Jeon.J slowly lifted his eyes toward the screen.
The moment he did, he felt it —he shouldn't have looked.
On the CCTV footage, thirty seconds before she was seated inside the police car, her scarf had begun slipping… slowly… almost shyly… sliding down from one side of her shoulders.
It didn't fall all at once.
It drifted.
Like something that didn't want to let go.
As she stepped toward the car, unaware, the scarf loosened completely from her collar… gliding down… brushing against the garden edge… and finally surrendering to gravity.
It touched the ground.
And the car drove away.
Leaving it behind.
There it lay — on the street outside Jeon.J's house — abandoned, moving gently as the wind passed over it.
At the same time, a tear escaped Jeon.J's eye.
It slid down his cheek… traced the curve of his jaw… gathered at his chin… and then fell.
It took thirty seconds.
Thirty full seconds for that tear to leave his eye and meet the floor.
The wind was pushing the scarf — restless, lost.
His tear fell onto the clean black marble floor.
Under the light of the screen, it shimmered.
No one moved.
The entire room was frozen — as if everyone had been trapped in a trance.
It took a few seconds for reality to return. As if they suddenly remembered what had just happened.
"I'm going," Minji said abruptly, standing up.
Teahun stood instantly. "I'm coming too."
"Me too.""Same."One by one, they all began to rise.
But Kim Joon stood up and stopped them.
"If you go like this, you'll only create more problems for her," he said firmly. "A stalker was again just found near Jeon.J's house. If this news spread it make RAMY go out of control. If all of you rush to her now, it will bring more attention."
He looked at them seriously.
"She's a simple girl. Have you ever seen her get excited to take pictures with any of us? Has she ever tried to get close? She barely even talks — except to Teahun, and even then, only when he initiates it. And she always keeps her distance."
His voice softened but remained strong.
"Understand this. One moment of impulsiveness could destroy her peaceful life."
Silence.
"So what do we do?" Minji said loudly, frustration trembling in her voice. "We just sit here? She's alone. She must be crying. She gets worried so quickly."
She rubbed her forehead anxiously. She didn't know what to do.
Meanwhile, Jeon.J hadn't moved.
He was still staring at the CCTV footage.
It felt as if he had been given a duty — to guard that scarf with his eyes. And he was fulfilling it faithfully.
"Jeon.J," Kim Joon called.
No response.
It was as if Jeon.J couldn't hear him.
Like his entire existence had narrowed down to that piece of fabric moving in the wind.
"Jeon.J," Kim Joon called again.
For one second, Jeon.J's eyes shifted toward him.
Just one second.
But loyalty to that silent duty pulled his gaze back to the screen.
And then —
The scarf was gone.
The screen showed only an empty street.
His eyes moved frantically across the frame.
Left. Right.Zooming into corners.
Nothing.
It wasn't there.
He lowered his head into his hands.
Like a man who had just lost his job. Like someone entrusted with responsibility — and failed.
"Jeon.J…" Kim Joon tried again.
This time, Jeon.J stood up.
Without looking at him.
"You all stay here. Dinner is ready. We'll have the festival dinner together."
His voice was steady.
Too steady.
His eyes held no sparkle. His face showed no joy.
But his tone was firm — controlled.
"But Jeon.J, you—"
Before Kim Joon could finish, Jeon.J turned to Minji.
"Minji. Come with me."
And he walked out.
Without turning back.
Because he knew —if he stayed one second longer, the strength he was holding together would collapse.
And he would once again look like a man who had just lost something important.
Minji followed him outside.
The rest remained where they were.
Teahun leaned back against the couch, resting his head on it, closing his eyes.
Zoya's teasing voice echoed in his memory.
Her playful remarks.
A faint smile touched his lips.
But suddenly, he opened his eyes again and leaned forward.
The CCTV screen was still running.
Now showing an empty, calm street.
Looking down, Teahun spoke quietly:
"When she comes back… will she still be the same… as when we first met her?"
Everyone looked at him.
But no one had an answer.
And the silence felt heavier than before.
_______________
The door to the police station slammed open. A sharp voice cut through the stale, cold air.
"Why were you outside Jeon.J's house?"
Zoya didn't move. Her hair fell over her face, shielding her eyes. Her hands were bound. Her backpack dug painfully into her shoulders, the foreign student ID and a few belongings pressing against her back.
"My… scarf… please," she whispered, barely audible.
The officer's eyes narrowed. For a moment, her patience snapped. With a sharp motion, she slapped Zoya. The sound echoed in the small room. Zoya flinched, but the pain barely reached her — the ache inside her, the one she had been carrying long before this moment, swallowed it whole.
The officer's temper flared as if she were RAMY herself — someone who couldn't forgive anyone who disturbed their idol. Zoya didn't flinch again. She sat still, silent, her face hidden, her hands bound.
Another officer stepped between them, her voice firm but calm.
"증거 없이는 손 대면 안 돼. 그녀가 진짜 스토커인지 확인해야 해."("You shouldn't raise your hand until you have proof. Let's see if she's really the stalker.")
The first officer glared at Zoya but left the room, slamming the door behind her.
The second officer knelt in front of Zoya, gently turning her face up from under the dark curtain of hair. Her fingers brushed Zoya's tears, which streamed continuously, soaking her cheeks. There was no sound — no sob, no whimper — only the silent streaks of emotion flowing freely.
Slowly, the officer loosened the locks on Zoya's hands. Even when free, her arms remained behind her back, as if she didn't yet realize the chains were gone.
The officer stood, went to the sink, and brought a glass of water. For the first time, Zoya raised her eyes — careful, wary, but for a brief moment, she saw the concern in the officer's face. She moved her hands cautiously to the table, reaching for the glass but stopping mid-air.
"My scarf…" she whispered, her voice trembling, tears spilling freely from her eyes.
The officer studied her, softening slightly.
"You don't seem like a stalker. But we can't release you without proof. If you need to make a call, we can help you," she said.
Zoya nodded. Her fingers trembled as she lifted her backpack from her aching shoulders. Pain radiated through her arms, but she didn't care. She pulled out her mobile and opened the contact list.
Her eyes flicked across the names. Mr. Donghyun's number first — she paused, feeling a pang, but didn't dwell. Then Minji… Sophia… Hana… Ruhi… One by one, she scanned, lingering briefly on each before moving on.
Meanwhile, the two officers whispered to each other in Korean, behind Zoya's back:
"이 아이, 울고 있지만 말이 없어. 증거가 있으면 제대로 조사할 수 있어."("She's crying, but she isn't speaking. If we have proof, we can handle this properly.")
"손 대지 말라고 했잖아. 증거 없이는 아무것도 안 돼."("I told you, don't touch her. Without proof, nothing should be done.")
The small room felt endless. Every movement, every breath, every tear was magnified. Yet in her mind, Zoya's world narrowed to one thing: her scarf, her bag, her mobile — small fragments she could control in a moment where nothing else made sense.
Finally, after the last name, she exhaled. The knot of tension in her shoulders loosened fractionally. But the weight of the day — the slap, the questioning, the silent judgment — still pressed against her chest.
______________
Zoya pressed the call button.
Far away, near the riverside, in the warm lights of the White Bowl kitchen, a phone began to ring.
It was lying beside a white ceramic bowl on the counter.
From outside the kitchen entrance, a young Korean girl who works as a waiter— Seo-Yeon — hurried in with the phone in her hand.
"Ji-Ho, your phone… it's Zoya," she said softly.
Ji-Ho was in the dining area, greeting a few unexpected guests. They looked like old friends he hadn't seen in years — the kind you meet by accident and laugh with instantly.
He excused himself politely and took the phone.
As he walked toward the kitchen, he lifted it to his ear.
"Yes—"
With his free hand, he gestured something casually to Mrs. Lee, as if to say he'd be back in a minute.
But then—
He heard her voice.
His hand stopped mid-air.
It stayed there.
Frozen.
The expression on his face changed slowly — first confusion, then disbelief… and then clear, visible worry.
His jaw tightened.
"I'm coming right now," he said quietly.
He ended the call.
The kitchen had gone silent.
Park Joon, Mrs. Lee, and the two junior chefs were watching him. They hadn't heard the conversation, but they had seen enough.
"Minho… where is Minho?" Ji-Ho asked Mrs. Lee quickly.
Before she could answer, a cheerful voice echoed from behind.
"Minho is here. You all can't survive without me, can you?"
Minho entered the kitchen in a light mood, smiling.
But the smile faded when he saw Ji-Ho's face.
Ji-Ho turned toward him and stepped closer — very close — lowering his voice.
"Where is Zoya?"
The sudden seriousness made Mrs. Lee and Park Joon exchange a glance. The junior chefs were too far to hear, but even they sensed something was wrong.
"I dropped her," Minho said carefully.
Ji-Ho moved even closer, almost to Minho's ear.
"Did she tell you she was going to the police station?"
Minho jerked back slightly.
"No."
Ji-Ho's voice dropped.
"Minho… Zoya is at the police station."
For a second, Minho didn't react. His mind couldn't process it.
Mrs. Lee stepped forward.
"What happened?"
Ji-Ho explained quickly, repeating what Zoya had told him on the phone.
"The police think she's a stalker. She was seen walking back and forth outside Jeon.J's house for a long time. Someone nearby reported her. They detained her."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Mrs. Lee's hand went to her mouth.
Park Joon looked stunned.
"I'm going to the police station," Ji-Ho said firmly. "Please handle things here."
He turned and walked out.
Minho didn't hesitate.
"I'm coming too."
Both of them moved quickly, not wasting another second.
_______________
Meanwhile—
Jeon.J was already inside his car.
He dialed Jea.
"Wherever you are, go to the police station. Now."
Jea inhaled sharply on the other side.
"I was just about to call you. I found something about the girl from the plane."
Jeon.J didn't want to listen.
He was driving fast.
But the words "plane girl" made him slow down.
He slowed the car.
"What?" he asked quietly.
"I was at the hotel with my family," Jea explained. "I met the Korean girl whose name was on the seat. I spoke to her. She told me she had exchanged her seat with another girl because she wanted to sit with her boyfriend."
Jeon.J's grip tightened on the steering wheel.
"The air hostess switched the seats at her request. The girl who took her seat was sitting behind you."
Behind him.
Jeon.J's mind replayed the flight.
His heart skipped.
A face appeared in his thoughts.
Large eyes.
Quiet presence.
A scarf.
Jea's voice continued through the speaker.
"When I asked more about that girl, she said she didn't know her. They only met during the seat exchange. But she mentioned one thing…"
Jeon.J didn't breathe.
"She was wearing a scarf. She had big eyes. Her skin tone was light golden — not white, not dark. I didn't notice much more."
The world went silent inside the car.
Jeon.J's fingers tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened.
A scarf.
Big eyes.
Light golden tone.
The same image burned in his mind.
Without another word, he ended the call.
"Jea. Go where I told you," he said before disconnecting.
The engine roared back to life.
And this time—
He wasn't just driving.
He was racing toward something that had already begun to change everything.
Minji asked him while he was talking to Jea.
Jeon.J's expression changed, and Minji had no idea what had been said — what had happened with Jea, because the voice through the AirPods couldn't be heard outside.
Jeon.J said nothing. He just wanted to get there as fast as possible.
After a short while, the car slowed, stopping a little distance from the police station.
"I'm going in. You stay here," Minji said as she got out of the car.
Jeon.J remained silent. She walked away, and today, his fame felt like his greatest enemy.
Today, he realized the people inside the police station seemed freer than he was.
In truth, the real prisoners were those who were free, he told himself.
Even though he was free, today he felt trapped in the car.
Even though he was free, he couldn't roll down the car window without being recognized.
He slammed his hand on the steering wheel with all the strength he had, but nothing happened. It only left him in pain.
And nothing could be done about it — he could neither show his pain, nor see hers. He was not free.
To be continued...
Regards
ZK