Beomgyu stays silent on our whole ride home. Even as we take the elevator up to our dorm room, the atmosphere between us is ice cold. I experience the full weight of his disappointment, and I can't help but feel guilty that I'm responsible for it. As we enter the room, the space feels more empty than usual. I'm overcome with guilt and embarrassment for how our day at Hongdae turned out.

He lies on his bed and stares at his phone, shuffling through Weverse. I know he's reading supportive messages from his fans, but I wonder just how many have posted something rude about their stay at Hankuk. The critics affected him last time, and I don't want him to become hurt again from some negative text on the screen.

"Hey," I try. "I'm sorry about what I said. I shouldn't be so negative when you're only trying to help me."

Beomgyu only mumbles in response, so softly that I can't hear what he's saying. I don't have the strength or courage to ask him to repeat himself.

Instead, I make myself wait in the cold stillness that has formed between us. The sharp contrast to his usual bright vitality is stunning, and I'm left hovering in an abyss like a cave of darkness. My chest opens up to a heaviness that weighs me down, like my feet will be constantly anchored to the wooden paneled floor.

"I have to head to practice," Beomgyu whispers.

I hadn't realized that I was curled halfway into a fetal position on my bed. I get up much too quickly, causing the blood to rush away from my head. A dizzy spell makes my vision a mix of blurry black and white. "Can I come?" I ask.

"I think it's best if I go alone," Beomgyu says.

He leaves after getting dressed in his practice clothes—a pair of Adidas sweatpants, matching shoes and a fire-red jacket. I want to press him, to tell him that I'm sorry for disappointing him back at the cafe. I want to ask whether he's dwelling on Naomi and Joyce's words about me taking advantage of him. I don't even know if I have enough integrity behind my voice to deny their accusations.

The room feels empty without Beomgyu. Even though his desk is full from his textbooks, laptop, notebooks and pens, I feel as though I'm jailed in a room for one. The air conditioner is too cold, so I go to adjust it. But even long after the coolness stops blowing straight into the room, I keep shivering.

Beomgyu was the first good thing that I met in Seoul. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have started my process of healing from a breakup. Then again, I wouldn't have fallen for a boy who would never love me back. I don't know what is more painful—imagining a trip to Seoul where we never met, or dwelling on a future where we would eventually part in our separate ways for a term of forever.

I bury my head into my pillow, wishing I convinced him that I should accompany him to practice, wishing I never encountered Joyce and Naomi in the BigHit cafe. There are a lot of unfilled wishes circling in my gut, too many things to apologize for and too much shame to address all at once.

I begin to cry. The tides of sadness don't stop for hours. I continue to sob and shake, resembling what I can only imagine to be a wet Chihuahua. I imagine Beomgyu with his true friends. He's in a group that truly values him, who sees him as more than just an imaginary boyfriend. He deserves the world and a team who sees him as he is, not a fanboy who keeps getting stunned by his outward appearance—lost in the glamor of him being an idol.

I open up my phone and scroll through Twitter. My fingers move faster than my brain could steer me away. I search up the names Naomi and Joyce, along with the TXT tag. Almost instantly, I find their accounts. They have a joint account with over 10,000 followers, under the account @NJTXT. They post a constant feed of pictures of the members, accompanied by cute captions which have no business being around a group of such ferocious girls.

Their latest Tweet has my stomach rolling in pure dread. About to drop a video of a boy sasaeng at the BigHit cafe. It's so sad seeing him trying to deny stalking Beomgyu and the other boys.

The Tweet has over five thousand likes and a thousand retweets. I'm stunned into a state of disbelief, where nothing feels real except a burning sensation in my brain.

I wish so many things right now. That I can go back to my first amazing week with Beomgyu, where the door was open and a million possibilities of adventure spread before me. That I was still in love, that my boyfriend never broke up with me. That I never ran into the two girls who seem dead set on ruining my relationship with Beomgyu.

I throw my phone against the wall. It ricochets and hits me straight in the face. On any other day, I would laugh at myself, poking fun by writing a silly post on Instagram about my clumsiness and bad luck.

Today, it just feels like another bad omen—my life being ruined from some typing into a social media app.

How does Beomgyu survive with fans constantly on his case? I wouldn't last a day in his shoes. No matter, three more weeks and my life will hopefully return to some sort of normalcy. Even though I may receive hate now, it will hopefully fade to the background when I travel across the seas back to home.

I'll endure these next few weeks with Beomgyu being bitter towards me. I'll pass these classes and make sure I'm a roommate who's the least invasive and bothersome as possible. I'll keep my mouth shut and put a damper on my hopes that I could become friends with an international superstar. I'll cope with my heartbreak through silence and deep breathing.

I'll just have to stay put, wait it out. Everything will return back to normal.

Right?