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Part : 13
Tittle : A new beginning?
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Quote : Every ending of a story leads to a new beginning of the other...
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The innocent sounds of children at play had managed to crack the hardened shell around Jungkook's heart, a fleeting smile gracing his lips. It was a small, fragile thing, a momentary respite from the ever-present ache. But as his gaze drifted slightly to the right, the fragile peace shattered, replaced by a jolt that ran through him like a lightning strike.
Time seemed to warp and bend. He froze, his breath catching in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs with a frantic energy it hadn't possessed in decades. There she was.
She sat on a nearby bench, a book open in her hands, a soft, knowing smile playing on her lips. Her dress, a flowing garment of subtle elegance, seemed to shimmer in the dappled sunlight, mirroring the grace that defined her very being. Strands of her hair, the color he remembered so vividly, danced gently with the soft caress of the breeze, framing her face like a halo.
To him, she was as breathtaking now as she had been the first moment he laid eyes on her, an ethereal vision that defied the cold reality of her absence. The years melted away, the grief receded, and for a suspended, timeless moment, she was simply there, alive and radiant, a balm to his eternally wounded soul.
A sudden rumble echoed overhead, the sky darkening with the ominous promise of rain. Her head snapped up, her eyes widening slightly as she registered the change in the weather. A flicker of annoyance crossed her features as she quickly closed her book, a delicate hand pressing the pages together.
She rose gracefully, her movements fluid and elegant, and turned to walk away, her path leading her unknowingly further from him. Her focus was on finding shelter, and by some twist of fate, she hadn't yet noticed the figure sitting silently on the nearby bench. It was a chance encounter, a near miss that tightened the knot of longing in Jungkook's chest.
He couldn't bear the thought of her slipping away again, not when she was so close, so real. A desperate impulse propelled him to his feet, and he moved silently behind her, his steps hesitant. Years of grief and the crushing weight of reality had stolen his courage.
He could only follow, a silent shadow, unable to bridge the chasm that separated his spectral memories from the vibrant woman walking just a few feet away. The words he desperately wanted to speak remained trapped in his throat, and the urge to reach out and touch her, to confirm her tangible existence, was a forbidden desire he dared not fulfill.
The first fat drops of rain began to fall, splattering on the pavement. She hurried towards the awning of a small, closed coffee shop, finding a meager shelter from the sudden downpour. He followed, his movements automatic, his gaze still fixed on her. He stood a few feet away, the rain already beginning to darken his clothes.
It was the polished gleam of his shoes against the wet pavement that first caught her attention. A prickle of unease ran down her spine as she realized this man had been behind her since the park. Slowly, cautiously, her gaze traveled upwards, tracing the length of his legs, the line of his damp pants.
Finally, her eyes met his face. His head was bent slightly as he preoccupied himself with a handkerchief, ruffling his already damp hair. And then, her eyes widened, a flicker of something unreadable – surprise? Recognition? – crossing her features. He, lost in his own world of longing and the feel of the rain, remained oblivious to the sudden intensity of her gaze.
He finally turned, the movement was slow and deliberate. The crimson glow in his eyes, a stark reminder of his non-human nature, met hers directly. For a fleeting moment, their gazes locked, and then, as if burned by his intense stare, she abruptly looked down, her expression carefully blank, feigning ignorance of his presence.
He took a hesitant step closer, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and trepidation. To his surprise, she flinched, a subtle but unmistakable recoil, and took a step backward, putting distance between them.
A surge of something akin to desperation coursed through him. He couldn't let her retreat again. He reached out, his hand closing gently around her wrist. Her skin felt soft, fragile beneath his touch, a stark contrast to the ethereal memory he held. He drew her towards the glass door of the closed cafe, his movements gentle but firm.
He placed both his hands on the cool glass on either side of her, effectively trapping her. Her head remained bowed, her dark hair obscuring her face as she fought back tears, her knuckles white as she clutched the book tightly against her chest, a small shield against his sudden proximity.
The subtle flinch, the averted gaze, the tremor that ran through her small frame – it all clicked into place. She remembered. Not just the stolen moments of tenderness, the echoes of laughter, but the sharp edges of their past, the brutal acts that had ultimately led to her demise. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow, a fresh wave of guilt washing over him.
He stared at her bowed head, his crimson eyes searching for any sign of the woman he had loved and lost. Then he saw it – a single, pearly tear escaping her tightly closed eyelids, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. A soft sniffle followed, a small, choked sound that pierced through the layers of his immortal indifference, making his ancient heart clench with a pain that felt new and raw.
An instinct, long dormant, rose within him – a desire to comfort, to soothe. His hand, the same hand that had once caused her pain, moved almost involuntarily. He gently tucked a few stray strands of her hair behind her ear, the simple gesture a silent apology.
Beneath his touch, he felt her tremble, a delicate vibration that spoke volumes of her fear and vulnerability. The weight of his past actions pressed down on him, a crushing burden. He hated himself, truly hated the being he had been, the cruelty he had inflicted on this woman who now stood before him, her silent tears a damning indictment of his sins.
His lips parted, a silent plea forming on them. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to pull her into his arms, to hold her close and shield her from the pain that wracked her small body, to offer solace until the tears ceased. But the words, the apologies that clawed at his throat, remained trapped, choked by the immensity of his guilt.
He knew mere words were a paltry offering, an insufficient penance for the irreparable damage he had inflicted. How could he apologize for stealing her life, for the fear he had instilled? The chasm between his actions and any possible atonement felt vast and unbridgeable.
Instead of words, he offered a silent gesture. Slowly, carefully, he leaned in, his forehead touching hers. The contact was feather-light, a fragile bridge between their broken past and an uncertain present. It was a silent acknowledgment of their shared history, a muted expression of his remorse, a desperate attempt to convey the depth of his regret without uttering a single, inadequate word.
A soft, heart-wrenching sob escaped her lips, her small frame trembling uncontrollably against the cool glass. The gentle contact of his forehead against hers seemed to amplify her distress, a stark reminder of an intimacy that was now tainted by pain. Slowly, with a fragile strength, she pushed against his forehead, creating a small space between them. The rejection, though gentle, struck him with the force, each inch of separation tearing at the fragile remnants of his heart.
The rain had ceased as abruptly as it had begun, leaving behind a world washed clean and glistening. "I… I have to go, please," she whispered, her voice barely audible, a choked plea laced with fear. Without meeting his gaze again, she turned and walked away, her steps quick and silent, her posture conveying a desperate need to escape his presence.
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[Note - A new start, u c]
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