Same Night – 11:14 PM
The house had gone quiet, lights dimmed, and the distant hum of the ceiling fan filled the silence.
Y/N stepped into the room with a folded blanket in her hands, ready to set it on the mattress for him like every night.
He was already sitting there — arms folded, staring out the window, lost in thought.
"Hey," she said softly. "I put your tea in the kitchen. It's getting cold…"
He didn't answer.
She blinked, tilting her head. "You okay?"
Then…
Without looking at her, he said it.
"Little fox… from now on, don't talk to me."
Her smile slowly faded.
"Don't come close to me either," he added, his voice flat.
Y/N stood still. "What…?"
"And don't call me Mr. Actor."
A pause.
Sharp. Sudden.
Like a knife through the night air.
She tried to laugh it off. "Okay, is this another joke? You're being weird—"
"I'm serious," he cut her off, finally turning to look at her — but there was something unfamiliar in his eyes. Distant. Cold.
Confused, she swallowed. "Did I do something wrong…?"
"No," he said too quickly. "You didn't."
Then why?
But he didn't explain.
Because he couldn't.
He didn't want to fall for her. Not here. Not like this. Not when they were from two completely different worlds.
Ignoring her felt like the only way to stop this growing chaos inside him — the chaos she unknowingly caused just by existing.
She lowered her eyes, lips pressing into a thin line, and nodded once.
"Okay then… Mr. Kim. Sleep well."
And with that, she turned around, walked out the door, and gently closed it behind her.
He sat there in the darkness, breathing hard.
Outside in the lounge, Y/N laid down beside Eman — who was already asleep — and stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. Her heart felt heavy, confused, bruised in places she couldn't name.
She didn't cry.
Not yet.
But she didn't sleep either.
And neither did he.
Because for the first time since he arrived…
He hated how quiet the room felt without her in it.
Next Morning – 7:42 AM
He hadn't slept much. Every time he closed his eyes, her expression from last night came back to him — confused, hurt, and still gentle.
By the time the sun peeked into the window, he gave up pretending. He sat up on the mattress, ran a hand through his hair, and sighed.
That's when he saw her.
Y/N.
Walking past the hallway outside, wearing something new — or at least, new to him.
A soft white and blush pink windbreaker jacket, paired with black jeans and white sneakers. It was the first time he'd seen her in this outfit. She looked…
Different. Brighter. Almost like she didn't belong in this narrow corridor anymore.
She was clearly in a hurry — zipping her jacket up halfway, brushing her hair back with one hand while holding her phone in the other.
She slowed a little when she noticed him sitting up, their eyes almost meeting.
And for a moment, she hesitated.
Should I talk to him?
He told me not to… right? Or was that just for last night?
Her fingers clenched her phone tightly, lips parting — but no words came out.
Then finally, with a quiet, polite voice, she said:
"Mr. Kim… Ammi said to freshen up. Breakfast is almost ready."
That was it.
And before he could respond, she turned and walked off toward the kitchen.
He watched her go, a strange tightness sitting in his chest.
---
7:55 AM – Dining Table
When he came down a few minutes later, Y/N's dad was already seated, reading the news on his phone. Her mom was setting the table, and Eman sat beside her with messy bed hair, yawning as she poured herself juice.
He greeted them with a soft, "Good morning."
They smiled and returned the greeting. Light conversation started — casual and kind.
Y/N soon walked out of the kitchen with a plate in her hands, placing parathas one by one in front of everyone without a word. She didn't sit, didn't linger.
"Y/N," her mom called gently. "Aren't you eating?"
Y/N slung her bag over one shoulder and replied quickly, "Eomma, I'm in a hurry. My friends are waiting downstairs. I'll eat with them."
Her tone was light — too light. Almost rehearsed.
She gave a small wave and walked out the front door.
Nobody noticed how she blinked a little too fast as she stepped out into the sun.
Nobody but him.
He stared at the paratha she placed in front of him. Still warm. Still soft.
And he suddenly felt like the coldest person at the table.
Same Night – 11:26 PM
The house was quiet again. Eman and the youngest were already fast asleep, their soft breathing echoing faintly from the shared room. The living room lights were dim, a small lamp casting a warm glow over the space where Y/N's parents sat talking with him.
He was seated at the corner of the couch, nodding quietly to something her father said, though his eyes kept flicking toward the clock.
11:27 PM.
Y/N still wasn't back.
The quiet conversation paused when they all heard the front door open slowly.
She stepped in carefully, gently shutting it behind her. Her breath left in a quiet sigh the moment she saw all three of them still awake.
Her step faltered slightly.
"Assalamualaikum," she greeted politely, voice soft, almost tired.
"Walaikumassalam," her mom replied, standing up. "You're late, beta."
"I know," Y/N said, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "I just—"
But she didn't finish. She was already turning to leave for the room when her mom's voice stopped her.
"Wait. What happened to your hand?"
Y/N froze.
She instinctively pulled her arm behind her back, shaking her head. "It's nothing, Ammi."
Her mom stepped forward, worry now creeping into her voice. "Y/N?"
She hesitated… then gave in. Quietly.
"We were in a group, Ammi… for the project."
They listened.
"And… the principal's son came. He said he wanted to join our group. We said no."
She swallowed.
"Then he… asked for my number. I said no again. He grabbed my hand. That's all. It's nothing serious."
Her mother's expression turned sharp with concern, her father stiffened beside her, but before either could respond—
"I'm tired," Y/N said quickly, giving them a small nod. "I'll see you in the morning."
And with that, she turned and walked away toward the guest room — the one that used to be hers before he came.
Inside, she shut the door gently, placed her bag down beside the study table, and sat down, pulling out her notebooks and files.
Her injured hand moved stiffly, but she didn't pause.
No ice.
No medicine.
Just quiet focus as she continued her assignments, writing carefully with that same hand like nothing had happened.
He was already in the room, still sitting on the mattress in the corner, watching her silently in the dim light.
She didn't look at him.
"I know you're awake, Mr. Kim," she said quietly, flipping a page. "You can sleep. I won't disturb you."
Her voice wasn't cold. Just distant.
He wanted to say something.
He wanted to ask are you okay?
To walk up to her, kneel beside her, and hold that hand gently.
But…
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Because the words were stuck in his throat — tangled in guilt, the kind he now hated more than anything.
She didn't even look up.
And he didn't deserve to ask.
Not after he told her not to come close.