Chapter 14

✶----✶----✶

Jimin sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, surrounded by a chaotic sea of clothes, shoes, and personal mementos.

Each item he picked up felt heavier than the last, laden with the weight of memories he wasn't ready to confront.

His hands trembled as he zipped the final compartment of his suitcase, sealing away more than just fabric and leather-he was sealing away the life he no longer wanted to live.

Everything had to be perfect. Every item had to be accounted for. If he left something behind, he knew he wouldn't come back for it. He couldn't.

His eyes wandered to the photograph on his nightstand. In the picture, he and Kyara were seventeen, both grinning ear to ear.

Her arm was draped lazily over his shoulder, her signature oversized scarf trailing down to her knees.

They were standing in front of the little café they used to frequent after school. He could almost hear her voice, bright with excitement.

"One day, Jiminie, we're going to open our own place," she'd said, holding her latte like a trophy.

"Something beautiful. A real haven for people like us. Promise me, okay?"

He hadn't understood what she meant back then-"people like us." Now, he did. People who felt trapped. People who needed escape.

"I'm sorry, Kyara," he whispered, his voice cracking. He stared at the photo, willing her to respond, but the room remained silent. "I should've been there. I should've done more."

The guilt twisted inside him, an unrelenting ache that had followed him every day since she'd left.

Not just left-but gone. The letter she'd left behind was burned into his memory, her words etched into his mind like scars.

"I'm getting out," he murmured, blinking away the tears threatening to fall. "I'm going to do it for both of us."

Grabbing his phone, he opened his banking app and moved the last of his parents' money into his account.

They wouldn't notice-not immediately, anyway. Too busy with their own lives to pay attention to him.

He'd stopped expecting anything different a long time ago.

He slung his carry-on over his shoulder and tucked the photo of Kyara carefully into the front pocket.

"Wait for me," he whispered, his voice steadier now. "I'll keep my promise this time."

✶----✶----✶

The airport buzzed with life, a blur of motion and noise.

Overhead announcements echoed across the terminal as Jimin pulled his suitcase through the crowd.

His chest tightened with every step, the weight of his decision pressing down on him.

He was almost through security when a familiar voice cut through the din.

"Jimin!"

Turning, he saw Jungkook running toward him, his hoodie slipping off one shoulder, his expression a mix of desperation and panic.

"What are you doing here?" Jimin asked, even though he knew the answer.

"What am I doing here?" Jungkook's voice rose, his chest heaving.

"You text me out of nowhere saying you're leaving, and you expect me not to come? Where are you even going?"

"New York," Jimin replied, his voice flat.

"New York?" Jungkook's eyes widened. "Why? What-what's there?"

"A fresh start," Jimin said simply, gripping the handle of his suitcase.

Jungkook stepped closer, his voice trembling. "Why are you doing this, Jimin? Why now?"

"Because I can't stay here anymore," Jimin shot back, his voice sharper than he intended.

"I can't keep waiting for you to figure out what you want. I can't keep putting my life on hold for someone who doesn't even know if he wants me."

"That's not fair," Jungkook said, his voice breaking. "You know I care about you."

"Caring isn't enough," Jimin snapped. "Not anymore. I've loved you for years, Jungkook. Years. And all I've gotten in return is excuses and half-promises."

Jungkook's face crumpled. "I-I didn't mean to hurt you."

"But you did," Jimin said, his voice softening. "You always do."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them felt heavier than any words.

Finally, Jimin broke it. "This isn't just about you, Jungkook. It's about me. You don't know what happened to me. You don't know how muchni fucking suffered."

Jungkook's shoulders sagged, guilt flashing across his face.

"And Kyara she felt trapped," Jimin continued, his voice trembling. "She felt like there was no way out, and she... she gave up. I promised myself I'd never let that happen to me. But staying here, staying in this city, staying in this... thing with you-it's been killing me, slowly."

"Jimin-"

"I promised her," Jimin said, cutting him off. "I promised I'd live. That I'd build something beautiful. Something she would've loved. And I've done nothing but let her down."

Jungkook reached out, his hands trembling. "I can do better, Jimin. Please, just give me a chance. Don't leave like this."

Jimin shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. "I can't. I have to go. For her. For me."

Jungkook opened his mouth to argue, but Jimin was already turning away.

"Goodbye, Jungkook," he said, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd.

And then he walked away, his vision blurred with tears he refused to let fall.

✶----✶----✶

New York greeted Jimin with a crisp winter breeze that bit at his cheeks as he stepped out of the taxi.

The city was alive with energy-honking horns, hurried footsteps, the distant hum of conversation.

As he stood in front of the tiny studio he'd rented, doubt crept in.

The building was old, the paint peeling, the windows cloudy with grime. But it was his.

Inside, the space was even smaller than he'd imagined.

The floors were scuffed, the walls dull and lifeless. But when he closed his eyes, he could see it-bright, vibrant, alive.

He set his suitcase down and pulled out the photo of Kyara, propping it up on the dusty windowsill.

"This is for you," he whispered. "For us."

Over the next few weeks, Jimin threw himself into his work.

He painted walls, sourced fabrics, and sketched designs late into the night. Slowly but surely, the space transformed, taking on a life of its own.

✶----✶----✶

Months later, the boutique was finally ready.

Haven was ready.

The name Haven gleamed in delicate gold letters above the door, the light catching on the curves of the script

Inside, sunlight streamed through the clean windows, illuminating rows of vibrant fabrics and handcrafted designs.

Jimin stood in the center of the room, taking it all in. For the first time in years, he felt a sense of peace.

The soft chime of the doorbell startled him, and he turned to greet his first customer with a warm smile.

On the counter sat the photo of him and Kyara, a quiet reminder of the promise he'd finally kept.

"For you, Kyara," he murmured, his voice steady. "For both of us."

✶----✶----✶
End
✶----✶----✶