Morning – Author POV
The golden light of dawn spills softly through the lace curtains. A cool breeze dances through the slightly open window. The quiet hum of the town waking up feels almost surreal.
Rabin steps out of the guest room, rubbing his damp hair with a towel, just in time to bump into Y/N's dad coming out of the washroom.
Dad:
"Oh, you're awake?"
Rabin: (slightly surprised but respectful)
"Yes, uncle."
Dad: (gives him a light nod)
"Then let's go for a walk?"
Rabin: (smiles gently)
"Yes, I'd like that."
⸻
[Town Streets – Morning Walk]
The roads are still half-asleep, stores just opening. The two men walk side by side, a peaceful silence between them. They stop by a small local shop, buying fresh soy milk in glass bottles and warm bread wrapped in old newspapers.
As they resume walking, Y/N's dad breaks the silence.
Dad: (without looking at him)
"Actually… I didn't trust you at first."
Rabin's steps slow. He doesn't speak, just listens—carefully.
Dad:
"You're famous… flashy… the kind that turns every head when you walk in. And my daughter, she's soft. She hides her pain with smiles."
Rabin tightens his grip on the bag of bread.
Dad: (finally meets his eyes)
"But… I trust my daughter."
A long pause.
Dad: (continues)
"She chose you. And if she ever chooses you again… I'll follow her choice."
Rabin: (softly, earnestly)
"I won't let her down again. Not this time."
Dad: (smiles slightly)
"Then let's head home. She likes the soy milk warm."
They turn around, walking back—two men with different stories, walking toward the same heart.
The sun now bathes the little kitchen in a warm glow. The scent of toasted bread and steamed soy milk fills the air. The sound of light footsteps echoes from the hallway.
Y/N enters the kitchen, still in her oversized T-shirt and messy morning hair, rubbing her eyes.
Y/N: (groggy)
"Mom… did you make something? Smells…"
She stops mid-sentence. Her dad and Rabin are already sitting at the table, both sipping warm soy milk, plates of fresh bread between them. Rabin's eyes light up the moment he sees her.
Dad: (grinning while holding out a glass)
"She's up. Here, warm soy milk—just like you like it."
Y/N blinks, still processing the domestic scene.
Y/N:
"You two… went out?"
Rabin: (nods, smiling softly)
"We walked… talked. Bought breakfast."
She looks between them, noticing a strange comfort between the two men.
Mom (from the stove):
"They were talking like old friends when they came back. Your dad even let him stir the porridge."
Y/N: (snorts softly)
"He must really like you then."
Rabin gives her a boyish grin and pulls out the chair beside him.
Rabin:
"Come. Sit. I saved your favorite bread. Still warm."
She hesitates for a second, then slowly walks over, taking the seat next to him. He pushes the warm bread toward her gently.
Their hands brush—briefly—but enough to make her heart skip just a little.
The breakfast table falls into a momentary hush after Y/N's words.
Y/N: (softly, avoiding his eyes)
"When are you going back?"
Rabin: (without hesitation, eyes locked on her)
"When you're ready."
Y/N: (blinks, a small crease forms between her brows)
"I'm not coming though…"
Her words slice gently, but Rabin doesn't flinch. Instead, he calmly leans back in his chair, watching her—quietly, as if reading the space between her words.
Before the tension could grow any heavier—
Mom turns from the stove, wiping her hands on a towel.
Mom: (cheerfully interrupting)
"Well… as long as he peels potatoes later, I'll consider forgiving him."
Rabin chuckles, breaking the silence.
Rabin: (smirking)
"Deal. I'll peel all the potatoes in the world if that buys me forgiveness."
Y/N's dad raises his brow.
Dad:
"Better be good at it, boy. My daughter's heart costs more than just a peeled potato."
Y/N bites her lip, trying not to smile, but a small chuckle escapes her.
Rabin: (turns to her, voice softer)
"Then I'll stay until you throw me out—or… come with me willingly."
She doesn't answer immediately. Her hand wraps around her soy milk glass a little tighter.
Y/N: (finally, still not looking at him)
"We'll see if your potato peeling wins hearts, Mr. National Boyfriend."
Mom: (laughs while setting down a fresh stack of pancakes)
"That's the spirit."
The morning fills with laughter again—but underneath, emotions simmer, unspoken truths stirring between glances, unsent letters disguised as silence.
Time Skip – Evening Scene
Author POV
The sun was dipping low behind the hills, casting a soft amber glow over Y/N's quiet hometown. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and the scent of blooming flowers hung in the air like an old memory.
Outside the small house, Y/N's father stood with a silver watering can, tending to the row of flowers that circled the front yard—roses, hibiscus, and small marigolds. The sky above them was painted in orange and fading lavender, calm and bittersweet.
The garden was always his peace.
Then, without a word, Rabin stepped out onto the porch. His usually styled hair now a little messy, he wore a hoodie and joggers—unbothered by who he was to the world, only thinking of who he wanted to be here.
He walked slowly toward the old man, watching him water the roses gently.
Rabin:
"Can I… help you with that?"
Y/N's father glanced sideways at him. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, handing over a second watering can that sat by the step.
They watered side by side in silence. The sound of water hitting soil and the distant chirping of crickets filled the air.
Then quietly, Y/N's father spoke.
Dad:
"These flowers… they bloom and fade, but come back every season. Just like her."
Rabin glanced at the flowers, then up at the sky.
Rabin:
"I don't want her to fade because of me."
The old man didn't answer immediately. He continued to spray water over the hibiscus, eyes fixed ahead.
Dad:
"She's strong. But even the strongest flowers wither if they're stepped on too often."
Rabin:
"I know I messed up."
Her father finally looked at him.
Dad:
"You're a superstar, Rabin. Millions scream your name. Cameras chase you. How do I know you won't leave her behind again when the spotlight calls?"
The wind picked up slightly.
Rabin: (voice low)
"Because with her… I felt seen even in the dark. I don't care about the spotlight anymore if she's not standing in it with me."
Her father didn't reply. Instead, he handed Rabin a cloth to wipe his wet hands.
Dad:
"Don't say things you won't mean when the lights are gone."
From behind the curtain, Y/N stood in the shadows of the living room, unseen. Her eyes welled up hearing those words.
In that fading light, two men—one a father, the other a man desperate to become family—stood among the flowers, sharing a silence only sincerity could fill.
Y/N's POV
I stood there… still…
Hidden behind the soft curtain that fluttered slightly with the breeze.
I didn't mean to eavesdrop—but I couldn't move.
Not when their voices—his voice—reached me like that.
I clutched the curtain gently, peeking through the narrow gap.
Rabin stood beside my father, both holding watering cans like they'd done it a thousand times before. The evening sun painted warm gold across his face, softening every sharp feature I once thought only belonged to the stage.
He looked…
Real.
Gentle.
Humbled.
And then—he said it.
"Because with her… I felt seen even in the dark."
My chest tightened. I swallowed down the ache rising in my throat.
I could feel the tears forming again—but this time, they weren't from heartbreak.
They were from confusion. Hope. Fear.
And something I didn't want to admit yet.
My father didn't say much. But his silence had weight.
And when he finally handed Rabin that old cloth—
I knew he hadn't accepted him…
But maybe, just maybe… he was considering it.
I stepped away from the curtain quietly, tiptoeing back to my room.
Leaning against the closed door, I slid down to the floor.
The house smelled of old wood, comfort… and a piece of him again.
I whispered to myself,
"Please don't let him hurt me again."
Next Day – Y/N's Room
The morning light poured in through the half-open window, casting a soft glow over the quiet room. I was sitting by the desk, lost in thought, still in my sleepwear, when the door creaked open gently.
"Y/N…"
It was mom.
She walked in with her usual morning calmness, carrying a cup of warm ginger tea—my favorite.
She placed it beside me, then sat on the edge of the bed.
Mom: "He's still here, you know."
I didn't say anything.
She reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, her touch always warm, always comforting.
Mom:
"I'm not telling you what to do. But if your heart still beats for him… if it still aches when he's near, or aches when he's not—then maybe, just maybe… you owe yourself one more try."
My lips curled slightly into a smile, quiet and small—but sincere.
She patted my hand and stood up slowly.
Mom:
"Your dad and I… we're heading out tomorrow morning. A business trip—we'll be gone for a week or so. If you want to go back to your world, to your story… don't hold it in, child. You're not bound to stay for our sake."
My throat tightened.
Y/N:
"But what if I get hurt again, mom?"
She looked at me with all the love in her eyes.
Mom:
"Then you cry it out, eat too much ice cream, scream into your pillow, and come back home again. We'll always be here. But at least… you'd know you tried."
She walked out, leaving me in the silence of my own heartbeats.
I took the warm tea in my hands.
Still trembling…
But slowly…
Willing.
———
The air was calm, almost too calm. Rabin sat upright on the couch, his hands loosely clasped together. Her dad sat beside him, relaxed yet composed, holding a warm cup of tea.
There was a pause in their conversation—a moment of silence that held weight.
Dad:
"Child… we'll be going for a business trip tomorrow. Your mom and I. We won't be back for about a week."
Rabin nodded politely.
Rabin:
"Okay, uncle. Safe travels."
Her father stared ahead, then turned to face him fully.
Dad (gently):
"I'm leaving my daughter to you."
Rabin's chest tightened. He blinked slowly, registering the depth of that sentence.
No drama. No raised voices. Just quiet trust.
Rabin: (softly, but firmly)
"I'll take care of her, uncle… I promise."
Her father nodded with a small smile—not too wide, but enough to say "I'm watching you."
Plates had been cleared. The laughter from dinner still lingered in the air. The small television flickered as an old family sitcom played, echoing with canned laughter and corny punchlines.
Rabin sat on one end of the couch, Y/N on the other, a comfortable silence between them. Her parents chuckled along with the TV, but moments later—
Mom:
"Heiya, we still haven't packed. Come on."
Dad:
"Ahh right. Those suits won't fold themselves."
With a wink at Y/N, her mom tugged her husband's sleeve, and the two slipped away toward their room, leaving Y/N and Rabin alone.
Silence crept in again.
Not cold. Just… uncertain.
The TV continued its cheery rhythm. Y/N didn't know what to say, and Rabin didn't try either. They'd only spoken in small doses since he arrived.
Eventually, she heard his breathing slow. She turned her head gently.
Rabin had dozed off.
His head leaned slightly against the side of the couch, arms folded, the day's fatigue finally catching up with him. His features looked peaceful under the dim lights—less like the superstar he was, and more like the boy she once knew.
Without a word, Y/N quietly stood up, turned off the TV, and tiptoed to the hallway closet. She returned with a blanket and draped it over him softly, brushing a stray hair from his forehead without realizing.
Behind the wall, peeking just slightly from the hallway, her mom and dad stood side by side.
Her mom leaned into her husband's shoulder and whispered,
"She still loves him."
Her dad smiled quietly, not saying a word—but his eyes softened.