Min-Jae's POV
The café door shut behind me with a soft chime, and for a moment, I just stood there on the sidewalk, pulling my mask a little higher over my nose and tucking my cap lower. The winter air bit at my cheeks, but that wasn't what made me pause—it was the faint echo of her voice still in my head. Tomi. She'd smiled at me in that hesitant way, as if she wasn't entirely sure she should be smiling. Her words had been careful, polite, but there was something in the way she looked at me that had thrown me off. Like she was… reading me. I exhaled sharply and started walking toward the waiting van. "Focus," I muttered under my breath. Tae-ho had driven me home that evening to take a rest for the following day. I had an advertisement shoot to prepare for. That night, I slept who remembering Tomi's smile. So peaceful and satisfying.
Next morning
Today wasn't about café encounters or curious international students. Today was about work. I had a contract to honor. The ride to the studio was quiet except for Tae-ho flipping through the ad script beside me. He glanced up once or twice, as if he could tell my mind was somewhere else, but he didn't say anything. By the time we reached the location which was a sleek, white-walled set that looked like someone had stolen an entire kitchen from a luxury catalog, my thoughts were supposed to be in work mode. Instead, I was still hearing her laugh from earlier, soft but genuine. The director, a short man with round glasses, greeted me with an enthusiastic clap on the shoulder. "Min-Jae, perfect timing. Let's run through the storyboard before makeup." I nodded, taking the storyboard from him. It was simple enough: walk in looking fresh, pour the juice, take a sip, smile like my life depended on it. The kind of work I could do in my sleep. But that was the problem, my brain was running on two channels. One was reading the script, the other was wondering if Tomi had guessed anything about me. In the dressing room, the stylist fussed over my hair while the makeup artist patted foundation across my jawline. My phone buzzed twice in my pocket, but I didn't check it. I already knew it would be my mother. She'd called three times last night, each time to remind me about the charity dinner this weekend. "You have to make an appearance," she'd said in that clipped tone that always meant This isn't a request. But the truth was, I didn't want to go. Not just because it was a room full of people pretending to like each other, but because lately… my relationship with my parents felt like a tightrope I didn't want to walk anymore. When I was younger, I'd believed their approval meant everything. Now, at twenty-four, I wasn't so sure. The expectations, the polished image, the scripted answers, it was exhausting. They didn't care about the late nights on set, the physical toll of back-to-back shoots, or the fact that I hadn't had a single day completely to myself in weeks. "Ready?" Tae-ho's voice snapped me back. I blinked at my reflection, hair perfectly styled, skin flawless, eyes sharp. The version of me the public loved. The version I wasn't sure I even recognized some days. The shoot began smoothly enough. Camera lights flooded the set, turning everything unnaturally bright. I walked through my marks, smiled on cue, lifted the branded juice bottle like it was the best thing I'd ever tasted. But halfway through the second take, I caught myself zoning out. The camera was still rolling, but my mind had slipped away entirely, back to that moment in the café when Tomi tilted her head slightly, like she was trying to figure me out. "Cut!" The director's voice jolted me. "Let's do that again, Min-Jae. This time, really sell it." I forced a smile and nodded, gripping the bottle tighter. Three more takes, five more forced smiles, and the scene was done. During the break, I stepped outside, partly for air, partly to check my phone. Three missed calls from my mother. Two messages from my father. One from my elder sister, Min-Young: They're talking about you again on the news. My jaw clenched. "Again" always meant gossip about my personal life, the kind that twisted half-truths into headlines. I didn't even open the link she'd sent. I didn't need the distraction right now. The second half of the shoot involved fake laughter with two background models, pouring juice over ice, then leaning casually against the counter like I actually drank this stuff every morning. By the end, my cheeks ached from holding the same expression, and my temples throbbed from the studio lights. "Good work, everyone!" the director called, but his voice was already fading into the background for me. On the ride back, I slouched against the seat, one hand pressed to my forehead. The streets outside blurred past—neon signs, crosswalks, the occasional flash of pedestrians bundled in coats. I should have been thinking about tomorrow's shoot, but all I could picture was Tomi's expression when I'd stood to leave the café. She'd looked like she had something else to say, but she'd kept it to herself. The van slowed at an intersection, and I caught my own reflection in the tinted window. Tired. Distracted. Not the person everyone thought I was. When we finally reached my apartment, I didn't go inside. I told the Tae-ho to take me to the gym instead and asked him to go home. It was late so there was no harm in leaving me on my own, and the gym was a private gym. Maybe a workout would clear my head. I needed to stop thinking about Tomi and focus on work from now. I knew me being with her would only attract unnecessary attention and rumors which may affect her negatively. I intensified my workout trying to push all those thoughts away. It didn't work. I punched the dumbbells frustratingly. By the time I left the gym, it was late. I was driving home but I knew I wasn't really focused on the road. I should have asked Tae-ho to wait to drive me. I was in no state to drive well. In the midst of my thoughts, my phone buzzed again. It was my mother, for the fifth time today. I almost answered. Almost. But the traffic light turned red, and I pulled forward into the main road unknowingly. That's when it happened. All I say was a truck coming at full speed from the left. A blinding flash of headlights. The screech of tires. A horn blaring somewhere far too close. I remember thinking just for a second that I should've called her. I should've at least known what it felt like to have a real conversation without hiding behind a mask. And mother, maybe the event was so important . Then everything went black.
TOMI'S POV
I don't know how to explain it, but the past few days have felt… soft. That's the only word I can use. Soft in a way that makes me smile to myself when no one's looking, soft in a way that makes the walk from class to the dorm feel lighter, like my legs are skipping on their own. It's all because of him. Min-Jae. Or, "the guy from the café" if I'm trying to be dramatic and mysterious for my own benefit. I don't even know what to call him when I think about him. Saying his full name in my head feels too serious, like I'm labeling a folder for marriage applications or something. But calling him just "Min" feels too casual for someone who has that much presence. The funny thing is that he doesn't even know how much space he's taken in my brain. Or maybe he does. The way he looked at me at the café… I'm sorry, no normal man looks at a girl like that and doesn't know what he's doing. I keep replaying the scene in my head, him leaning slightly forward, cap shadowing his eyes, voice calm but with something… almost teasing in it. Like he knew a joke only he was allowed to laugh at. And now, I'm just here in my room, sprawled on my bed with my laptop, pretending to scroll through lecture notes while actually thinking about how his voice sounded saying my name. "Tom-ee." The way he stretched the syllables just a bit, almost like he was testing it out. Nia noticed. Of course she did. She has the attention span of a goldfish but the observation skills of a trained spy. "You're smiling again," she says from her side of the room, half-hidden behind a mountain of throw pillows. "I always smile," I mumble, pretending to keep my eyes on the screen. "Not like that," she says, and I can hear her grin even though I'm not looking. "That's your 'someone texted me goodnight' smile." I roll my eyes. "You're dramatic." She laughs but doesn't push it, which I'm grateful for. Because if she keeps poking, she'll somehow connect the dots faster than I'm ready for. The next morning, after the café thing, my sister Ayinke calls me. I should have known she wasn't calling just to check on me. Ayinke never calls without an agenda. "Ehn, my dear international celebrity!" she starts, and I already know trouble is coming. "What are you talking about?" I ask, half-laughing, half-scared. "Don't do 'what are you talking about' with me," she says. "Your gist is everywhere on the internet. My friend sent me a TikTok—Tomi, people are saying you're dating some Korean celebrity. Min-something." I freeze. It's one thing to have my roommates tease me about a guy. It's another thing entirely to hear my own sister, from thousands of kilometers away, casually tell me that my name is being paired with someone like him online. "What?" I try to play it off. "No, no, no, it's nothing like that—" Ayinke snorts. "Abeg, I know when you're lying. Your voice always goes high-pitched. Just send me his picture so I can see if he's fine enough for all this drama." I hang up before she can keep going, but my heart's racing. I open my phone and search my name on Twitter, a big mistake. There it is. A blurry video from the festival, me bumping into him, him holding my arm for a second longer than necessary. Someone's captioned it: When your crush is actually a K-drama lead in disguise. The comments are full of people arguing about whether it's really him. I try to shake it off. I mean, it's not like he's actually my boyfriend or anything. But the thing is… I don't hate the idea. I find myself comparing this weird… whatever-this-is with my old talking stage back in Lagos—Tunde. God, Tunde was a clown. The type of guy who would bombard you with love messages after receiving signals that you weren't interested in him and even rejecting him flatly. But Min-Jae… it's different. Even if I barely know him, he makes me feel totally different from what I ever felt for any guy in my entire life. Later that evening, I'm sitting in the common room, scrolling aimlessly through Tiktok. That's when I see it in a news channel after refreshing my feed on Tiktok.
Breaking news.
The headline is in Korean, but the English translation is below: Actor Seo Min-Jae hospitalized after car accident during filming break. My stomach drops. For a second, I think it's a prank. Maybe it was some sick fake-news clickbait. But the more I scroll, the more real it becomes. There were pictures of an ambulance, statements from his agency, people online freaking out. It was confirmed to have happened about an hour ago. The phone nearly slips out of my hand. I don't even realize I've stood up until Nia calls my name from the couch. "Tomi? What's wrong?" I can't answer her. My mind is already racing ahead, thinking of him lying somewhere in a hospital bed, and all I can do is whisper to myself—"No. No, no, no… Nia rushed to me immediately and she instantly was shocked as well. "Shit !!!" That was when Yuri walked in , balancing a mug of something steaming in her hands. She froze halfway into the room when she saw both of us staring at my phone like it was cursed. "What's going on?" "It's Min-Jae…" Nia said softly, her voice suddenly stripped of its usual teasing tone. "He—he was in an accident." The words were like a punch to my stomach all over again, even though I'd just read them. Hearing them out loud made them real in a way I didn't want. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my face together, but I could feel it crumbling. "They're saying it happened after a shoot," I managed to croak. "He—he's in the hospital. They don't know how bad it is." Yuri put her mug down so quickly I was afraid it would spill. She crossed the room, her expression unreadable, and sat beside me on my bed. "Do you… do you want me to find more updates? Korean news might have more detail." I nodded, because my hands were trembling too much to do it myself. The rest of the evening blurred into a series of refresh-refresh-refresh cycles on our phones. Every few minutes, another article would pop up—some with unconfirmed rumors, others repeating the same vague statement from his management: "Actor Seo Min-Jae was involved in a traffic accident earlier today. He is currently receiving medical attention. We ask for your understanding and for speculation to be refrained from until further notice." That last part about "speculation" didn't stop anyone online from speculating. Hashtags with his name were trending in both Korean and English. Some were sending prayers and support. Others were dissecting what they thought happened, posting theories from people who claimed to be "sources." By the time I looked up, Sasha had come home. One glance at my face and the tense silence in the room told her everything she needed to know. She just walked over and pulled me into one of her wordless, heavy hugs, the kind that made me realize how tightly I'd been holding myself together until that moment. That was when I cried. Not delicate, movie-scene crying, just full-on, ugly, heaving sobs that I couldn't control. Every image of him from the café, from our conversations, from the little moments I replayed when I was alone, came flooding back, now tangled with flashing ambulance lights and the word accident looping in my head. We stayed like that for what felt like hours. When I finally sat back, my cheeks were raw, my voice was gone, and the night outside had deepened into the kind of quiet that only happens after midnight. But the news kept moving without me. There were more photos now. The wreckage looked worse than I'd let myself imagine. People online were starting to worry he might not make it. I refused to believe that. Somewhere between 2 and 3 a.m., I gave up pretending I could sleep. I sat cross-legged on my bed, clutching my phone like it was a lifeline, while my friends quietly existed around me—Yuri translating updates, Nia making tea, Sasha pacing with her own phone pressed to her ear. It was like the whole apartment was holding its breath with me. And then, at 3:47 a.m., an update finally broke the silence. "Seo Min-Jae remains in critical condition following surgery. The next 24 hours will be crucial." That was all. No comfort, no certainty. Just another reminder that somewhere in a cold hospital room, he was fighting for his life—and I couldn't do anything but sit here, miles away, refreshing a screen. I think that was the moment it truly hit me how much he mattered to me.