mess your life had become. Slowly, you changed into your pajamas, ready to crawl into bed and let the darkness of sleep take over.
Just as you settled beneath the covers, your phone buzzed in your hand. The soft vibration startled you, and when you glanced at the screen, your heart skipped a beat. Minho. His name, glowing in the dim light of your room, sent a wave of panic and excitement through you.
For a moment, you froze, staring at the screen as if it might disappear. Should you answer? Could you? What if he didn’t remember you? What if this was just a courtesy call, and he’d forgotten everything? Doubts swirled in your mind, threatening to paralyze you. But before you could overthink any further, your fingers moved on their own, and you pressed the green button.
“H-Hello?” you stammered, your voice shaky with nerves.
There was a pause on the other end, one that felt like an eternity, before a familiar voice filled the line. “Who is this?”
The breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. “I… I’m the robot voice you talked to the other day,” you finally managed to say.
“Oh, yes, Robo Café Missy!” he said with a soft chuckle, the warmth in his tone instantly melting some of your anxiety. “You really rushed off that day. I barely got a chance to say goodbye.”
“Yeah,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “My manager was giving me this concerned look for talking to a customer so long.”
“Sorry about that,” Minho said, a note of humor in his voice. “Didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“It’s alright,” you said quickly, your nerves easing slightly. “I just… I got your letter, and I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, but I was having a bad day, and… I thought I’d call. I didn’t know who else to talk to.”
His tone softened immediately. “You’re not bothering me, Robo Missy,” he said gently. “But before we dive into your day, how about we properly introduce ourselves?”
You hesitated, biting your lip. Sharing more of yourself felt terrifying, like peeling back a layer of armor you’d grown so used to. But there was something about Minho’s voice, its warmth, its sincerity,that made you want to take the leap.
“I’m… Y/N L/N,” you whispered, barely audible.
There was a brief silence on the other end, as if he was processing the name. Then, he let out a soft laugh, tinged with disbelief. “Y/N? That’s a crazy coincidence. Someone I used to know had the same name as you.”
You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the phone.
This was it
“Minho… it’s not a coincidence.”
The silence that followed was heavier this time, charged with anticipation. You could almost feel the shock on the other end of the line.
“I… I’m Y/N,” you said, your voice trembling. “It’s me.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a stunned, “Wait… what? Y/N? That Y/N?”
“Yes,” you confirmed with a hesitant laugh. “That’s me.”
The line went quiet for a beat, and then Minho exclaimed, “Oh my God, Y/N! It’s you! I can’t believe this!”
You chuckled nervously, the sound more of a release of tension than amusement. “Yeah, it’s me. Thank you for saving me that day, Minho. I never got the chance to properly thank you.”
“I’m just relieved you’re alright,” he said earnestly. “You made a full recovery, right? Everything’s fine now?”
Your smile faltered, and you took a shaky breath. “Umm… about that…”
Minho’s voice softened instantly, his concern palpable. “What do you mean?”
You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. But then, with a deep breath, you began telling him everything. You told him about the accident, the surgeries, the endless therapy, and the long, grueling days of learning to live in a body that no longer worked the way it once did. You told him about the guilt you felt watching your sister sacrifice so much to help you, about the nights spent crying in frustration and pain, and about the fear that you’d never be seen as anything but broken.
Through it all, Minho listened silently, not once interrupting. His quiet attention was steady, grounding, as though every word you said mattered deeply to him.
When you finally finished, your voice cracked, tears threatening to spill. “I… I didn’t want to tell you all this. I didn’t want to bother you or make you feel sorry for me. But today was just….”
“Y/N,” Minho cut in, his voice firm yet impossibly gentle. “You’re not bothering me. And I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m just… I’m glad you called. I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me.”
Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t from sadness. They were from something warmer, something that felt a lot like hope.
“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.
“No, thank you,” Minho said softly. “For calling me. And for being honest. You don’t have to go through this alone, you know.”
You smiled faintly, clutching the phone tightly to your ear. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to.
And thus began your connection with Minho...
----------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------
Your fingers hovered over the video call button, trembling slightly. Since that phone call last Christmas eve, Minho had become an undeniable presence in your life. Whether it was his casual phone calls, random texts checking in on you, or the silly messages that always made you laugh, he was there, ensuring you never felt completely alone.
But last week, something changed.
“Why don’t we have a movie night?” he had texted casually. “We can video call while watching.”
You froze at the suggestion, your immediate response a firm, resounding no.
"Come on,” he coaxed gently. “It’ll be fun. I want to see you.”
And that was the problem. You didn’t want him to see you.
The thought of showing your face made your stomach churn. What if he was disappointed? What if he looked at you differently after seeing what the accident had done? You tried every excuse you could think of, but Minho’s quiet persistence was hard to ignore.
“I won’t push you,” he finally said, his tone soft yet resolute. “But I don’t care what you think you look like. You’re Y/N, and nothing will ever change that for me.”
His words lingered all week, pulling at the corners of your mind whenever your insecurities screamed louder than your hope.
And now, here you were, sitting in front of your phone, staring at the glowing call notification. Your heart raced, your palms damp as you adjusted your hair for the fifth time. Every buried doubt clawed its way to the surface.
Don’t do this. He’ll regret staying in touch, your mind hissed.
But another voice, softer yet stronger, whispered, He cares. He won’t leave.
With a shaky breath, you pressed the button. The camera flickered on, and you quickly angled it so only the top of your head was visible.
“Y/N?” Minho’s voice came through, soft and cheerful.
“Y-Yeah, it’s me,” you stammered, still too afraid to tilt the camera lower.
“I can’t see you,” he teased lightly. “What, are you hiding from me?”
You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the "end call" button. But something in his tone....so patient, so warm...nudged you forward. Slowly, you lowered the camera, revealing your face.
“There you are,” Minho said softly, a smile spreading across his face.
You braced yourself for disgust, disappointment, anything that would confirm your worst fears. But his reaction wasn’t what you expected. His expression didn’t falter, his smile didn’t waver, and his eyes held nothing but warmth.
“You look beautiful,” he said simply, as if it were a fact, not a compliment.
Tears stung your eyes as you looked away. “Don’t say that,” you whispered, your voice trembling.
“I mean it,” he replied firmly. “I’m not just saying it to make you feel better. You’re Y/N, and you’re beautiful to me. Always have been, always will be.”
His words chipped away at the walls you had built around yourself. He wasn’t looking at you with pity or discomfort, he was just looking at you.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself a small smile. “Thank you, Minho,” you murmured.
“Now,” he said, his tone shifting to playful. “Are we watching this movie, or are you going to keep hiding from me?”
You chuckled softly, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Alright, alright. Let’s watch.”
As the movie began, the tension in your chest slowly eased. Minho’s occasional sarcastic comments or soft laughter warmed you in ways you didn’t fully understand. The awkwardness that had gripped you at the start of the call melted away, replaced by a rhythm that felt natural.
During a quieter part of the movie, Minho spoke, his voice cutting through the momentary silence. “This feels nice.”
“What does?” you asked, glancing at the screen.
“Being able to see you while we talk. It feels... more real.”
His honesty caught you off guard, and you fiddled with the edge of your blanket. “I guess,” you mumbled.
“Don’t downplay it,” he chided gently. “You don’t realize how much I’ve missed this, just spending time with you.”
Your heart thudded at his words. “Minho, you barely knew me before the accident…”
“And yet,” he interrupted, his tone soft but unwavering, “I’ve always felt like I knew you. The way you smiled at the hospital, even through the pain. The way your sister shared pieces of your life with me that day, the struggles you faced, in the hospital. You left an impression, Y/N. And no matter how much time passed, I couldn’t forget you.”
His confession left you speechless. You opened your mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words.
Minho smiled faintly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”
The movie ended, but neither of you hung up. The conversation drifted to lighter topics, your favorite foods, places you’d love to visit, funny childhood stories. You found yourself laughing, surprised at how easy it was to talk to him, how intently he listened to every little thing you said.
When the clock struck midnight, you yawned, trying to stifle it.
“Am I keeping you up?” Minho teased.
“No, I’m fine,” you lied, but your sleepy tone betrayed you.
“You need to rest,” he said with a soft laugh. “But… can I call you again tomorrow? Or, you know, whenever you’re free?”
The warmth in his voice made your chest ache in the best way. “I’d like that,” you admitted quietly.
“Good,” he said, his smile evident even through the screen. “Sweet dreams, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Minho,” you replied, ending the call and setting your phone aside.
As you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the events of the night replayed in your mind. For the first time in years, you felt a little lighter. A little less alone.
You didn’t know where this connection with Minho would lead, but tonight, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he saw you, not just your struggles, but you.
And for the first time, that felt like enough.
-------------------------------------------------------
Over the next few months, Minho became your lifeline. What started as casual conversations and video calls grew into something deeper. He was patient, funny, and warm,someone who made you feel seen, heard, and cherished. For the first time in years, you felt like you could breathe again. It wasn’t something you could pinpoint, a singular moment where your feelings for Minho shifted from gratitude to something deeper. It happened slowly, quietly, like the way the first hints of dawn creep into the night sky.
At first, you told yourself it was nothing more than admiration. Minho had saved your life, after all. When you woke up in the hospital, groggy and disoriented, the nurses told you about the stranger who stayed by your side, ensuring you received the care you needed. That alone had been enough to etch his name into your mind.
Months later, when you heard his voice again at the robot café, your heart stumbled. It was almost embarrassing how much his presence, even through the robot’s camera and speakers, stirred something inside you. He spoke to you with such warmth, such genuine interest, that it felt like you were more than just a disembodied voice behind a screen.
But it wasn’t until the letter he left for you that the walls you’d so carefully built around your heart began to crack.
You read it so many times that the edges were worn from your fingertips. His words weren’t overly flowery or poetic, but they were sincere, making you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in years. He didn’t just write about how thankful he was bout the customer service, he wrote about you. That you can call or text him anytime you wanted to vent.
From that point on, every phone call, every text, chipped away at the fears you’d held so tightly. At first, you were careful, guarded. You kept your responses light, your conversations surface-level. But Minho had a way of disarming you without even trying. He’d slip in questions about your favorite childhood memories or tease you until you laughed. And before you realized it, you were sharing pieces of yourself you hadn’t shown anyone in years.
And then came the video call.
You almost didn’t do it. The idea of letting him see your face, the scars that made you feel like a stranger every time you looked in the mirror, was too much. But Minho had been gentle in his persistence, assuring you that he just wanted to watch a movie with you, nothing more.
When you finally turned on the camera, your hands were trembling, and you could barely meet his eyes on the screen. You braced yourself for the shift, for the flicker of discomfort or pity that you were so used to seeing.
But it never came.
Instead, Minho smiled, his gaze soft as if he were looking at something beautiful. “Hi,” he said, his tone light and full of warmth, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
And in that moment, something inside you shifted. The fear that had kept you isolated for so long began to loosen its grip, replaced by something warmer, brighter.
He made you feel normal. He made you feel seen. And over time, you realized it wasn’t just gratitude or admiration anymore.
You were falling for him.
You tried to fight it at first, convincing yourself it was foolish. Someone like Minho...a man who could light up a room with just his presence....could have anyone. Why would he choose someone like you, with your scars and limitations?
But then he’d call you late at night, just to ask how your day went. Or he’d send you pictures of stray cats he’d found, knowing how much you loved them, just like he did. Or he’d make you laugh so hard you’d forget, even for a moment, about all the things you thought made you unworthy.
And then, over the course of the next few weeks, something unexpected started to take root inside you. At first, you brushed it off as fleeting, an echo of loneliness mistaken for something else. But it grew, steady and undeniable, a strange, fluttering feeling in your chest every time Minho’s name lit up your phone.
You found yourself lingering on his texts longer than you should, re-reading them late at night when the world was silent. His words, simple and casual, had a way of making your heart race. And those calls? They were becoming the best part of your day. It wasn’t just his voice....it was the way he laughed, the way he said your name, like it held a special place in his vocabulary.
He looked different to you now, too. Or maybe you were just seeing him for the first time. Handsome didn’t even begin to describe it. There was something magnetic about the way he carried himself, a quiet confidence that made him seem untouchable, yet he was so real with you. So patient, so kind.
And that’s when the panic set in.
Because how could you fall for him?
It wasn’t fair. Not to him. Minho was everything you weren’t: free, whole, untethered. He could have anyone he wanted, someone who could walk beside him in the park without needing a wheelchair, someone who could dance with him instead of watching from the sidelines.
You hadn’t left the house in years. The thought of facing the world outside, with its prying eyes and unspoken judgments, made your stomach churn. How could you expect someone like Minho to accept that? To accept you, when even you struggled to accept yourself?
Your scars felt like barriers, visible proof of the life you used to have and the one you were forced to live now. You’d lost the power in your legs, and sometimes it felt like you’d lost the power to dream, to hope for something better.
And yet, Minho made you hope.
It terrified you, this fragile thing blooming in your chest. Because if you allowed yourself to fall for him, truly fall, what would happen if he didn’t catch you? Could you handle the heartbreak? Could you bear to see pity in his eyes where kindness now shone?
You tried to push the feelings down, bury them beneath the weight of your fears. But they wouldn’t stay hidden. Every text, every call, every laugh chipped away at your resolve until you were left raw and vulnerable, clinging to a question you were too afraid to answer. Will Minho even accept you?
------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------
That evening during the video call, Minho dropped a bombshell.
“Y/N, let’s meet,” he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
You froze, blinking at the screen. “What?”
“I want to see you,” he repeated, smiling. “In person. How about a café date and a stroll in the park? I know a quiet spot, not too crowded.”
Panic surged through you. You hadn’t left your house in years....not since the accident. The thought of people staring at you, noticing your scars, filled you with dread. You opened your mouth to protest, but Minho’s gentle expression stopped you.
“Take your time,” he said softly. “You don’t have to decide now. But I’d really like to spend time with you, Y/N. No pressure.”
Minho ended the call with a hopeful smile on his end when you told him you'd think about it.
For the next few days, you agonized over his request. Part of you wanted to see him, to feel the sun on your face and experience the world outside your walls again. But the fear of judgment and rejection was overwhelming. Finally, with a shaky breath, you agreed.
------------------------------------------------------
Minho had never been the type to hesitate when it came to the people he cared about. But with Y/N, everything felt different....delicate, like holding something precious in his hands that could shatter if he pushed too hard. The past month of video calls and late-night texts had been like a breath of fresh air for him. He loved how she spoke, how her voice softened when she was relaxed or brightened when she talked about something that brought her joy. But he could also sense the walls she’d built around herself, her hesitations woven into every interaction. It didn’t matter to him, though. He’d seen enough in her to know she was worth the patience. The idea to meet her in person had been bubbling in his mind for weeks. He missed being able to see her face beyond the tiny camera frame, to hear her laugh without the digital lag of a call. And more than anything, he wanted her to know she didn’t have to hide anymore...not from him, not from anyone.
When she’d finally agreed, he’d been careful not to show just how thrilled he was. He knew it wasn’t an easy decision for her, and he didn’t want to add to the weight she was carrying. Instead, he spent the days leading up to their meeting planning every detail, choosing a quiet café and a serene park where she wouldn’t feel overwhelmed.
The day of the date, he arrived early, checking his reflection in the café window to make sure he looked okay. Not that it mattered much to him, he just wanted Y/N to feel comfortable.
---------------------------------------------------
Whereas you, on the other hand, were on a completely different wavelength altogether.
The days leading up to this moment had been an emotional tug-of-war within yourself. A part of you longed to experience something new, something outside the prison of your four walls. But the other part...the one that whispered cruel reminders of your scars, your limitations, and the judgment of others...fought to hold you back.
The night before the date, you barely slept. You paced your room, questioning everything. Why would Minho even want to be seen with me? He’s kind, patient, and could easily find someone who isn’t a mess like me. What if people stare? What if I embarrass him?
You looked at yourself in the mirror that morning, pulling your favourite hoodie over your head and adjusting it. The scars that stretched across your temple and cheekbone felt like they screamed at the world, a constant reminder of the accident and how different you were now. You sighed deeply, pushing down the lump in your throat. You can’t back out now. He’ll think you don’t trust him.
When your sister wheeled you to the café and you saw Minho waiting, his face lighting up the second he spotted you, something in your chest softened. You weren’t used to people looking at you like that...as if you weren’t just enough, but more than enough.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice full of warmth, “you look beautiful.”
Beautiful? The word echoed in your mind, foreign and almost laughable. You glanced away, unable to accept the compliment, but his sincerity made it impossible to dismiss.
The café was quiet, the conversation light and easy. Yet, no matter how much you tried to relax, the anxiety simmered under your skin. Every time someone walked by or glanced your way, your fingers twitched, wanting to pull your hood further down. They’re staring. They’re judging. They’re wondering why someone like him would bother with someone like me. Minho noticed the anxiety in your face. He squeezed your trembling hand, comforting you. Nodding silently, as if to tell you it’s okay.
You calmed down a little and asked him if you could leave early. He agreed and suggested a walk in the park. You hesitated but eventually agreed. The park was peaceful, the fresh air soothing, but the nagging voice in your head wouldn’t let you rest. You kept your hood pulled tight, your eyes darting to every person who passed. They’re all looking. They can see right through me.
And then, it happened.
A strong gust of wind swept through the park, catching your hood and pulling it back. You gasped, immediately reaching to fix it, but your trembling hands froze as you noticed the stares. Strangers’ eyes lingered, their expressions unreadable, but in your mind, you could hear their judgment loud and clear.
Hide. Cover your face. Run. You don’t belong here.
Your breathing quickened, panic rising in your chest. Your vision blurred as tears welled up, and you wanted nothing more than to disappear.
“I....I can’t do this,” you choked out, barely able to form the words.
Before you could spiral further, Minho was by your side. His hands rested gently on your shoulders, grounding you.
“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise in your head. “Look at me.”
You hesitated, but his calm, steady presence drew your eyes to his. The world seemed to fade, leaving only his warm gaze and the reassurance in his expression.
“You’re okay,” he said, his voice firm yet soothing. “I’m here. Forget about them. Just focus on me.”
“But they’re staring,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “They’re looking at my face… at my scars…”
“Let them stare,” Minho said firmly, his hands squeezing your shoulders gently. “What they think doesn’t matter. What matters is you. And you’re perfect just the way you are.”
His words pierced through the storm in your mind, and for a moment, you could breathe again. He guided you to a nearby bench, sitting beside you and giving you time to calm down.
As your breathing steadied, Minho knelt in front of you, his gaze unwavering.
“Y/N,” he began, taking your hands in his. His touch was warm, steady, and grounding. “I know this is hard for you. I know you’re scared, and I know you think you’re not enough. But you need to hear this.”
His eyes searched yours, filled with an unshakable sincerity that made your chest tighten.
“It’s always been you,” he said softly. “From the moment I met you, I knew you were someone special.”
“Min, what are you...?” you began, your voice trembling with uncertainty.
“Let me finish, Ynnie,” he interrupted, a small smile tugging at his lips. The tenderness in his tone silenced your protest, and your breath hitched as he continued, his voice heavy with emotion.
“Your strength, your kindness, your heart....those are the things that matter to me. Not your scars, not your disability. Just you. And I still can’t believe it… how someone so intelligent, so beautiful, and so powerful came into my life. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”
He paused, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly as if grounding himself.
“You brought color to my mundane life, Ynnie,” he said, his voice trembling now. “And I love you. I love you so much.”
Tears spilled down your cheeks as his words settled into your heart, breaking through every wall you had built. But once again, a part of you wanted to retreat from this. Minho deserved someone better. Not you.
And so, with a heavy heart, you asked, “Why me?” Your voice barely above a whisper. “You could have someone better. Someone who isn’t… disabled or disfigured. Someone who could give you more.”
His grip on your hands tightened as he shook his head. “No one could ever be better than you. No one else is you. And I don’t want anyone else. I want you. Scars, fears, everything. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here. That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
You were at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice and the love in his eyes.
“So, Y/N,” he said, his voice softening, “will you let me stay by your side? Will you be my girlfriend?”
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the insecurities tried to creep back in. But then you looked at him...truly looked...and saw nothing but love and acceptance.
With a shaky breath, you nodded. “Yes.”
“I love you too, Min!”
“So much!” Happy tears spilled down your cheeks.
A bright, almost boyish smile spread across his face as he leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with affection. He kissed you softly, a tender, lingering touch that made your heart flutter. The moment was quiet, but it felt like the world had paused, leaving only the two of you in this space of peace and understanding. As he pulled you into a gentle hug, his arms wrapped around you, warm and steady...like a shield that protected you from everything outside of this moment.
For the first time in years, you let go of the fears and doubts that had held you captive. You allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were worthy of love. His embrace was a reminder that you didn’t have to hide or be afraid anymore. In Minho’s arms, the weight of the world seemed to lift, leaving only the soft warmth of his love surrounding you, filling you with hope that, no matter what, you were never alone again.
As he held you, you realized that this moment was everything you had been longing for. It wasn’t just the comfort of his touch, but the genuine care in his heart, the way he made you feel beautiful...scars and all. It was a love that didn’t ask for perfection, only for you to be yourself. And in that truth, you found the strength to believe in the future, to believe in the love that was growing between you.
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