‘… do you not love me anymore?’

Her beautiful face. The eyes, pored through his soul, leaving his heart beating against his ribcage. Her gaze filled with disappointment, grief, and pain.

The pain he inflicted. Her tears were falling, she was disappearing in front of his eyes… like dust.

“Seohyun ah!”

He bolted up from his bed, his back wet from the breaking of cold sweat down his spine.

“So you will be leaving Seoul once the shoot ends?”

“Nah, Taeyeon Unnie is going to bring Kyukyu over next week, since she has to sign the contract details for the shoot being my agency director. Kyukyu hasn’t been in Korea before, I thought it would be a good chance to bring him around, and it’s Umma Appa’s anniversary next week too. We will be here for around a month.”

Eunhyuk was at the wheel, dropping his sister for work before going to his company.

“I miss that little monster too, Umma Appa will be glad to see him. Why did Taeyeon decide to sign you with this company? You’ve never taken any offers for such advertisements. And where is Taeyeon going to live when he comes over?”

“Taeyeon Unnie wanted to me to try out other fields, than being on the runway forever since I am not that young anymore. One day, the young girls will be taking over my place at the runway.”

She mumbles, staring out of the window. Well, it’s true, she’s getting old for the runway.

“So an offer came looking for a new fresh face and Unnie had the manager research the company and realized it was a new company, 3 years old, but already influential in the market. She thought it was a good opportunity to try, and maybe relocate back to Seoul.”

“Relocate back to Seoul? You? Or Taeyeon?”

“Taeyeon Unnie. Well, Teukie Oppa is here, and it’s been long enough for them to be apart.”

The car pulled over in front of a tall building.

“Well here we are. Is there anyone to receive you?”

“Your Americano is ready Sir. See you again!”

He picked up his coffee and headed to the door, making way through the morning crowd.

‘Sorry’ as a silhouette passed by, brushing him accidentally on his shoulders.

‘It’s okay’ he replied, trying to balance his cup in hand.

The figure passed him by.

Like ruffles and vanilla cones. Soft pale and sweet. A familiar scent.

Like her.

He couldn’t restrain the urge to turn his head, that scent, he used to embrace and inhale. Day and night.

His personal brand of heroin.

She stood at the counter, waiting for her usual Whipped Cream Mocha, unaware of the burning stare behind his back.

It couldn’t be her, he thought. She is not in Korea, and she hates caffeine.

He stares at her back, reassures his mind and walked off.

And with fate play, in that split second, the face that he had been waking him up from sleep turned around.

They weren’t meant to be.