Epilogue
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Months had passed since Jimin boarded that plane.

The world didn’t look the same anymore, but maybe that was because he wasn’t the same either.

The sharp edges of his grief had softened into something quieter, something less suffocating.

Kyara’s memory still lingered—some days as a whisper, others as a weight—but it was no longer a chain.

He stood on the edge of a quiet beach, the waves lapping at his feet.

The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink that seemed too vibrant for a world that had once felt so dark.

In his hand, he held a letter—one he’d written for Kyara but never sent. It was crumpled, the ink smudged in places, but the words were still there.

“I’m trying,” he whispered into the salty air. “I’m still here, Kyara. Just like I promised.”

He crouched down, placing the letter into a small glass bottle he’d picked up from a market nearby.

Carefully, he sealed it and walked toward the water, letting the waves kiss his ankles.

With a deep breath, he sent the bottle out to sea, watching as it drifted further and further away.

It wasn’t about closure—Jimin didn’t believe in neat endings.

It was about letting go, about accepting that he couldn’t carry the guilt forever.

Kyara had been a part of him, and she always would be. But now, he was learning how to live with that instead of living in it.

Behind him, a new city waited. A new life.

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A Year Later

The New York flagship store had become Jimin’s sanctuary.

The boutique hummed softly with quiet conversations and the rustling of fabrics, its clean lines and warm lighting a reflection of the life he was rebuilding.

Ara, his small gray cat, sprawled lazily in her usual spot by the window, soaking in the late afternoon sunlight.

Jimin smiled faintly as he worked, folding scarves and adjusting a display. The routine comforted him, anchoring him in the present.

The chime of the door pulled him from his thoughts. Without looking up, he called out his usual greeting.

“Welcome in.”

The response came a beat later, low and familiar.

“Hey, Jimin. Missed me?”

Jimin froze. His hands stilled, his breath catching in his chest as the voice washed over him. Slowly, he turned toward the door.

He'd recognize the voice even in his dreams.

There stood Jungkook, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of a black coat, a smirk playing on his lips.

His dark eyes held a mix of emotions—mischief, curiosity, and something else Jimin couldn’t quite name.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. The noise of the boutique seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in the charged silence.

Jimin opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come.

Jungkook’s smirk softened into something almost tender.

He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving Jimin’s. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

The bell above the door chimed again as another customer entered, snapping Jimin out of his trance.

By the time he looked back, Jungkook was already moving deeper into the store, casually browsing the racks as if they hadn’t just upended Jimin’s entire world.

Jimin swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he forced himself to focus. But no matter how hard he tried, one thought kept circling back.

Maybe some things weren’t finished after all.

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